#judge turpin x read

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 15. Cards And Coals [C4]

Pairing: Turpin x fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader & Third, Turpin

Setting: Turpin’s house

Continuation of: Prompt 4. Sharing, 6. Out Of Care & 13. Shimmering Icicles

A/N: Well, why not go at it with some more smut today - Turpin's turn now though 👀🤭 Yesterday's fic was sweet, gentle, soft and caring - this is partly that and partly the opposite 🙈 Another long one today, but, I mean, it's smutty goodness so of course we need it to be substantial - right?

Also, HAPPY FRIDAY! Today my mom is coming over (should be any minute now really, yes, I'm scrambling once more - seems I never learn to keep it short even when needed 😂) and we're celebrating Christmas all weekend with her, gonna do some ice skating, eat and cook awesome food, and get some Christmas presents exchanged between us all 🥰👏 (So, if my posting is very late the next two days, I apologies, I have nearly finished tomorrows fic but I'll catch any moment to write that I can darlings and really aim to get fics up every day!)

Tags/TW’s: SMUT, Virginity Given, Vaginal Penetration, No Aftercare, Feeling Lonely, Confessions Of Love (sort of), Arguing, Emotional Turmoil, Feeling Abandoned, Mentions Past Use Of Whores, Comparing Oneself To Others, Feeling Unworthy, Praise, Possible Praise Kink, Anger

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 4.4k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

⩤• You •⩥

“Richard,” you whispered, his hands holding your warm face in place. “I do not deserve you,” he said gently, softly, as if he spoke from the depths of his usually stoic heart. The way his eyes stormed for you, you’d never seen such emotions displayed in them. Your throat cinched tight with the need to speak words that could not be taken back once said aloud. “Yet, I am a selfish man, and I will take, whatever you offer, love,” Richard continued in a dark hum of a confession. “L-love?” “Yes, you are to me.”

A gasped breath slipped between your lips, his own lips thinned with a look of restraint. “Kiss me,” you whispered, and his eyes widened. “Richard, kiss me,” you exhaled while your hands reached out to grip his robe. It felt as if you would fall over without holding on to something despite still being seated on the bed. Your heart pounded, your core too tight and a sense of need seemed to fill your veins. “As you wish,” he said and your spine stiffened.

Richard leaned in, slowly, giving you every opportunity to stop what you wished for so badly it felt as if you would combust if he didn’t close the gap. You exhaled a grunted breath and tugged on his robe, his lips were smashed against yours with the unexpected movement. You’d only ever kissed once before, and that had been a mere peck on the lips for the sake of the wedding ceremony. This, this kiss, it was something else entirely.

You tugged him closer, his lips turning harder against yours, and his warm hands stiffened while still cupping your burning cheeks. Fire seemed to erupt in your lower stomach, your heart beat in erratic spasms, and his dark groan had you gasping. The second your lips parted his tongue slipped in. You moaned and allowed the exploration while you tentatively stroked his tongue in return.

He deepened the kiss, one of his hands reaching around to cup the back of your head. Your hands slid up to grasp at his shoulders, feeling his stiff muscles made your fingers flex and knead. Your thighs pressed themselves together as moisture coated your womanhood, your most sacred body part, your most protected and untouched core.

The sensation was too strong, bordering on unbearable now that it seemed to unfurl and take over completely. Your mind turned muddled, your thoughts sluggish yet focused fully on every motion and movement Richard made. His mouth felt perfect paired with yours and the kiss turned frenzied.

You tugged on him, desperate to get closer. He lost his balance but landed beside you, dragging you atop him in one fluent motion. The steady rhythm of his heart contrasted with your frantic one, his dark groan a compliment to your whined moan. The noise shocked you, sounding beyond needy.

“So sweet,” he said against your lips as you gasped at the sound. “Do not hide your exquisite sounds from me, love.” “Richard,” you said and kissed him anew while his hands stroked down along your sides, coming to a halt at your hips where he squeezed. “Oh,” you moaned and he smiled against your mouth. “Need something, love?” he asked with a near chuckle to his voice. “I-, I don’t know,” you whispered while his hard cock lay wedged between you. Your body seemed to tremble at the feel while your core pulsed with a need you weren’t sure you were ready to sate.

He widened his legs and you sunk further between them. Perfectly situated to feel every part of his manhood, the cock he’d so recently stroked in the tub while calling your name. You shivered at the feeling and memory, a moan escaping as his hands moved to your behind and kneaded each cheek. “Such a sweet sound.” “Richard…” “Love.” “I-, please,” you whined as his hands rested just below each cheek, the tips of his fingers so close to where your body wanted to be touched — it was excruciating to have him so close yet not close enough.

“For so long, I have waited patiently,” he began in a dark hum while his hands moved forward and back, stroking the top of your thighs while always receding just before touching your slicked core. “Hell on earth, my home turned into my own fiery pit of damnation with you so close.” “What?” “Tell me what you need, love. I will do nothing you do not ask of me. I have been patient, to gain your trust, and I will not break it on the cusps of my reward for said patience, said torture,” he nearly hissed and your heart damn near broke with the overwhelming flow of warmth coming from his harshly spoken words. You wished for him to touch you, take you, relieve the aching within you, put out the burning heat inside you — anything to rid you of the desperation crawling under your skin, the neediness in your very blood. For him, only ever for him. Even if it took you far too long to realize what you had begun to feel for your stoic husband there was no denying it now.

“Touch me,” you whispered, barely able to make your voice heard. “Please, Richard, I-, I feel as if I’ll go mad,” you whined while drowning in the lust within his eyes. “Such a needy wife,” he said, but there was a hunger in his voice you’d never heard before. “For you, only.” His nostrils flared at that and you were on your back a second later with him snuggled between your legs. “Tell me to stop, and I will.” You nodded and he kissed your lips once, softly. “Say the words,” he urged while your entire body tensed as the ridge of his cock nudged something far too sensitive between your legs. ��I’ll tell you to stop,” you exhaled and he kissed the tip of your nose gently. “Good wife.” Those words, in his baritone voice, sent a shiver of pleasure down your spine.

He kissed you, first softly and then ardently. Your motions turned sloppy as his tongue dived deeper and his hand found your breast. He stroked your nipple through the nightdress’ fabric yet it sent jolts of pleasure through your entire body, echoing in your core. Your thighs clenched around his hips, the tip of his cock nudging at your entrance with only the nightdress between you.

He grabbed the hem and pulled in one swift motion, your back never even left the mattress below. You panted, your body on fire, his lips smashed against yours and his hand travelled to your thigh. His warm palm seemed scorching. “Sweet, sweet wife,” he murmured as he moved to kiss your neck. “P-please,” you whimpered. “In due time,” he said. “I must prepare you, I have no wish to harm you, love.” “H-harm me?” you gasped as his finger nudged your outer lips, already slicked with moisture. “Hmm,” he hummed while his finger slid between your folds, up and down in a half-gentle motion. “So wet for me, such a good wife you are,” he praised and your heart nearly imploded at the lovely words.

His finger dipped, and then he pushed it inside you. You jolted at the intrusion, a whimpered moan escaping as a searing erupted within you. “Fuck, you are so lovely.” His finger slid in and out. “So wet, so warm, so pure,” he continued and you grasped at his back, the damn robe in the way for you to feel his skin. “Robe, Richard, your robe,” you said and he half sat up.

The sash was undone and the view he posed had you gulping down a breath. His chest was dusted with grey hair, his soft but still firm stomach and… his cock. Bulging, standing at full attention, and nearly angrily red with veins wrapping around it. Your tongue darted out and licked your lips, for some reason your mouth watered at the sight and you couldn’t understand why. Your insides seemed to churn at the image he posed, something darkly alluring about his whole presence.

He withdrew his finger and you whimpered at the loss, but he quickly disrobed and pushed back inside. He remained seated between your spread thighs though, posing an intimidating view towering above you — all powerful. “Beautiful,” he said and you felt heat creep all over your chest and neck, burning your cheeks. His eyes roamed all over you, like a starved man laying eyes on a meal fit for a king.

Your back arched as he added a second finger, spreading you wider but moving quite gently. The next second his lips latched around your nipple, sucking and licking in perfect tandem to make your entire body curl with need. “Haa— Richard! Please,” you moaned. He upped the tempo of his fingers and you cried out as his thumb rubbed the sensitive little bud at the very top.

Your insides rippled and contracted around his fingers while you reached out to grab his shoulders, needing to hold on to something once more as your body nearly quaked with yearning as he released your nipple and kissed his way up your chest. “Your perfect cunt is mine,” he whispered by your ear. “Mine.” “Yes, yours,” you panted.

His hand left you and you whimpered in distress at the lack of him. “Look at me,” he demanded. “I want to see you.” You hooked your gaze in his, sweat misted your skin and your chest heaved while you tensed with trepidation. His hand moved and your eyes flicked down, seeing him stroke his cock — lubricating it with your slick — had you gasping. How-, how is that supposed to— “Look at me,” he demanded anew and your eyes snapped up. “I shall be as gentle as I can, love,” he promised and leaned forward, capturing your lips.

You felt him move closer, but your eyes drowned in his. His cock poked at your entrance and you tensed but he forced his tongue inside your mouth and when yours took up the dance he offered he pushed himself inside in one swift motion. Your head was thrown back, a cry echoing through the room as you took all of him right away. The tension was unbearable, the fullness wonderful, the heat a searing companion spurring pain. You writhed beneath him, feeling too full yet perfectly filled at the same time.

Richard held still, it gave you a moment to adjust a bit to his girth. The initial stab of pain ebbed away while your channel softened. Then he moved, slowly at first while your body found its equilibrium and the pain was soon enough lost to a throbbing pleasure. You grasped at his shoulders while he kissed your neck before rising on his forearms. “So good,” he groaned as he upped the tempo. “You are — fuck — so good, so, perfect,” he groaned between thrusts while your legs wrapped around his hips. “Richard, haa— oh, oh god,” you moaned. “I need — ohh — please I need—” Your voice was lost to a loud moan as he upped the pace to a pounding and you felt both pain and pleasure once more. Your body struggled against the rapid movement yet you wanted more. 

“My sweet — ugh — wife, how long I’ve-, I’ve waited for your perfect cunt,” he groaned and rose all the way, his cock stroking a new spot inside you. It drove you mad with the ever-growing need for something you couldn’t term. You grabbed at the sheet beneath you, tried to find the words for what you needed. But you were lost to the sensations, the fullness, the warmth, the tension and the building of something that had you tethering on the line between worry and need.

You tensed further, that elusive something built far too quickly when his thumb began stroking your sensitive nub again. You moaned his name, a pleading almost, and he upped the pace once more. The tension, the stretching, the fear-mixed longing — it all fought for your attention.

“Love,” he groaned. “Love — oh fuck — you’re so good, such a perfectly tight cunt for my cock to fill.” “Please, please I-, I need-, need— Haaa-! ” you cried as your entire body tensed with a wave of pleasure crashing over you, shaking you to your core. “Yes,” Richard moaned. “Give it up, love,” he said and you released the tension, trusting in him through your hazy existence narrowed to him claiming you. He groaned as your insides pulsed, your muscles quaked and the world stopped existing while pleasure eradicated all thoughts. Your entire existence then turned into just the pleasure he gave, the pulsing of him inside you as he stilled and moaned deeply. The sounds he made prolonged your orgasm and you felt as if you were floating on clouds, warm, trembling clouds.

His soft lips half slanted and half kissed their way up your neck, his warm breath fanned over your sensitive skin and you trembled beneath him. “You are perfection like this, love,” he said before licking at the pulse point below your ear. “But next time I will not be so gentle when you drive me to madness.” It wasn’t a threat, more a promise that had you shivering before wrapping your arms around him. “Please,” you only said as he laid a bit more of his weight atop you and with the motion his half-limp cock slipped out of you, making you hiss. “You did so well,” he praised. “My good, sweet, perfect wife,” he continued and the praise did things to you, things you couldn’t understand but wanted more of.

Was that so strange? Your husband, the great Judge Turpin, was a stoic and cold man. Never had you thought he could be so tender, so sweet, so caring and soft-spoken. It made you tingle all over and, secretly, you hope to be the only one to ever hear such sweetness come from that perfect mouth of his. That wish, however, stirred a memory of the words written by women of insufficient schooling across three Christmas cards waiting downstairs. You pushed the thought away, staying in the warm sensation of your husband's embrace, loving that he was holding you so close in the aftermath of giving away your innocence.

“Let’s clean up,” Richard said and moved away from you. You instantly felt cold, bereft. Something within you was not quite satisfied at the quick end to your shared closeness, but you didn’t say a thing. After all, so much had happened, changed, unfolded, in such a short time you had no idea if you were merely overwhelmed. When you had wed the man you had only felt there were two possible outcomes regarding your virginity and neither of those had any sweetness to them. Don’t think about that now, you scolded yourself as Richard’s warm hand grabbed yours.

He dressed you in your robe and sent you to the bathroom, giving you time and space to do whatever you needed. Truth be told, you felt a little lonely at the quick dismissal. Was I not good enough? But, he said so? Said I was perfect, and good… Your thoughts spun while you washed yourself quickly. When you returned to the bedroom Richard had already left. So you dressed in silence and then went downstairs.

⩤• Turpin •⩥

He endeavoured to busy himself with a book, the words unreadable as he thought of your body beneath his, the sounds you had made and what a perfect slice of heaven your soaked cunt had been. Truly worth every speck of patience I have mustered… The fact he had wished to lavish you with kisses, touches and several more orgasms after claiming your purity lingered in his mind. Never had he wished to pleasure a woman just for their sake. He had, of course, known it to be impossible as you were surely sore after his claiming so he had sent you to clean up before he would have done something that could have caused you to lose the trust you now seemed to offer him.

He sighed, attempting to focus on the words in the book once more, but no matter how he tried he only saw your beautiful face contorted with pain-rimmed pleasure wherever he looked. His cock began to harden anew so he crossed his legs, staving off the urges you muddled his mind with.

He hoped you weren’t too hurt by his cock claiming your perfect cunt, he wished to do so again at the earliest possible but that would require you to heal and feel ready anew. He would wait, though. By God, he would wait for you. I am perhaps ruined for all other women out in the world now. One cunt, only one perfect cunt should take my cock and seed from now on. My sweet wife’s…

He wondered how far he could take you, how high he could drive you and how dark he could turn you in tastes of the flesh. He was a wicked man, no denying such an obvious fact, yet with you, he would hold back. He would attempt to take his sweet time teaching you, caring for you, showing you all the pleasures of your body and his if you were to allow him. He’d had plenty of practice, done more than enough research on the matter and — truth be told — he was a rather skilled man in the bedroom department. There’s a reason the whores came crawling back, of course. What a shame none will ever reach up to Y/n, could have been easier with a woman already trained to— no, no none could ever replace my sweet wife or her perfect cunt.

Richard sank deeper into thought while he wondered how he could make sure you were willing to be his in every manner possible for all time to come. Sure, you were wed and divorce was out of the question, he had vowed before God to be by your side until death claimed one and he would hold that vow no matter what. Yet, it had taken him six months to claim you fully, how much longer would it take before he could be fully free with you in every manner he wished? A year? Two? Too long, unacceptable.

He pondered for another moment but no matter how he twisted it he knew he would never want you to feel anything but pleasure and want with him. He was certain he could make you his entirely if he did it all correctly, nicely, differently from how he had gone about things before. You have changed so much, love… He was still a stoic, harsh, dark sort of man. He wished to be caring with you though, even if his fantasies for what he could share with you mingled pain and pleasure — turning the two into one and he could not understand how he was to make you see he truly cared for you, wanted you, loved you beyond compare when such dark urges were curling beneath his skin.

⩤• You •⩥

You found him the parlour. He wore his usual golden attire, except no coat. Just the vest and white shirt beneath it. You had opted for a mossy green dress, not one of the big puffy ones but a simpler one — only for wearing at home in comfort — yet it was pretty and hugged your forms rather nicely.

“Richard?” you asked and he looked up from the book he was reading by the hearth. He laid it down on the table next to the three Christmas cards you hated with an insecure passion, having read them only yesterday, when they arrived in the morning, addressed to Richard and signed with sickeningly sweet female names. You walked in, sitting yourself down on the sofa next to him without glancing at them again. They felt like an even bigger slight now, after what you'd given him and how he'd nearly turned you away afterwards.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, and you shook your head. “Do not hide things from me,” he said, a sternness to his voice. “I’m not hiding.” Your fingers fidgeted a bit atop your thighs and he grasped both of your hands with one of his. “Hurt?” “No… I’m fine,” you said while heat crept along your cheeks, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to look him in the eye. It was both true and not. “Then, what?”

It took you a moment to gather your courage, to gather your thoughts as well. But once you had you turned toward him while the coals in the hearth had the room in a warm glow of red. Its heat wasn’t enough to fully warm the room but enough to keep it from growing too cold, with Richard so close heat wasn’t really a problem though. Just looking at him warmed you, yet your mind was muddled with all that had happened and the things you wanted to say weren't what sprung to mind. You wanted to ask if he was pleased with you, wanted to ask if he would hold you close, wanted to ask if you were good enough for him despite your inexperience, and if he truly had meant what he'd said about you being his love. That last one had your heart in a twist, you wished for it so badly as you now knew why all the things he did and said meant so much to you. You loved him. You had truly grown to love the man. A man you hardly knew despite the six months you had been a pair.

“Why do you hate Christmas?” you asked, not sugarcoating it at all but choosing a topic that felt safer than the rest you wished to talk about. Richard blinked and sighed, attempting to remove his hands from yours which only made you grab on harder to him. “Talk to me, tell me why you-, why you were so brutal with me…” “Love, I apologize for my reaction.” “Apology accepted.” He nodded at that, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “But explain,” you continued while wondering if that first word had been a false endearment or a truth. “It’s a rough, unpleasant holiday for me, leave it at that.” “No.” “No?” “No.”

You held his gaze as he looked at you, stunned for a second at your harsher tone. But you remained still, unwavering. You needed something from him, anything, while you thought of whores (who you hoped remained in the past) sending Christmas cards to your husband while you weren't even allowed to decorate your home for the holiday in the slightest. “It is none of your concern.” “It’s my favourite holiday and my husband's well-being we’re talking about. So, tell me, please.” “No. I will not speak of it. Leave it be,” he bit out, his hand tugging free from yours. The uncomfortable feeling you had from before grew into a loneliness. You had just given him your purity, showed him you loved him, and forgiven his cruelty toward you — yet he could not give you this? He could not speak with you while overly sweet, longing-filled cards lay on the table for him, writings of wants and needs and sweetness in less than accurate spelling by women he surely had had intimate relations with several times given the words within those cards.

“You are cruel,” you whispered, glancing at the floor for a second while your stomach churned. “What?” “You heard me. You’re a cruel man, Richard,” you said flatly, but your eyes brimmed with tears as you looked up at him. “Not a single kindness showed after— Not one. I'm in love with a cruel man…” You rose from the sofa as you spoke. Not wanting to sit next to him when you felt so broken, so vulnerable, taken advantage of. Was it all pretend for him? A conquest? A physical need as easily relieved by a whore? Perhaps I’m no more than the whores he used to take… They speak of him as if he was most kind to them, pampering and lavishing. Perhaps I’m less than a whore?

You shook your head, a broken and quiet laugh spilling out while you whispered the word “whore” to yourself. The dread and chill of the thoughts crept in and you hugged yourself, suddenly feeling too exposed in the sleek dress you’d chosen for comfort — in the hopes of sitting close to your husband, to feel his warmth through the fabric and banish the worry that had bloomed in your heart.

Richard hadn’t once spoken words of affection, words of care, words of love or tenderness. Only praise, while he was touching your body… It made you feel dirty, used. The sensation of loneliness peaked when you glanced at the Christmas cards, all for Richard and none for you. All you wished to do was burn them. Burn the words, rid yourself of the feeling of being so worthless to a man you’d grown to love, trust, and care for.

“Whores don’t get cards,” you whispered. “What are you whispering about?” Richard asked while you spun around, tears streaking down your cheeks while your eyes flicked between him and the glowing coal to his left. “Whores don't get Christmas cards,” you said more clearly as you bent and grabbed the papers in red, green, and white. “But they fucking send them,” you snarled and threw them into the hearth. One landed on the carpet, two took to flames in a matter of seconds and Richard swiftly rose from the sofa in a far too elegant motion.

“Perhaps I should have been a whore, obviously they receive kinder treatment than your sweet wife,” you snarled and you had no idea what had taken over your mind. You never spoke harshly, you were raised to be proper, to be a lady at all times. But this, this whole situation, it hurt. You were hurting so deeply a knife could have been stuck in your heart and it would have been less painful than the emotions running rampant.

You ran out of the room, tears and sobs taken with you while abandoning the man you loved. The cruel man Mrs Lowel had nearly convinced you you mattered to, that you were special for, that you were important to. “How could I ever be so stupid… And now I gave him everything,” you said between sobs as you half-stumbled up the stairs. He didn’t come after you.

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Well that took quite a turn there, didn't it? And another cliffhanger, who could ever have guessed 😂😂😂 I feel like this Rickmas is the Rickmas of Cliffhangers 😅 Gosh, I hope you're not too upset about that as we are doing longer, more in-depth stories this year - can't have the good without the bad I guess (I do love cliffhangers when I know I'll get the next part though) ❤ Now, how we feeling? We ready to go even darker in the next part perhaps? 👀🤭

Q: If you could have Alan play one character he never got to play, which one would it be? A: For me it would be Judge Claude Frollo in a live-action remake of the Disney movie - that is probably no surprise to those who have been with me for a while but gosh, he would have made such a perfect Frollo 😩👌🔥

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[Dec:2023]

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 2 - SECRET WATCHING

Pairing : Judge Turpin x OC

Summary : 5 years. 5 years that The Death's Judge had noticed you. 5 years he was watcing you in silence. But now, it's time to speak out if he doesn't want to lose you... for ever.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Angst. Violence towards a woman. Manipulation. Deceptiveness.

A/N : I didn't proofread, therefore let me know (or not) if there are any too obvious mistakes.

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

It had been a long time since he had noticed you. 5 years, 8 months, 23 days and 6 hours to be exact.

Lord Richard Turpin, High Judge of London, The Death's Judge, was a man of precision, even more so when it came to you. 

It was a cold and foggy evening in November that he had noticed you. You were walking down Fleet Street, your bun letting loose little unruly hairs that flew in the wind and in your hands, you held books. On your back, you had a coat much too thin for the harsh winter that was coming.

Who were you ?

This question haunted him the second you raised your big green eyes to him without seeing him.

That evening, he had followed you under the pretext that nothing happened to you. After all, the streets of London can be dangerous, especially in the middle of the night, when they are lit only by the weak lanterns that adorn the sidewalks of the City without really illuminating it.

A creature as beautiful as you... what an unconscious judge he would have been not to stay hidden in the shadows to watch over you... and find out where you lived.

You entered a small modest house in a poor neighborhood of Bloomsbury, in a small shop where the sign read [[Y/S] - Watchmaker].

Now that he knew your address and your supposed last name, he rushed to his gloomy mansion without wasting a second. In the comfort of his leather armchair, far from the slums of London, he waited for his faithful and deceitful secretary while watching the wood fire crackling in the fireplace of his office. He found himself wondering if you were shivering with cold in your small house that must have let the wind through every window. If that was the case, he wanted to be the one to warm you up... even if he had to learn that you were married.

"BEADLE !" he had shouted, putting down the book that he wasn't even trying to call a book.

"My lord ?" The Beadle had asked in his honeyed voice, appearing out of nowhere, like a rat waiting for a good reason to come out of its hole.

"Find me everything you can about a young woman. Her name is [Y/S]. She lives in the deprived area along Goodge Street."

It didn't take much for The Beadle to come back in just a few days with everything Richard was burning to know.

Your full name was [Y/N] [Y/S]. The watchmaker's shop you had entered belonged to your father, but it barely allowed you to live decently. You weren't married and no fiancé was in sight. This last piece of information had strangely relieved Richard.

You were a little schoolteacher with no real official qualification except for a certificate with no real value, but the little informal girls' school you worked for didn't care about your qualifications. You knew how to read, write and count to teach these poor little girls to do the same in addition to learning sewing, embroidery and all those domestic tasks that would become theirs.

Richard deduced that you had to work hard for a salary that must have been very meager, but according to The Beadle, that didn't stop you from doing your job well. Your students liked you, especially since you were the only teacher who didn't beat them with that long wooden stick that bruised the hands of the other little girls in the school and the parents had no complaints about you.

And after that, he had continued to observe you. For a long time. Without ever trying to approach you, but not without acting. Indeed, strangely enough, your father had found himself counting lords and important men among his clientele. Your school had received new notebooks and the stoves that heated the classrooms had never run out of coal in 5 years.

And yet, he had never tried to speak to you. Certainly not because he was too embarrassed by your 20-year age gap or your differences in social class. No, it was much darker than that. You exuded innocence, purity and Richard, in his depraved nature, wanted to take all that away from you. He knew that the moment he allowed himself to be close to you, that he would say hello and let you know that he had noticed you, he would ruin all that pure beauty that was in you. Because he wanted you and what he wanted to do to you would have made God himself blush.

5 years he had been watching you, his heart singing for you every time he saw you while you were in total ignorance. How could you have suspected for a single second that you had made the terrible Lord Turpin fall in love ?

Oh, you knew his name, he was certain of it. Everyone in London knew the terrible Richard Turpin, The Death's Judge. But no one could have imagined that a man like him could have let such a pretty little thing as you creep into his mind so much that it was your face that he saw when he was fucking the whores of Whitechapel.

In five years, he had never seen you with any friend. Sometimes your father accompanied you on your walks, but most of the time, you were alone. Always impeccable, despite the modesty of your outfits, always friendly and smiling, there was nevertheless no one around you.

Until last week. For the first time, Richard felt his heart pinch, almost break, at the sight of a young man who walked beside you, a stupid smile on his face. He was clean on him, of a higher class than yours, but certainly not higher than Richard's.

Jealousy completely consumed Richard in the face of this sight.

It hadn't taken more than half a day for Richard to have a detailed report on this young man who answered to the name of Robert Crawford. He had hoped to find something, anything, to send this impertinent little boy who had set his sights on you to the depths of a colony in Australia. But nothing. He had found nothing and neither had The Beadle and it made Richard sick.

He could not bear that you had finally found the one who was going to take you away from your father and take your purity, especially this purity.

Robert came from a family of rich merchants and he himself was a fierce and renowned trader. However, there was something about this Robert that Richard did not like. He could not say what, but there was something disturbing about this young man.

Perhaps it was this reserve that you always seemed to have around him. You only half smiled and in truth, you did not really seem in love with him. But it was not surprising. Few women had the luxury of dreaming of love, even less when, like you, they had no money. Marriage was not a matter of the heart but of pragmatism.

On the contrary, Robert never failed to smile in your presence, but it seemed false to Richard. This man was hiding something, he was certain of it, his cold, calculating and manipulative nature had never deceived him and he promised himself to keep an eye on this young man.

For the first time, he had hesitated to come and talk to you. He could have easily torn you away from this boy, but it would have been so hypocritical of him. It was surely not better, he who had often wondered what he would feel if he took you on his desk in court between two trials.

Months passed and this young man became more and more present in your life, until Richard saw a ring with a tiny diamond adorning your finger. And yet, you still did not seem happy. There was no excitement in your eyes, only resignation.

And once again, he did nothing, waiting to see the banns announce your marriage and when they finally came out, he felt his world collapse, his certainties fly away, his heart break for good, he who had always thought he was made of nothing but ice. In two months, you would become Mrs. Crawford.

It was three weeks before your wedding that something changed. You were crossing the street when Richard saw you, but what he noticed most was the bruise on your cheek. Black. Painful. And finally, he understood why this Robert was bothering him so much, why his instinct was screaming at him to send this man to the end of the world or to the end of a rope.

Taken by an impulse, Richard crossed the street to find himself in your path and gently jostled you, as if nothing had happened, making the books you were holding in your trembling hands fall.

"Forgive me, miss, I was distracted," Richard lied.

"It's nothing," you replied as you bent down, not even daring to look up at him.

He bent down to help you, holding out a hand to help you up while his other hand held two of your books. You finally looked up at his, your big green eyes widening in surprise when you recognized the man who had just helped you.

"Lord Turpin," you said in a breath.

"So you know who I am," Turpin said softly with a sad smile.

He was not fooled, if you knew his name, it was because of his terrible reputation and nothing was made up. What earned him the nickname The Death's Judge came from his ruthless judgments, his austere nature and his ability to manipulate the course of events to his will.

"Your cheek," he said softly, unable to take his eyes off the dark stain, that even though didn't spoil your beauty.

"I fell against a piece of furniture," you whispered, looking away.

Liar, Richard thought. You had been slapped. Hard. Probably hard enough to make you fall. But that mark on your face was a mark made by a hand. The hand of a man. Certainly the hand of the man who would soon swear to love and protect you.

A shiver ran down Richard's spine thinking about it. You were going to marry a man who was going to make your life hell, who would beat you every chance he got and who would make a shadow of you. In three weeks, you would no longer be allowed to teach. You would be a prisoner in your own house and corrected for every sideways glance. He would teach you not to think for yourself anymore, because every time you tried to contradict him, he would remind you of your place with a good slap... or worse.

"A very brutal piece of furniture," Richard said coldly.

"Yes, indeed," you answered in a whisper.

"Can I walk you home, miss..." he asked, pretending not to know your name.

"[Y/N], my name is [Y/N] [Y/S]."

"A very pretty name, Miss [Y/S]," he said before asking you again if he could walk beside you.

"I don't think that's a good idea."

Richard hadn't missed the glint of panic that had crossed your eyes. The hold had already begun. You couldn't even talk to a man without fear of being punished. He wondered if your father knew or if you had told him the story of the furniture and he had believed it.

"In that case, be careful. The streets of London can be dangerous in the dark for a woman," he said without taking his piercing gaze away from your small, frail figure.

"Closed doors are even more dangerous," you replied in spite of yourself before greeting him respectfully and leaving.

Indeed, closed doors could be dangerous, but enough of watching you in secret. Richard knew. Richard was going to act. This marriage would not take place, he promised himself that.

The Beadle was tasked with finding something, anything that could legally indict this young man from a good family. Richard had to play it smart, he wasn't going after some scumbag from the London slums. The Crawford family, though untitled, had some good allies thanks to their money.

But when, three days later, he saw you with a split lip and a new bruise near your nose, a dull anger filled him, and nothing was going to stop him from getting rid of this Robert.

"Miss [Y/S]," you heard behind you.

You turned around with a start before raising an eyebrow in surprise when you recognized Lord Turpin.

"Your furniture seems to particularly hold a grudge against you," Richard said immediately without giving you time to greet him formally.

"I..."

"No lies, miss. I am the High Judge of London, I punish lies," he interrupted you.

You looked down, not knowing what to say.

"Is it the action of your fiancé ?"

You looked up at him questioningly before looking away again, unable to meet his piercing gaze.

"Miss [Y/S], are you in danger ?"

"I don't know," you answered in a breath, tears in your eyes.

Richard grabbed your arm roughly and dragged you inside the courthouse to his office. You didn't even have the strength to protest, too surprised by his actions, also afraid that someone in the street had seen you and would report it to Robert. That you had let another man touch you would earn you a new punishment, you knew that.

"Sit down," Turpin ordered you, closing the heavy wooden door of his office behind you.

You obeyed without daring to look at him, wondering what he was going to do. You had nothing to reproach yourself for, but you were not afraid that he would imprison you. Your recent experiences had taught you that there were many other things you had to fear from a man.

"When did it start ?" Richard asked, coming to sit in front of you.

"Why do you care ?" you asked, raising your chin a little.

Richard smiled imperceptibly. You were certainly not broken. You still had the strength to rebel, your flame was not extinguished, this man had not yet completely subjugated you by making terror your worst enemy.

"Miss [Y/S], it is my duty to worry about the citizens of London."

You finally looked him in the eye, a small ironic smile on your lips that Richard didn't miss.

"I can protect you, Miss [Y/S]. But you have to tell me the truth for that."

You hesitated. Even though he was the highest authority in the court, you weren't sure that a man like him could be trusted. Not without having to pay the price. But at this point, it was after all, choosing between the plague or cholera.

"I..." you began, hesitant, not knowing what to say.

"Is he your fiancé ?" Richard asked again.

"Yes," you finally answered.

"When ?"

You shook your head, hoping to stop the tears that had just welled up in your beautiful, bruised eyes from flowing.

"A little after the marriage proposal. He..."

The tears began to flow in spite of yourself. Richard handed you his handkerchief embroidered with his initials. You took it, trembling, and you finally tell everything.

You had met Robert by chance in your father's shop and he had courted you almost immediately. You weren't really interested in this young man, but he was kind, well-mannered, and above all he had money. It was this last criterion that had pushed your father to encourage you to frequent him. Your father was not unaware that when he died, you would inherit nothing and he could not bear the idea of ​​you ending up on the street. It was not your meager income as a schoolteacher that could have supported you.

At first, Robert was only kind. He covered you with gifts, his parents seemed happy to welcome you into the family, and you had ended up telling yourself that with time, you could learn to love him. But after the marriage proposal, he had changed. It had first been a slap in the face because you had reprimanded him for a simple language error. Then another, and another, until he promised to "re-educate" you once you were married. As if to prove his point, he had hit you with the hand that held your family's signet ring, splitting your lip. Each time, it was for stupid reasons. Because you were too smart, because you were too intelligent, because you had said no.

"And your father, does he know?"

"No !" you cried, "he must not know. He would kill Lord Turpin and I do not want my father to be hanged," you said quickly.

Richard clenched his fists. He too wanted to kill him, this Robert who thought he could beat you for his own pleasure.

"And he believes your stories about falling on a piece of furniture ?" Richard asked coldly.

"I don't think so," you murmured, "but I don't want my father to get into trouble."

Richard's features softened slightly. Of course, as a good, loving daughter, you didn't want your father to have blood on his hands because of you. But you were the one who would end up dead if this match went through.

"Do you really have to marry him ?"

"I said yes, the banns have been published," you answered as if it were obvious.

"You could go away, hide yourself," Richard suggested.

"But where would I go ? I only have my father and he's too old to start a new life anywhere else. All he has is here in London and his job has worn him down more than he'll ever admit."

Richard watched you, letting the silence settle between you. You shifted slightly, uneasy under his scrutiny. He had a plan. A plan that wouldn't alienate anyone, an immediate solution to get you out of this situation. After that, he would have plenty of time to take care of this Robert Crawford.

"I have a home in Scotland. You would be safe there. The governess who lives there and takes care of the house will watch over you. You would be housed and fed and you would want for nothing."

You raised your head, surprised by this proposal.

"Going to Scotland ?" you asked suspiciously.

"Indeed."

And be his without really being his. To be far from this Robert. Protected. This country house in the depths of the Highlands was occupied only by a governess and by the ghosts of his past, the screams of his mother and the sound of his father's belt falling on his back at the slightest reason. A house filled with shadow and bad memories that he had not been able to bring himself to sell after his father's disappearance. His mother had stayed living in their main home, leaving Richard this place that he had never liked but that today would finally find its use.

"I... I don't know," you said, hesitant.

"You will be very alone, I'm afraid. But no one will come looking for you there. You will be fine there and protected, I promise you."

"But... and my father ?"

"I will keep an eye on him, but it might be wiser not to tell him where you are going."

"And the wedding ?"

"You want it to happen ? You know the miserable life you'll have if you marry this man. And if you ever have children, they'll live in fear. Fear of their mother getting beaten, fear of their father's violence falling on them while you stand there, too afraid of getting another beating after the children," he spat vehemently.

You shuddered as you heard him say the cold truth, a truth you guessed he had known when he was younger.

"What's the price ?" you finally asked.

"The price ?" Richard repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"What's the price of your protection, Lord Turpin?"

Richard, fascinated by your frankness, wanted to tell you that the price would be that you would be his. But he said nothing. You would become his, but at your own pace. He wouldn't force it on you, and you'd end up believing it came from you.

"Nothing at all, I promise you."

"I don't believe you. Everything has a price. You're The Death's Judge. I can't believe you are doing something for free for a complete stranger," you said briskly.

"Believe me, miss [Y/S], you're not a stranger to me," he replied mysteriously.

A cold sweat ran down your spine. He had noticed you. You weren't sure if that was a good thing.

"If you agree, we'll go see your father and tell him why we're going to scare you away. But, we'll be careful not to tell him where. If you want to write to him, you will have to address the letters to me and I promise to get them to him."

You felt trapped. Trapped on all sides. Trapped by this marriage that you didn't know how to get out of, trapped by Lord Turpin who had just made you an offer that you feared was poisonous. But you also knew that he was right. Robert had shown you his true nature. He would end up breaking you.

"What if he hurts my father ?" you asked.

"Do you think he is so influential ?"

"He certainly does. And his family is rich. Money rules everything, you must know that, Lord Turpin."

"Indeed, Miss [Y/S], but his family is only a small merchant family. They do have some contacts in high society, but certainly not in the nobility," he said firmly, "and... they have me as an enemy now," he added coldly.

You shivered when you heard him say that, but when he gently moved his hand towards your scarred face, you didn't move. However, he gave you the space you needed to do so, you could have backed away a thousand times before he gently placed his warm palm against your cheek. He gently caressed your bruises before whispering:

"Accept, miss [Y/S], and I promise you that you will be safe."

And without even realizing it, you whispered yes.

Richard didn't wait a second longer to send The Beadles to get your father. The poor man arrived all trembling in the judge's office, but when he saw you, his protective instincts immediately kicked in awake.

"[Y/N], are you in trouble ?" he asked you, genuinely worried.

"Indeed, mister [Y/S], trouble that you should have noticed instead of encouraging your daughter to marry that Crawford," Richard scolded.

Your father looked at him with wide eyes, but his face darkened when Richard told him what you had been through when you weren't even married yet. Your father didn't like the idea of ​​letting you go, especially not without knowing where and especially not under Lord Turpin's tutelage, but when you told him that you were afraid Robert would kill you, your father finally gave in.

That same evening, he had you get into one of his carriages. After you kissed your father one last time, Richard had you get into the carriage, cozy and provided with blankets and soft cushions.

"My coachman is a trustworthy man. You will arrive in Scotland in a week and he will keep you safe the whole journey."

"You promise to watch over my father ?" you asked gently.

"I promise," Richard replied firmly before handing you a letter, "don't open it until you arrive in Scotland. Please."

The please, spoken with such vulnerability made your heart beat a little faster.

"You are intelligent... and brave. You deserve the best. I promise you that you will have nothing to fear in Scotland, no one will come looking for you there."

Before you could answer, Richard had already turned away, his gaze dark, already busy thinking of a plan to get rid of Robert Crawford.

Throughout the journey, you clutched the letter in your hands, aware that it must contain much more than just words, but you held on without ever opening it. The journey was long, tiring and the coachman was not very talkative, but as Richard had promised you, he had watched over you like an eagle.

Once you arrived in Scotland, you were greeted by a stern-looking lady, the famous governess of the mansion.

"Miss [Y/S], I presume ? I have received a letter from Lord Turpin announcing your arrival. Come in, I will show you to your room."

The natural authority of the old governess did not make you want to upset her. She looked a lot like her master, you thought with a small, discreet laugh. She briefly introduced you to the mansion before showing you to your room.

"I'll let you settle in, miss," she said before leaving, leaving you alone.

It was a large room with off-white walls. Thick velvet drapes framed large windows that looked out onto a magnificent garden that winter had not yet extinguished with its biting cold.

You waited for nightfall and, after sharing dinner with the governess who was much more kind than you had imagined, you retired to your room. With trembling hands, yous grabbed the letter, opened it, and by candlelight you lost yourself in Richard's words, words that filled an entire page in firm handwriting.

"Miss [Y/S],

[Y/N],

I haven't been completely honest with you. It's been a long time since I noticed you. 5 years, 11 months and 28 days, to be exact.

I don't know how to reveal the depth of what I feel for you without scaring you, but the truth is that my heart started beating faster the moment I looked into your green eyes without you even really noticing me.

It's not for lack of courage that I never approached you before that day when I understood that your life was in danger. It's out of love that I never wanted to enter your life.

My nature... my nature is not the noblest. You are such a pure creature [Y/N] and I refuse to corrupt this beauty, this purity with the darkness that surrounds me.

Here, in Scotland, you can choose to start a new life, far from London, far from memories that you probably want to forget.

[Y/N], I love you and when I come to see you, it will not be as a judge, it will not be as a protector. It will be as a man in love and I will leave you the choice to do what you desire with my heart.

Richard Turpin"

You had a lump in your throat, you didn't know what to think. Millions of emotions passed through you, violent, like waves that submerged you. That night, you didn't sleep. The following nights, you only fell asleep after rereading the letter, again, again and again.

Meanwhile, in London, Turpin and Beadle Bamford were working on a... Machiavellian plan.

"I have a plan, my lord. It will require... some financial means of course," Beadle told Turpin with a sly smile.

"It doesn't matter as long as there is nothing to link us to what is going to happen," Turpin replied in a cold voice.

"Believe me, my lord, you will never be implicated."

"What part will that little rascal you found, Bamford, play ?"

"A foreign investor. He will flatter your nemesis by promising to make him even richer than his own father. A personal fortune that he will think he can build on his own without papa's help."

"Good. Good. I know men like that well. They always want more and they take even when they don't deserve it," Turpin muttered darkly.

It had only taken one poor but desperately rich young man to bring Robert down. In a luxuriously decorated office rented by Turpin in a prestigious club in central London, the young man dressed like a true gentleman by Bamford stood before Crawford with a simple but terribly dishonest offer. Richard knew the world well enough to know that every man, even the most perfect, had flaws and for the majority of them, money was their greatest weakness. Despite his family's wealth, Robert was one of them.

"Don't worry, Mr. Crawford. The deals I propose are common in our circles. Money is moving discreetly, and I promise you that your income will be... tripled."

The man hired by The Beadle had learned his lines well. The deal was simple: he would get Robert involved in suspicious business and in exchange he would receive a substantial sum of money... on the condition that he go into exile in Australia where an honest job was already waiting for him for a certain Elliot Marston, a cousin of Richard who would keep an eye on the corrupt man if ever he got the idea of ​​blackmailing the High Judge of London.

"Laws are made to be circumvented," Robert replied, "I am not a novice. Prepare the documents and let's conclude this matter quickly."

And while hidden in the shadows, Richard watched with the hint of a carnivorous smile, the trap had just closed on Crawford.

A surprise inspection of the goods received orchestrated anonymously by Richard and the rumor was launched. Robert, ruined, was not a man to be trusted. He laundered money, made fraudulent investments and in less than a month, the reputation of the entire family was tarnished and Robert, arrested, was brought before Richard.

"Mr. Crawford, you have flouted the laws of our beautiful country. You have humiliated yourself and you have humiliated the name of your family! The evidence is overwhelming: commercial fraud, money laundering and fraud," Turpin listed, icy.

"That is false! It's a plot!" cried Robert in a vain attempt to defend himself.

"Out of kindness to your parents who have a respected name in worldly circles, I will spare you the rope. In the name of the Crown, it will be forced labour in a sugar colony in America," said Turpin without blinking.

He struck his gavel without a glance at Robert, but inwardly Richard gloated. He did. He left the courtroom and went to his office. He threw his powdered wig on a chair before turning to Beadle with a broad smile.

"My friend, once again you have been brilliant," Richard whispered.

"I live only to serve you, my lord," Beadle replied, honeyed.

A week later, Robert boarded a ship for the Americas without his family even trying to buy his freedom. The Crawfords were far too humiliated by their son's actions and in a hope of not falling out of the good graces of the nobility, Crawford senior had publicly disowned his son.

In the cab that took him to Scotland, Richard was torn. Now you knew he had noticed you and if you had read his letter, you knew he loved you. But could you ever love him back ?

What does it matter, he thought. He had gotten rid of that parasite Robert and he would never touch you again. If you were Richard's, his hands would never lay on you to hurt you. Oh, he would make you scream, for sure, but only from pleasure. But would you be able to see beyond the shadows that surrounded him ?

As Christmas approached, that holiday that Richard abhorred more than anything, the Scottish moor was already covered in a thin white film. The smoking smoke from his house indicated that you were nice and warm and he had no doubt that the old governess was watching over you as he had asked her to.

"Lord Turpin," you murmured when he came back into the living room where you were busy embroidering a handkerchief.

"Miss [Y/S], I wanted to come in person to tell you that you have nothing more to fear. Never."

You looked down, intimidated, before telling him in a whisper that you had read his letter. Richard looked at you attentively but you did not dare to look up at him. For the first time, he was unable to probe the mind of another human being.

"And ?" he finally dared to ask.

"5 years is a long time," you said, finally plunging your eyes into his, "why did you never say anything ?"

Richard sighed, searching for the right words without scaring you.

"Because I am a coward," he finally said. "Not in a courtroom, not in the middle of a crowd of nobles, not in a political plot. But in front of you, I am nothing more than a man and a coward."

His raw sincerity disarmed you for a moment.

"But why me ? I'm just a merchant's daughter. A little governess barely educated enough to teach other little girls to read. And you... you're Lord Richard Turpin."

Richard approached you gently and reached out to caress your cheek. You shivered slightly but at no point did you try to pull away.

"You are the sweetness. The light. Perhaps my redemption," he replied softly.

You looked at him, not knowing what to say. For a moment, you thought he was going to kiss you, but he finally pulled away. Immediately, you missed the warmth of his hand on your cheek.

"Will you come back to London with me?" he asked you with ill-concealed hope.

"Yes," you breathed with an emotion you couldn't quite define.

The journey home was long, but Richard made sure you had everything you needed. Every time you shivered, he would adjust a blanket around your shoulders, pay for the best rooms in the best inns, and make sure the journey didn’t take too much of a toll on you.

“We’ll be back in time for you to celebrate Christmas with your father,” he said one day as you struggled to stay awake.

But to your surprise, when you arrived in London, Richard didn’t take you back to your father. He showed you into his imposing mansion. The interior was just as impressive as the exterior, but not as ornate as you’d imagined, nor as well-kept as one would expect for a man like Richard. There were many cobwebs and a certain amount of disarray. Books were scattered everywhere, and as he led you up a large wooden staircase, you noticed very few servants milling about the manor.

"This whole part of the manor could be yours," Turpin finally said, stopping in the middle of a hallway that housed four different rooms.

"I don't understand," you said, turning your large green eyes toward him.

"The manor is austere, like me, but I'm sure your presence will brighten it. Robert... Robert won't come to haunt you anymore, but your engagement was announced and I don't want you to have to face the whispers and cruelty of the outside world. This manor could be your refuge."

"I... I don't want to force you into anything," you answered timidly.

“Miss [Y/S], you’re not forcing me to do anything,” Richard replied, taking your hand, “you deserve to be cherished, protected. And if you give me permission, I coulds give you all that and more. You deserve more than whispers in tea rooms or sideways glances on the street. Let me be your protector."

"I don't want you to be my protector," you whispered.

A shadow passed over Turpin's face as his heart clenched like a dagger had pierced it, but he recovered so quickly that you could have imagined the flash of pain in his hazel eyes.

"I want a husband."

Richard looked at you, eyes wide as you looked down, your cheeks tinging pink. With a finger, he lifted your head, forcing you to look at him.

"Are you sure about what you just said, [Y/N] ?" Richard asked in his deep voice, using your first name for the first time, "Because once you say yes, there's no going back."

"So be it," you whispered.

Without waiting, Richard's lips landed on yours with passion, ardor, desire. And for the first time, Richard thought that Christmas had a very nice surprise in store for him.

A year later

"My dear, if you continue to eat so many gingerbread cookies you'll get indigestion," Richard said as he sat down nonchalantly next to you on the library couch.

Wrapped in a blanket in front of the fireplace where a good fire was crackling, your aching legs resting on a stool and a book lying next to you, you made a little pouty face.

"It's not me who wants gingerbread cookies, it's the little inhabitant who keeps me awake every night and who prevents me from walking more than five minutes without my feet hurting," you replied as you grabbed another cookie.

Richard, smiled, a real smile, one of those that was reserved only for you. He still sometimes wondered how he had been lucky enough to marry you, you whom he had so often watched in secret, thinking he would never be able to have you. And yet, you had chosen him despite these faults. Your light was enough to balance his darkness.

"Enough biscuit," Richard finally said, taking the plate away from you as you were about to take a third, "it's time for bed, my dear."

And without giving you time to protest, he lifted you up as if you weighed nothing to take you to the room you shared. As often, he helped you take off your dress and put on your nightgown and while you settled under the covers, he came to sit next to you. In a caring gesture, he placed a hand on your round belly.

"It would be wise to let your mother sleep tonight. She is particularly insolent when she is sleep deprived," Richard said in a soft voice.

You smiled, shaking your head before placing your hand on his.

"I hope it will be a girl. A little girl who will give you a hard time," you joked.

"My dear, whether it is a son or a daughter doesn't matter to me, either one or another will be loved as much because they will be a part of you."

He kissed you tenderly, grateful for the second chance you were giving him, promising himself that the world would never come to hurt the child to come,. This child who was his redemption. He would watch carefully to it. In secret.

[snowblossomreads]

Day 20 - Wrongful Perception

Pairing(s)/Character(s): Judge Turpin x OC (Caroline Bell)

Summary: In where Richard's words are all Caroline need to be assured of herself.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): self doubt, anxiety, beeing seen as less then, gaining confidence

A/N: BWHAHAHHA. Tis is the season of giving and I want to give a big shout out to and a little surprise present to @deepperplexity for hosting this wonderful event for the fifth?? year?? You've written us soooo many wonderful things this year and every year regardless if they are rickmas related or something wonderfully juicy that your mind has made up! So what better way to celebrate and thank you than by giving you fic of ur fic!!!

This is based on A Judge's Bell by the one and only @deepperplexity you can find it on ao3 here. Or you can find the prompt that starts it off here! Keep it mind the rickmas version is a bit different then the full story that you can find from A Judge's Bell (u should read them both though) .ANYWAYS ONWARDS

Never did I think my life would end up in such a way, that not even magic from a child's fairy tale could explain my predicament. From having everything, a loving mother and father, comfort, and privilege many would never know, to losing it all and yet, finding what I truly needed in that loss.

Had my father not gambled away the Bell legacy and fortune, I would have never been sent to live with my aunt. Never have what little belongings I owned stolen during a frigid winter night in the forest. And never have been rescued by the man known to many in London as Death's Judge. The great and honorable Lord Turpin. 

To me though, he was Richard, my angel, the man who had given me everything that I hadn't known I needed, and everything I was afraid to ask for. 

And without the misfortunes I endured, I would never have found myself standing beside him, one arm laced around his while we entered the grand ballroom that the winter gala of one of his associates had invited us to. 

He had been uninterested in the invitation, his loathing for the holidays apparent, yet I found it in me to convince him that it would be a wonderful way for me to get to know the people he did business with. To educate myself on a society which I knew about, yet had rarely taken part in during our already year old marriage. 

While I was familiar with things like this, my parents had tried to shield me from them as a young woman as it usually meant looking for someone to court. And my mother, bless her, was only interested in me finding the right one. A man who loved me and I could love at first sight.

I truly thought her a fool until Richard, and oh how I wished she was still here so I could thank her, but hopefully she could hear my words of gratitude wherever she was.

Now that we were here though, the nerves that I thought I had long pushed aside seemed to come back tenfold as we entered the room. The quietness of the snow that blanketed the world outside, was replaced with warmth, brightness, and chatter, which was courtesy of the people strewn around the room. Everyone was dressed in finery appropriate for the evening. 

And we were no different, as I was adorned with the most beautiful dress made of red velvet that was embroidered with gold lace and details all around it. The layered skirt made it look oh so elegant and the high collar also had a lace lining that offered me just a bit of warmth.

And Richard, with his love of us matching, even if he would never admit it, wore a waistcoat that was just as elegant as my dress. It was made of velvet that was a shade deeper than mine with golden buttons and the same golden patterns on my dress. He had adorned his outfit with a black cravat around his neck, a dress shirt that was hidden from sight, and a dark color suitcoat.

He was an absolute sight to behold, and if he did not hold such an aura that commanded people to avert their gaze, I was sure many would be staring at how regal he looked. That thought made me smile to myself as it made me feel utterly special. Special, because I was the only one who could gaze upon him as much as I wanted and be allowed such a view.

As we ventured into the ballroom, laughter, along with drink and music was being shared, and while it brought some joy to me, it also brought me back to the days of parties and finery as a young girl. My body tensed, and my hold on Richard tightened as the memories of those days took hold and an uncomfortable tightness corded in my stomach. 

'No, no, Caroline, you were the one who asked to come, you must not make a fool of yourself or Richard for that matter!'

I chided myself, hoping to calm the overwhelming sensation that was trying to drown me in sorrow and nostalgia. Yet it was not enough, as we walked further into the room, I could feel the leering of others as we walked past. The hairs on my neck stood up, wondering what they were thinking about.  

Whether it was about me. About how much younger I was compared to them all, yet how far apart in society we were due to who Richard was. Or, was it how my husband was so many years my senior and how I was so many years his junior? Yet, even if they had those questions or thoughts, no one carried the audacity to point this out even though there had been gossip.

The wrongful perceptions that they had about us, about the love we shared, it upset me so. When I heard about the gossip from one of our maids that I was closer in age to, Miss Maple, I could only complain about how unfair it was that they cast judgment so easily. Yet, I carried on, as I did not wish to show my discomfort because my angel did not seem to care. But now faced with those people, some who did see our marriage as strange, I could feel the unease in my body begin to try and take over, the jitters, the anxiety it all tried to drown me and it nearly did until,

"Nervous little one?"  The quiet rumble of his voice, that was akin to thunder on a stormy day did wonders to instantly clear my mind as I looked to see eyes of cold steel looking down at me. 

Yet they were not cold to me, I could see past that into the opening that he always allowed for me, just for me.

"N-no not at all," I answered as I tried to muster up the courage in me to shed any fear of judgment from the others. But with a raise of an eyebrow, I could tell he could see right through me. He always could. 

"Do not lie to me," he spoke, though there was no harshness in his tone. "I can feel you tensing," he continued, pointing out the way my fingers gripped his arms tightly. "Must I remind you of your promise to me. To always speak to me, to use your words if you need something?" He murmured as he calmly looked forward, nodding at someone who had caught his attention yet not approaching them.

I bit my bottom lip, heat rushing to my cheeks, embarrassed that I had been caught, yet unsurprised at how observant he was.  

"I-I must admit…I am a bit nervous with all these people," I explained quietly, bowing my head briefly in greeting to those I passed who gazed upon me. It was only polite even if their stares were not. "It has been ages since I've attended something as grand as this. And I only hope to come out of it without embarrassing you."

"Oh is that so?" He asked, his steps slowing as he led me through the crowd that thinned as we walked to the back of the room.

"Yes that is the truth."

"How very amusing."

I looked upon him with a questioning gaze as we stopped at the edge of the crowd.

"My brave little bell, you could never embarrass me," he murmured, voice dark and velvety, as he leaned down just so that his words were mine and mine alone to hear.  I couldn't stop the way I shivered at them, goosebumps pricking my skin even if I was not cold. 

"It is an honor to be able to call you mine, and I can assure you that the gazes that you feel from the others are only them wishing they could match you. To be who you are. To have what you have. "

He had seen them, the gazes. Of course, he did.

"I fear that if they ever try to take what I have from me, I would have to squabble with them in a manner not fit for their society." I had no control over the words that came out of me, and it seemed to amuse Richard, as a rare public smirk crossed his thin lips. It brought a smile to me as well seeing this.

"There my brave little bell is," he praised, a chuckle leaving him and causing the nerves I had to settle at the sound of such a rich sound. "Now. Have you gathered the courage you need to be the bold woman I met in the snow covered forest?" 

A smile of my own appeared on my lips as my grip on his arm tightened, not because I was scared, or nervous, no. It was to show who I belonged to and who belonged to me as well. With a nod of my head, I replied to him, voice no longer shaky, and renewed confidence blooming in me,

"Yes, I think I may have."

With a nod, Richard gave me one last smile before the steel mask that he wore returned, his aura wrapping itself around me as well. Protecting me in a way as we met and spoke to his associates and people who wished to be in his circle.

Most were pleasant, but there was of course always trouble lurking. But I found that with Richard, trouble was not as troublesome if he was with me.  

I felt bold. Brave. Almost too brave really. Especially when I found myself responding to a man of import, who implied that maybe I was not enough for my husband. The words fell from my mouth with an ease that I had not known and the look on the man's face when I said,

"No, I fear you mistake my husband as someone who does not look at all angles of something so important. Such as who he would wed and spend his life with. Mayhap, you are also implying that he does not take into account all things when he serves the public, and judges those who have done wrong?"

The mortified look on the man was more than enough to satisfy me, but it was the hidden smirk and spark in my angel's eyes that me her feel truly at ease and whole.

A/n: I hope you all enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing this. And again thank you plex for working so hard on this even if it is alot!! You're the best and your effort doesn't go unnoticed! 💖💖💖💖. Alsoove never written in first person and this was so weird bahah!

[corpsegelic]

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉ ୨ᰔ୧ ﹉﹉��﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

ㅤ:¨ ·.· ¨: ⠀꒰ welcome ꒱

ㅤ `· . ୨୧. ⠀꒰ aidoneus / amaris ♡ ๑︵ꪒꪒ ꒱ ₊ ˚

♡ ┊꒱ he / they / it

૮Ꮚ ┊ ꒱ friends / mutuals : no one on here, really. not too active here, add my discord corpsegelic. to get to know me more.

୨୧ ┊ ꒱ bisexual ┊ genderfluid┊ minor

౨ৎ ┊ ꒱ 5/31 , gemini , a bit shy but once i feel comfortable with you, i become more extroverted.

☾ ┊ ꒱ mr mans, my pretty boy<3 ໒꒰ྀི⁄ ⁄>⁄ ⁄ <⁄ ⁄꒱ྀི১

✩ ┊ ꒱ current special interests are sweeney todd, greek mythology, vkei, x-men, and wolverine !! hyperfixations are cats, capybaras, and chucky ♡ ໒꒰⸝⸝´̣̣̥꒳`̣̣̥⸝⸝ ྀི꒱ა

☁️┊ i am a proud follower of Hades and Persephone, I honor and respect them. Please respect me, and I will respect you. “Jesus loves you/Let Jesus into your heart/Convert to Christianity” comments are not appreciated. ꒱

🄰 ┊ ꒱ Hades and Persephone are my parental figures. I like Dr Pepper. I am a very sleepy person. I love my boyfriend, 2/14/24 was the best day of my life. I tend to get annoyed easily. I am blunt, and will say whatever comes to my mind which gets me into situations i fr don’t wanna be in ( ´△｀)

🄱 ┊ ꒱ DNI : basic dni criteria, people who sexualize vkei bands, mrs lovett and judge turpin defenders, supremacists, simps (fictionkins are okay, they do not fall under DNI), iylaartz.

🄲 ┊ ꒱ “ねえ、愛してると言ってよ”

(“nee, aishiteru to itte yo”)

ᕬ⑅ᕬ ┊ ꒱ thank you for reading!

﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍﹍⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

[purplelupins]

Just wanted to say I found you through The Grabber fics you wrote and I was instantly hooked !! Then as I read through a few others I can say I’m equally addicted . The Judge Turpin x read and the Wicked games Severus Snape one especially ! All of them have been a fantastic read and escape and even comfort! Thank you for all the wonderful fics you have created!

Oh my goodness thank you so much!! Ahh it’s so nice to hear that my other older works are still liked. My Turpin fic is still one of my favourites and I really want to finish it. So happy to have you here!🤍

-Nora

[chaos-caffeinated]

I had this is in my mind for days... for DAYS...

No plot just smut, yum.

Judge Turpin x reader x Snape

Moans were loud from your end as the other end of the spectrum where the quiet, but desperate grunts of Severus Snape underneath, thrusting into your wet cunt as he held your hips in place.

You were trembling, shaking, overestimated from the prior events and you desperately wanted to end this, but he wouldn't let you.

You felt a second pair of hands, each wrapping you in a different place. One was wrapped from your waist while the other just underneath your breast, rib cage as he pulled you back straight. Snape's thrusts were more pronounced this way and you yelped from the sensitivity.

Your back was pressed against a stiff chest as you shivered in delight feeling his chin resting against your shoulders.

"You are doing a splendid job, little one, such a splendid job." His deep voice rumbled against your ear that made you whimpered in delight.

"Let's give Lord Snape a splendid gift shall we?"

The hand that rested against your hip guided its way to your core, your folds sensitive to touch and wet as well.

"Squeeze him." Instructed Turpin, "squeeze your walls against his thickened member."

The vivid imagery sent chills down your spine as you imagined Snape's reaction. Your eyes were tired, half-closed and you gazed at your partner breathing heavily.

His eyebrows were knitted, forming a crease in the middle, sweat was covering his body as you see his chest rising and lowering with each heavy breath.

"Would you like that, my lo-" you yelped from shock, gasping into the skies as your body immediately squeezed Snape causing him to arch his back and moaned loudly.

Turpin has squeezed your sensitive clit, "Good, good just like that." And he did it again causing the same chain reaction.

Snape proceeded to fuck you, holding your hips as Turpin left kisses around your neck, sometimes pulling your face into a heated kiss. It was too much, it was getting there way too quick.

The next day they each took care of you with their best ways, Turpin by offering you water, comfort, and food. He even offered to read poems to you and left you with nothing but compliments and praises, whereas Snape cuddled you and whispered sweet nothings to your ear.

[ilikefandom]

A Cup of Tea

Request: Helllooo, I was the one who asked for part two :’) :’). I think tea time with Judge inside his Manor, and then he confessed his feelings. I’M SORRY IM NOT REALLY GOOD AT THIS

Requested by: @snapeswhorecrux

Synopsis: Tea Time at Turpin’s

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem Reader

Genre: Romance/fluff

Warning: some 18+ themes (Nothing explicit or detailed)

Edward Turpin was a smart man. Handing down rulings to the worst of criminals and keeping his cool when others hurt him. What he did not understand was (Y/n) (Y/l/n). 

She was the pretty daughter of (Y/f/n) (Y/l/n) and he couldn’t muster up the courage to talk to her.

Ever since he had found out, one winter’s day, of the book club that she and his sweet Johanna had started, he couldn’t keep her out of his mind.

As he strode down the street to his home on a bright, sunny, summer afternoon, he spotted the young woman in question perched on the bench outside of his home. She was wearing light blue today, complete with a white bonnet that hid her face from all but Johanna. 

He caught her sweet smell again as he passed her. The lavender was stronger, but perhaps that was because the flower was in full bloom. He peaked up at Johanna as he passed her friend and made his way inside.

As he entered his home and pulled one of the many books off of the shelf, mumbling to himself as he made to sit down in the chair next to the fireplace. Setting the book on the side table he gazed toward the kitchen as an idea spilled into his mind.

“Johanna, it’s almost tea time, why don’t you invite your,” he paused for a moment, “friend inside.”

He heard a squeal from upstairs and chuckled as Johanna relaid the information to (Y/n). He began to walk to the kitchen to prepare the tea himself, but then thought better of it and made his way back to the chair. Picking up the book and watching as Johanna sprinted past him and opened the door. 

(Y/n) stepped into his home and removed her hat allowing Edward to see her hair. He wanted to touch it. She looked around and smiled before nodding at Turpin and making her way to the kitchen with Johanna.

“You know Mr. Turpin can make the tea. Rules of hospitality.” He heard Johanna comment.

The tinkling of (Y/n)’s laugh echoed out of the hallway. “I can do it, he’s been at work all day. He’s probably tired.”

Edward smirked. He picked up his book and opened it to a random page. It was a section about concubines in the palace of King Henry VIII. He smirked and settled down to read. He had finished the page and was about to turn it when the whistle of the kettle brought him out of his stupor. He stood and placed the book back on the shelf where it belonged.

A few moments later (Y/n) entered the room, Johanna close behind her, and set the newly polished, silver tea tray onto the tea table. (Y/n) poured the tea gracefully. Making all the right movements and adding just the right amount to Turpin’s cup.

Edward maneuvered his hand to take the sugar, brushing it upon (Y/n)’sfor a few moments. He smiled to himself as he brought the tea to his lips and drank. It was perfect. He couldn’t do better himself.

(Y/n) looked the slightest bit embarrassed at the interaction, but she smiled at Turpin as she sank into one of the other armchairs, leaving Johanna the couch to herself.

He remained quiet as Johanna set down her cup and looked up at (Y/n). “How is the season going?”

“As well as it can without a partner.” (Y/n) smiled. “I have attended many events and met many nice young ladies.”

Johanna whined. “(Y/n) there has to be a young man that you are interested in.”

The other girl shook her head slightly and took a dainty sip from her tea cup. “The  next event is in a few days.” She said looking deep into the tea in her cup.

Johanna squealed and shifted a little in her seat. “What is it?” She asked, almost shaking from excitement for her friend.

“The Masquerade.” (Y/n) replied. “Father pooled together some money to get me a dress in this year’s fashion for the dance. I told him it was too much and I could wear last year or the year after last instead. But he insisted.”

Johanna beamed at the girl across from her and Edward felt for a moment that he was excluded from the conversation. He thought about attending the court tomorrow when (Y/n) caught his ear again.

“I hope with the new clothes and a mask I can spend the rest of the season with somebody. Maybe marry somebody important.” 

A light went off in Turpin’s head as he smirked into his tea. And as the duo that resided in his house bid the young woman adieu, the gears turned in Edward’s mind.

That night, Turpin opened his closet to reveal his ball attire. He slipped it on and found the brown mask, deciding that it was too ugly to warrant this year’s season he found a smaller one hanging in the back. It was shinier and bronzed. He slipped it on his face and turned to look into the mirror.

He looked younger with the mask on, stronger in fact. He knew that, when the time came, he would ask Miss. (Y/n) to dance and assume the role that she needed. And she would be happy, wouldn’t she, being with him.

He smiled into the mirror and disrobed back to his everyday clothes. Making his way back downstairs, knowing Johanna had since gone to her room he opened the book he had been reading once more.

Holding it close he traced the image of a concubine entering the palace. The young woman changed, almost instantaneously. She shifted into (Y/n) gazing up at Edward from the pages of his book. He smiled and closed the book once more. 

He didn’t know what that woman had done to him. His heart ablaze with love and lust and his mind flush with disgusting images, hoping she felt the same about him.

Author’s note: I hope you all enjoy this!! I’m getting close to 100 followers and I wnat to do somthing special when I do reach that milestone. If any of you have suggestion please either dm me or put in an ask/request.

[russian-soft-bitch]

Besties I'm reading judge turpin x reader book on ao3 and its so good. I'll share it with you once I'm finished

[ao3feed-snape]

Alan Rickman Character One Shots

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/3qGWGem

by Mudkip121

Just a bunch of one shots and stories of my favorite Alan Rickman Characters!

Characters X Reader

Colonel Christopher Brandon 💐 Hans Gruber 🔫 Harry Trevor 💍 Judge Turpin 👨⚖️ P.L. O'Hara 🎭 Severus Snape 🐍 Sinclair Bryant 💵 Sheriff Nottingham 🥄 Alexander Dane 👽 Metatron 😇 Elliot Marston 🤠 Lionel Shahbandar 🦁

Started (12/6/20)

Words: 2567, Chapters: 2/60, Language: English

Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sense and Sensibility (1995), Die Hard (Movies), Sweeney Todd (2007), An Awfully Big Adventure (1995), Close My Eyes (1991), Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991), Galaxy Quest (1999), Quigley Down Under (1990), Gambit (2012), Closet Land (1991), Love Actually (2003), Dogma (1999)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death

Categories: F/M, Multi

Characters: Reader, You, Severus Snape, Sinclair Bryant, Hans Gruber (Die Hard), Judge Turpin, P.L. O'Hara, Colonel Brandon (Sense and Sensibility), Sheriff of Nottingham, Alexander Dane, Elliot Marston, Lionel Shahbandar, Harry Trevor, Metatron (Dogma)

Relationships: Severus Snape/Reader, Colonel Brandon (Sense and Sensibility)/Reader, Hans Gruber/Reader, Judge Turpin/Reader, Sheriff of Nottingham/You, Alexander Dane/You, Elliot Marston/Reader

Additional Tags: Alan Rickman Tribute, One Shot Collection

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/3qGWGem

[ao3feed-batb2017]

Evily Ever After

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2lLMbd3

by JustFandomTrash

What if the villains won? What if they had a helper? Hellene Devil is just that helper but they accomplish their goals or will good once again prevail and how will she do when she starts falling for them.

Parings:

OC x Various Villains

Words: 3606, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Thor (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), Anastasia (1997), Animal Crackers (2017), The Shining (1980), Cherry Falls (2000), Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins Movies), The Human Centipede (Movies), Die Hard (Movies), Saw (Movies), Friday the 13th Series (Movies), House of Wax (2005), The Boy (2016 Bell), Candyman (1992), Hellraiser (Movies), Child's Play/Chucky (Movies), Wolf Creek (Movies), Happy death day 2U, A Nightmare on Elm Street (Movies 1984-1994), Wreck-It Ralph (Movies), ducktales the movie treasure of the lost lamp, Villainous (Cartoon), Coco (2017), Sweeney Todd (2007), Halloween Movies - All Media Types, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Gravity Falls, Phineas and Ferb, Rise of the Guardians (2012), Megamind (2010), Frozen (Disney Movies), The Princess and the Frog (2009), The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), Hercules (1997), Aladdin (1992), The Lion King (1994), SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon), Beauty and the Beast (2017)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: F/M, Multi

Characters: Ronan the Accuser, Loki (Marvel), Erik Lehnsherr, Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, horatio p Huntington, Jack Torrance, Leonard Marliston, Hannibal Lecter, Josef Heiter, Hans Gruber (Die Hard), Mark Hoffman, John "Jigsaw" Kramer, Jason Voorhees, Bo Sinclair, Brahms Heelshire, Candyman | Daniel Robitaille, Pinhead, Chucky | Charles Lee Ray, Mick Taylor, Gregory Butler, Freddy Krueger, King Candy | Turbo (Disney), Merlock the Magician (Disney), Black Hat (Villainous), Ernesto De La Cruz, Judge Turpin, Michael Myers, Discord (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic), Bill Cipher, Heinz Doofenshmirtz, Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood), Megamind, Hans (Disney), Dr. Facilier (Disney), Claude Frollo, Hades (Disney), Jafar (Disney), Scar (The Lion King), Sheldon J. Plankton, Gaston (Disney), Simon Peter Gruber

Relationships: Ronan the Accuser/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Erik Lehnsherr/Original Female Character, Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin/Original Character(s), horatio p Huntington/ original female character, jack Torrance/ original female character, Leonard Marliston/ original female character, Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character(s), Josef Heiter/ original female character, Hans Gruber (Die Hard)/Original Female Character(s), Mark Hoffman/Original Female Character(s), john Kramer/ original female character, Jason Voorhees/Original Female Character(s), Bo Sinclair/Original Female Character(s), Brahms Heelshire/Original Female Character(s), Candyman | Daniel Robitaille/original female character, pinhead/original female character, Chucky | Charles Lee Ray/Original Female Character(s), Mick Taylor/original female character, gregory Butler/original female character, Freddy Krueger/Original Female Character(s), merlock the magician (Disney)/ original female character, Black Hat (Villainous)/Original Female Character(s), King candy | turbo (Disney)/original female character, Ernesto de la Cruz/original female character, Judge Turpin/Original Female Character(s), Michael Myers/Original Female Character(s), Bill Cipher/Original Female Character(s), Discord (my little pony)/original female character, heinz Doofenshmirtz/original female character, Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood)/Original Female Character(s), Megamind/Original Female Character(s), Hans (Disney)/Original Female Character(s), Dr. Facilier (Disney)/Original Female Character(s), Claude Frollo (Disney)/original female character, hades (Disney)/original female character, Jafar (Disney)/Original Female Character(s), scar (Disney)/original female character, Sheldon J. Plankton/Original Female Character(s), Gaston (Disney)/Original Female Character(s), Simon Peter Gruber/original female character

Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Alternate Universe, Romance, Polyandry, Polyamory, Character Death

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2lLMbd3

[ao3feed-lokiangst]

Evily Ever After

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2lLMbd3

by JustFandomTrash

What if the villains won? What if they had a helper? Hellene Devil is just that helper but they accomplish their goals or will good once again prevail and how will she do when she starts falling for them.

Parings:

OC x Various Villains

Words: 3606, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Thor (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), Anastasia (1997), animal crackers (2017), The Shining (1980), Cherry Falls (2000), Hannibal Lecter (Hopkins Movies), The Human Centipede (Movies), Die Hard (Movies), Saw (Movies), Friday the 13th Series (Movies), House of Wax (2005), The Boy (2016 Bell), Candyman (1992), Hellraiser (Movies), Child's Play/Chucky (Movies), Wolf Creek (Movies), Happy death day 2U, A Nightmare on Elm Street (Movies 1984-1994), Wreck-It Ralph (Movies), ducktales the movie treasure of the lost lamp, Villainous (Cartoon), Coco (2017), Sweeney Todd (2007), Halloween Movies - All Media Types, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Gravity Falls, Phineas and Ferb, Rise of the Guardians (2012), Megamind (2010), Frozen (Disney Movies), The Princess and the Frog (2009), The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996), Hercules (1997), Aladdin (1992), The Lion King (1994), SpongeBob SquarePants (Cartoon), Beauty and the Beast (2017)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Major Character Death

Categories: F/M, Multi

Characters: Ronan the Accuser, Loki (Marvel), Erik Lehnsherr, Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin, horatio p Huntington, Jack Torrance, Leonard Marliston, Hannibal Lecter, Josef Heiter, Hans Gruber (Die Hard), Mark Hoffman, John "Jigsaw" Kramer, Jason Voorhees, Bo Sinclair, Brahms Heelshire, Candyman | Daniel Robitaille, Pinhead, Chucky | Charles Lee Ray, Mick Taylor, Gregory Butler, Freddy Krueger, King Candy | Turbo (Disney), Merlock the Magician (Disney), Black Hat (Villainous), Ernesto De La Cruz, Judge Turpin, Michael Myers, Discord (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic), Bill Cipher, Heinz Doofenshmirtz, Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood), Megamind, Hans (Disney), Dr. Facilier (Disney), Claude Frollo, Hades (Disney), Jafar (Disney), Scar (The Lion King), Sheldon J. Plankton, Gaston (Disney), Simon Peter Gruber

Relationships: Ronan the Accuser/Original Female Character(s), Loki (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s), Erik Lehnsherr/Original Female Character, Grigori Yefimovich Rasputin/Original Character(s), horatio p Huntington/ original female character, jack Torrance/ original female character, Leonard Marliston/ original female character, Hannibal Lecter/Original Female Character(s), Josef Heiter/ original female character, Hans Gruber (Die Hard)/Original Female Character(s), Mark Hoffman/Original Female Character(s), john Kramer/ original female character, Jason Voorhees/Original Female Character(s), Bo Sinclair/Original Female Character(s), Brahms Heelshire/Original Female Character(s), Candyman | Daniel Robitaille/original female character, pinhead/original female character, Chucky | Charles Lee Ray/Original Female Character(s), Mick Taylor/original female character, gregory Butler/original female character, Freddy Krueger/Original Female Character(s), merlock the magician (Disney)/ original female character, Black Hat (Villainous)/Original Female Character(s), King candy | turbo (Disney)/original female character, Ernesto de la Cruz/original female character, Judge Turpin/Original Female Character(s), Michael Myers/Original Female Character(s), Bill Cipher/Original Female Character(s), Discord (my little pony)/original female character, heinz Doofenshmirtz/original female character, Pitch Black (Guardians of Childhood)/Original Female Character(s), Megamind/Original Female Character(s), Hans (Disney)/Original Female Character(s), Dr. Facilier (Disney)/Original Female Character(s), Claude Frollo (Disney)/original female character, hades (Disney)/original female character, Jafar (Disney)/Original Female Character(s), scar (Disney)/original female character, Sheldon J. Plankton/Original Female Character(s), Gaston (Disney)/Original Female Character(s), Simon Peter Gruber/original female character

Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Alternate Universe, Romance, Polyandry, Polyamory, Character Death

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2lLMbd3

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 14: Deceptive Kindness [C4]

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem!OC

POV: Dual POV (OC, First & Turpin, Third)

Continuation of: Prompt 4. Darkest Night [C1], Prompt 8. Never-ending Consequences [C2], Prompt 10. Lingering Touch [C3]

A/N: I got an extra treat for you today 🤭 We get a little glimpse of this story through Turpin’s eyes - I adore writing his POV but I do it sparingly as the impact is always so intense when seeing things from his point of view while getting to be in his head for a moment 👏 And, of course, we need a dramatic reunion so we’re adding a little fear, a little darkness, and a little bit of frantic running to this 👀👌❤

Tags/TW’s: Infatuated By Her, Unwanted Thoughts/Feelings, Unwanted Touch, Fear, Being Restrained By An Unknown Man (Fearing Being Harmed), Feeling Safe With Turpin, Mutual Secret Pining, Nickname (so cute!), Being Carried, Protective/Harsh Turpin, Mentions Hating Christmas (of course he does), Dark And Gloomy, Angst With Tiniest Hint Of Fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Deceptive Kindness

⁛•⁛ Turpin’s POV ⁛•⁛

Miss Brimmer… Joyful, sweet, talkative little Miss Brimmer… He was incapable of casting her out of his mind. He had cursed himself for it, had bargained with himself, and lately taken to sulking. Yes, the high judge of London sulked in his gloomy library with his face contorted in a frown as he was incapable of reading the lawsuit spread across his desk with her infernally sweet face disturbing him every minute of each wretched day.

At this time of year, it was usually the infernal jolly mood and ever-chiming carols that had him occupied with the deep-seated need to snarl. Now, it was something apparently worse. A jolly, chiming, sweet and fury-inducing little woman with green eyes like the needles of a pine and a smile as bright as the midnight star.

Four days had passed since he left her at his home, not so much as a goodbye had been uttered and he had thought little of it at the time. Certainly, her energy had been warm. Obviously, her smile had been a lovely view. Her bright and loud chatter a constant and intrusive company, definitely. But warm…

He slammed his fists down and rose in a rush from the large chair. “This is madness, banish these foolish thoughts.” He knew her joy was far beyond his reach and despite being the depraved and selfish man he was, he struggled with the notion of putting out her light — trapping her to him would surely silence that joyful talkativeness that had slithered itself under his skin. It lingered, and the sound of Miss Brimmer’s constant, bright, and quick chatter echoed all around him as he marched from the library to the parlour despite her not being there.

He poured a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter by the seating area. Beyond his windows, the bells of Christmas rang as snow flitted from the dark sky of night. He watched the fire before him, spreading a warmth he barely felt while the golden light reminded him of how you shined in the darkness of his home. Such as a star upon a Christmas tree… There had never been one in his house — a star or a Christmas tree.

He tapped his finger against the glass and took a slow sip. He remembered every word she spoke, strangely enough. He never took notice of others in such a manner, and never committed words not of the utmost importance to he himself to memory. But Miss Brimmer’s words were committed to memory — truly, burned with warmth and light into the membranes within his skull housing a dark mind usually so quiet and void of all things good.

Placing the glass back on the table, he stepped away from the fire and toward the large windows draped with wine-red velvet on either side. The darkness beyond was as deep as the dark within his home, within his heart. So it must remain. Quiet, dark, and the same as always. “Yes, the same as every damned Christm—” His eyes widened, he leaned closer to the frosty window as a running woman stumbled on her skirt and crashed against his gate in a tumble.

He tilted his head, looking down to see better. A pale hand grasped the iron of the gate, his heart revolted as the harrowed face of Miss Brimmer appeared between the bars for a second — her breath fogging in rushed bursts — before she turned her head to look back as she grasped for the handle to open his gate blindly. He staggered back a step, his heart pounded and for a second his mind struggled to comprehend what his eyes showed him.

⁛•⁛ Julianne’s POV ⁛•⁛ | A few moments earlier |

My breath fogged before me, the chill of December was biting in the dark of the late evening as I held onto the little satin bag with a tight grip and left the little shop behind as the woman by the counter wished me a Merry Christmas before the door closed. Uffh, cold and dreary, why does London feel colder than the countryside? I shivered and began my walk back toward the Rosemary Inn.

“Watch it!” a man shouted as I crossed the street and, before I knew it, I’d flung myself backwards, tripped on the slick cobblestone, and landed flatly on my back in the dirty snow. Great! Wonderful! This is absolutely a fantastic day! The Inn lost my package from Father, a horse trampled my foot, the barmaid spilt bear over my best dress, and now— “Ugh, I truly am a black cat crossing the street…”

“Miss, are you alright?” came the voice of another man, his slightly dirty face coming into view above me. “Need a helping hand?” he continued and I sighed. At least, the people are not too rude. A silver lining I assume one could call it. “Thank you, sir,” I said and reached for his slim hand flecked by soot. He helped me to my feet and I righted my dress, brushing off as much of the snow as I possibly could. “You ought to take care in the streets, miss.” “Yes, yes I ought, with my luck I shall surely be run over any minute. I am not suited for the big city, it seems.”

The man chuckled as I straightened. “Perhaps I ought to walk the lady back to her home, then?” “That is most kind of you, sir.” I took his stretched-out arm. “I must say I am surprised at how friendly London dwellers are. I have yet to meet an unkind person not willing to be of assistance.” I glanced at the man as he walked me down the street. Something was not quite right about him, though. “We are friendly people,” he said with another shallow chuckle that just did not sit right with me.

After another few steps, I came to a halt. “Thank you for your help, sir, but I can manage from here.” I released his arm but he grasped my wrist. “Sir, let go of me, please.” “I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His smile was a leer and my stomach turned at the sight of his crooked teeth. “Let go.” “No can do,” he chuckled and tugged. “A pretty piece like you is—” I wrung my wrist free. “Goodbye,” I said harshly and instantly turned.

A shriek left my lips as the man grabbed around my waist and pulled me toward the alley behind, away from the lit-up main street. “Let go! Let go!” I screamed and pushed at his arm before fear filled me and I threw my head back only to feel his nose-bone connect with my skull. He stumbled back, pulling me around with his hand stuck in the loop of the satin pouch around my wrist.

“Fuck,” he snarled with a hiss and grabbed the string by twisting his hand. “You bitch.” He tugged and I backed up at the same time, ripping the string with the pouch falling to the ground as I spun to run away. No, the gift! Leaned back and grabbed it but the man hooked his dirty fingers on my cloak and tugged. The string tightened roughly around my throat and I coughed through a gasp.

Reaching up, I grabbed the end and tugged. My throat was freed and I slipped out of the man’s grip. Before I drew another breath, I bolted. My heart roared, my limbs shook and my eyes seemed to take everything in with a blur. Run! Run! Run! Where-, where-, where do I go?!

“Get back here!” the man shouted and as I looked over my shoulder he was taking up the hunt for me. My eyes widened and dread surged through my body, fuelling my legs and forcing me to go faster. I sobbed while panting, holding onto the destroyed satin pouch with a numb grip. My feet pounded the cobblestone and snow below as I raced down the street of central London.

I took a sharp turn, seeing the shape of the man still running toward me before I kept going as tears streaked my cheeks. Despite the blurry vision, the dark town-house caught my eyes. Judge Turpin! My brain screamed and my heart eased as I threw myself forward, stumbling on the raised sidewalk and got myself flung into the iron gates with a loud rattle as my chest heaved.

Looking back I saw the man come to a sudden halt as his eyes flicked between me and the towering house while I fumbled blindly for the handle to let myself through. I found it, pulled down, and fell backwards in a heap before I managed to scramble back from the gate on my bum.

“Miss Brimmer!” came the roar of the judge whose refuge I sought. Looking back, he came rushing down the steps. “J-Judge Turpin, my-, my lord,” I choked out in a stutter as I slumped on the snow-covered stone beneath; relieved. “Miss Brimmer,” he rumbled in a harsh snarl before his large hands grasped my trembling shoulders harshly, he did not let go even as he sat me up. “Are you—” His eyes latched on my sore throat, exposed at the loss of my cloak. “What, happened?” he snarled as those steely eyes turned impossibly hard.

I gulped, taking comfort in his steady hands. “I— He—” my voice trembled too much to make sense “—grabbed me, grabbed-, grabbed-, grabbed at—” “Little light, look at me. Look. at. me,” he demanded as my eyes flicked about in a rush and adrenaline-fuelled fear. “Are you unharmed?” he asked, his voice was a low thunder which hid none of the rage hardening his entire face. “Y-yes, sir. I’m-, I’m unharmed, my lord. Thank you. Thank you, sir,” I pushed out in a rush as his grip on me softened when our eyes locked.

Judge Turpin helped me to stand, keeping a sturdy grasp of my hand before he wrapped an arm around my waist when my knees weakened beneath me. “T-thank you, sir,” I whispered, my brain turning quiet and my voice lowering as I held on to him. “I shall have their head,” he snarled under his breath and I was not sure if I had heard him right.

He led me inside, all the way to the parlour where a fire crackled and granted both light and warmth in the dark. He released my hand and I stuttered at the loss of stability, the loss of his touch, but then he dragged one of the two beautiful chairs and helped me sit right by the warmth of the flames.

I shook and trembled as the adrenaline seeped out of me and a chill so utterly dreadful crawled into me in its wake. “Little light,” he said while going down on one knee before me — grasping my shaking hands in his warm ones. “Did you see who caused you harm?” he asked, his voice that harsh thunder that seemed to roll through me. “I saw… most of him. But, he was dirty and in shadow, and I do not know who he-, he-, he—” “We shall discuss it tomorrow, when you are no longer frightened,” he said with finality. I gulped, already feeling my shoulders slump in his powerful presence. “I… am not frightened,” I managed to push out.

Judge Turpin arched a brow at me, unimpressed. “I do not take kindly to lies, Miss Brimmer.” “It is not a lie, sir… I am here, with you, safe. I am-, I am in shock, not frightened any longer,” I said, truthfully. I dared believe nothing could harm me when such a man as he was close. His nostrils flared. “You, little light, are mistaken. I am not… safety.” “Yet I feel safe, my lord…” And, a bit faint, perhaps. Yes, yes perhaps a bit out of sorts and a bit… confused… and faint…

“Deep breath, Miss Brimmer. Take a deep breath,” he ordered, squeezing my hands to catch my focus. I drew a deep breath. Ragged as it was, it was still steadying. “Good.” It was a soft word despite the deep voice. “Let us get you sorted for the night.” I nodded. “Thank you, sir…” But as I stood with his sturdy hand wrapped around one of my smaller ones, there was no stability beneath my feet and the world swayed. I reached up to my head, trying to focus my gaze by pressing against my forehead but there was little I could do to stop my knees from buckling and my body from sagging.

He caught me. A sturdy arm around my waist while his other hand still gripped mine. “Easy, easy now,” he said quietly and there was something deadly in the tone of it. “S-sir… I…” But I could not get the words out when the world turned darker by the second. “Miss— Little light,” he said rapidly as I collapsed in his hold. The world slowly faded as I was hoisted up into strong arms against a broad chest with a thundering heart.

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

NEXT PART » Prompt 16: Thoughtful gifts [C5]

A/N: Well well well, I guess I have a thing for fainting women, huh? 🙈 Also, isn’t Turpin just the harshly-sweetest?! 😩👌 I’m adoring how he’s withheld and torturing himself with the whole situation rather than just taking what he wants as he usually does 👀🤭

I haven't gotten far on tomorrow's fic - I'm only about 500 words in - but hopefully,y I'll have time to finish it up later tonight so it's ready to go up early tomorrow 🥰👏 And Christmas is near now, we have celebrations with family over from the 20th to the 25th (hosting for both sides of the family this year too so I have so much to prepare 😅) but I feel good about this years Rickmas and how it's going so far so hopefully I can get ahead during this weekend and get a lot of writing done! 🙈❤

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[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 1 - DECEMBER MOON [A1]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC

Summary : During a night on December, Colonel Brandon meets a young woman who captivates him instantly. He then realises that what he had mistaken for love when he met Marianne had never truly been love.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness, mention of depression and loneliness.

A/N : Hello dear 😁 I'm so excited to write for my first Rickmas hosted by the amazing @deepperplexity ! I stumbled upon Rickmas last year... after Christmas, but I was in a very bad phase at the time and all those amazing stories helped me so much and I also discoverd the incredible trilogy "Judge and Sentenced" from @deepperplexity that I advise you to read because it's probably the best Turpin's fiction I've ever read ! Anyway, I'm doing my Sinclair by rambling here, therefore, let's begin Rickmas !

QUIET WISHING : Part II

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

Poor Colonel Brandon was returning from London, exhausted. He, who usually preferred to be perched on his stallion was comfortably installed in the shelter of his carriage. At 38, he had never felt so old and yet, he was still so young.

But a small voice, which strangely had the same intonations as a lady he knew, told him that he was just an old man full of rheumatism. It was not entirely false. He had an old soul since birth, fuelled by the mistreatment of a violent and unloving father and by a protective mother who died too early. As for the rheumatism, it was more a vestige of his life in the army, but also of an accident in India involving an elephant, which had almost cost him an arm and had left him with a painful shoulder, especially in rainy weather.

But beyond his 38 years that he carried like a burden, there was the memory of his sweet Eliza and te one of the mischievous Marianne. Two women who had broken his heart. The first without wanting to, the second on a whim.

Eliza, tender, intrepid and in love with him, this beauty with whom he had fallen in love while still very young and whom his father had taken away from him without scruples before sending him, at only sixteen, to join the ranks of his majesty's army. 

Fortunately, in India he had met John Middleton who had been more than a friend, almost a surrogate father. Indeed, 20 years older than Brandon, he had immediately taken a liking to the young man and his situation, helping him to climb the ranks of the army thanks to his influence.

Later, when he returned to England, he met his mentor's mother-in-law, Mrs. Jennings, an intrusive woman who had an unfortunate tendency to meddle in things that didn't concern her, but for whom he nevertheless had infinite tenderness. Her intrusive nature came from the pain of having lost his eldest daughter, John's wife, while she was expecting a child. A haemorrhage in the middle of the night, an incompetent doctor, and in the morning, the mother and child had gone to join the heavens. Mrs. Jennings reminded him of his own mother with the gentleness she showed him and if she was not known for her subtlety, she had always had the delicacy to never mention Eliza in front of him.

As for Marianne... This pretty devil who had reminded him of her deceased Eliza had hurt him much more than any whipping given by his father for an unimportant misdeed.

He had loved her at first sight, finding in her his first love and it had taken him time and a little too much of a difficult lesson to realize that she wasn't even the shadow of his Eliza. Eliza would never have shown the wickedness that Marianne had shown by letting him hope just after his infectious fever, graciously accepting his gifts and demanding his presence. No, Marianne, full of malice, had felt no remorse in making him suffer as she did with all those around her when she could no longer get anything from them.

She had let him believe that she was his just after this fever that had almost taken her, but when he had asked her to marry him, she had hesitated, giving him an ambiguous answer, a "maybe" more than a "yes". It was during a social event organised at Barton Park that he had understood that the young woman had set her sights on another man of barely 23 years old. A young and dashing high judge of London with a cold and severe look, but rich and powerful, much more than him, much more than anyone in Devonshire.

The next day, he had asked Marianne for an answer to his question and when she had still hesitated, he had told her that he knew and that he was freeing her. He didn't yet know that it was him that he was freeing.

Marianne was now married to this man that all of London nicknamed The Death's Judge, and if she was happily married or not, Brandon didn't know, all he knew was that she was expecting her first child while he was still alone, with no one to love. No loved one and no descendants.

Alone with his heavy thoughts and this feeling that he would end up alone, he who had so much affection to offer, so much love to give, if only a woman with enough spirit but also a certain reserve could make his heart beat again that he now thought would be cold forever, he would cherish her as no man could.

Two years had passed since the injury inflicted by Marianne and with time, his heart had calmed down, and his old governess, full of wisdom, had gently made him understand that what he had taken for love towards Marianne had in fact been only an illusion nourished by this vague resemblance of character that the young woman shared with Eliza.

It was then that the carriage stopped abruptly and Christopher had just enough time to put his hand in front of him so as not to crush his hooked nose against the empty seat in front of him.

"What's going on ?" he asked in his baritone voice as he got out of the carriage.

The icy wind immediately bit his cheeks as night fell gently, promising new frosts.

"A dog, Colonel Brandon, I wanted to avoid a dog," the coachman apologized.

Christopher saw it. A little further away. A dog with a red coat was curled up.

"Is it hurt ?" Christopher asked, genuinely worried.

"No, I avoided him," the coachman replied, "I think he got scared."

Christopher approached the animal cautiously. Medium-sized, the dog looked fierce, ready to bite, but Christopher was reassured to see no injuries.

"Are you lost, little boy ?" he asked the dog, hoping to calm him down.

As if to answer his question, a young woman's voice was heard behind the trees that lined the road.

"Henry ! Henry !" she shouted urgently.

That's when you appeared from behind the trees at the very moment the moon was hitting the night with its first rays. Christopher couldn't take his eyes off that angelic face, fine features that gave off great gentleness and eyes... eyes as deep green as the woods you had just left, green like when summer brought the trees back to life.

You stopped dead when you saw the carriage and your face went from surprise to terror.

"HENRY !" you shouted as you ran towards the dog.

Without even a glance at Christopher or his coachman who had just dismounted, you ran towards the dog who immediately stood up to run towards you.

"Henry, are you okay ?" you asked as if the dog could have answered you.

You examined him carefully, looking for an injury or a trace of blood.

"My coachman avoided it just in time," Christopher reassured you.

You stood up, turning towards Christopher who was slightly disconcerted by your gaze, deep, vibrant, eyes that reflected a thousand emotions at the same time... and who seemed to judge him.

"I promise you it was an accident, the dog rushed in front of the carriage," he felt obliged to justify himself.

You still said nothing, watching Christopher carefully. He did the same, although a little uncomfortable by the sudden silence of this young woman who had been so vocal when she had thought her dog was injured. He too looked at you. He had never seen you before, not that he knew everyone living in Dorsetshire, but he could at least boast of knowing everyone living around Delaford, most of them working for him.

"I am Colonel Christopher Brandon," he finally introduced himself with a bow.

"[Y/N], [Y/N] [Y/S]," you answered in a soft voice, bowing back.

You seemed a little shy, perhaps due to your youth. But the more Christopher looked at you, the more he doubted that you were as young as you looked. A certain seriousness in your gaze, like a deep-seated pain that only someone who has lived long enough to know the true pangs of life could have.

"I have never seen you here before," he said in spite of himself.

"My father was hired as a gardener by the Hawthorns, we arrived a month ago," you answered without trying to appear for what you was not.

Christopher knew this influential family from Devonshire well, John's neighbours. You were far from their home, more than four hours on foot, maybe five if the rain started to fall on the ground that was freezing at full speed.

"You are far from home," he pointed out.

The moonlight prevented him from hiding a slight blush on your cheeks.

"It's Henry, he ran away this morning and I wanted to find him before nightfall. I was afraid he would die of cold tonight," you explained, glancing at the said Henry.

The dog, totally unaware of the fright he had given his mistress, amused himself by teasing Christopher's coachman who was not at ease in front of the animal, much to the amusement of the Colonel.

"You came all this way for a dog?" he asked, surprised.

"Henry isn't just a dog ! He's a full-fledged member of the family," you replied briskly.

Christopher apologized quickly. He hadn't meant to offend you, he had been sincerely surprised. In his world, full of nobility, a woman wouldn't have ventured so far, so lightly covered, to find a runaway dog.

"Aren't you cold, miss ?" Christopher asked, seeing you suppress a shiver.

"I'm used to it," you replied, looking away.

That was all it took for him to understand. He had already understood your modest condition, but he assumed, probably rightly, that your family had probably couldn't afford a proper coat.

Without hesitation, he took his off and before you could protest, he placed it on your shoulders.

"I insist," he said gently but firmly when you wanted to give it back.

A new silence settled between you. Christopher couldn't help but notice your similarities. You didn't speak much, looked serious but you had a certain dignity and you seemed deeply kind even if he guessed a volcanic temperament if you attacked those you loved, as you had shown when he dared to say that your dog was just a dog.

"Henry, that's a funny name for a dog," he finally dared to say.

"I called him that because when I found him, I was reading a book about Henry VIII."

"Found ?"

"Yes, an old farmer had abandoned his dog's entire litter in the middle of the woods. It was in the village where I used to live. Henry was the only puppy still alive. I brought him back and my father didn't have the heart to abandon him when he found him hiding in my room," you said before stopping suddenly, feeling like you had said too much.

But Christopher didn't judge you, not for your modest condition. He found you endearing, refreshing even in your own way.

"Can I drive you and Henry home ?" he offered kindly.

"That's nice, but we're going for a walk," you replied.

Christopher's smile immediately faded.

"Miss [Y/S], I insist, it's already pitch black."

"I don't think it's right for me to sit alone with you in your carriage," you said softly.

Christopher's eyes lit up with a flash of understanding. You had no chaperone to accompany you in the carriage and propriety shouldn't have made him insist, but it was cold, you were far from home, and he would not have been able to sleep properly tonight without being sure that you had returned home safely.

He was about to insist when, without warning, the rain began to fall, hammering the ground severely. He almost pushed you into the carriage before grabbing Henry and making him climb in at the same time as himself.

"You can't go back alone, by foot, in this weather, you will catch your death," he said in a tone that left no room for contradiction.

He told the coachman your destination and the carriage set off again. He wouldn't return home tonight finally, to his estate that he had so longed to return to, he wouldn't find his firm and comfortable bed and his governess's lemon cakes. He already knew that you would arrive home late, but he had no doubt that John and his mother-in-law would welcome him with open arms, even if he was not expected. It bothered him a little to impose himself like this, but he knew that the horse, and also the coachman, would not have the strength to make it all the way to Devonshire, then to Delaford.

The journey took place in comfortable silence. You were shivering slightly from the cold, snuggling in spite of yourself in the Colonel's oversized coat that smelled of cologne and another perfume whose name you did not know but that you had already smelled on your father's employer.

"May I ask you if you live alone with your father ?" Christopher dared to ask.

His intention wasn't entirely innocent. He wanted to know if you had a fiancé.

"Yes," you simply replied.

He wondered how old you were and what you did with your days, but he felt you were reserved and he himself was not a man who spoke easily about himself, he preferred not to bother you any further.

It was almost 10 pm when the carriage finally arrived near the modest cottage that the Hawthorns rented at a ridiculous price to your father. The place was small, modest. There were only four rooms: two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen as well as a small cold and poorly lit room that you used to take your baths.

Although you didn't know who Christopher really was, you guessed that he was important... and rich, and you couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by the smallness of your means, but at no time did Christopher seem to be bothered by it. He helped you down before handing you Henry.

"Come inside and get warm, [Y/S]," he said, bowing before adding, "it was a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you Colonel Brandon, really," you replied before disappearing inside, not without one last look at the man who still had his hazel eyes fixed on you.

Christopher then headed to his old friend John's, his thoughts filled with your face, your soft voice, that strange feeling you had awakened in him but that he tried to stifle at all costs. He didn't want to suffer, not again. He had finally learned his lesson. Love wasn't for him, you wouldn't make him suffer, not you too.

"Brandon ! My old friend, I didn't know we were expecting you !" John exclaimed when the butler announced Christopher.

"I'm sorry to intrude like this..." he began before being interrupted by Mrs. Jennings who told him with her usual joviality that he was always welcome at their home.

John invited him to drink a glass of his best whisky, a Scottish vintage that he particularly cherished, in his office. Christopher hesitated to confide in him about the intriguing encounter he had had, and wisdom made him hold his tongue. Until the next day, when at breakfast, when he ventured a few questions to Mrs. Jennings.

"Last night, as I was heading to your place, I met a young woman. A certain [Y/S]. Do you know her, Mrs. Jennings ?" he asked casually without telling the whole truth about your encounter.

"Oh, Miss [Y/S] ! I don't know her very well, she's a very private young lady, but..."

She knew a lot for someone who didn't know you and she was able to tell Christopher that you were a 28 year old spinster with no known fiancé. You were rather private although often seen with your faithful Henry.

"She sometimes walks on my land," John informed Christopher as he took a bite of bread, "I've never had the heart to tell her she walks on private land, she's so reserved that I don't want to make her uncomfortable," he added.

"Oh, and she seems so respectful and she's not doing anything wrong walking here with her dog. Poor child, she's always so alone." Mrs. Jennings said theatrically. "She sometimes helps out at the Hawthorne manor with the children. I did try to invite her to have tea with me once, but she told me she didn't think a girl like her belonged at my table."

"Nonsense !" John exclaimed, "Any pleasant and well-mannered person is worthy of being part of our acquaintances."

His mother-in-law nodded vigorously before continuing with the latest gossip, but Christopher was already no longer listening, his thoughts lost in a December night where the moon lit up your eyes a deep green.

Finally returning home, Christopher settled into his old worn fabric armchair, a book in his hand, but he wasn't reading. You were still there haunting his thoughts. He had felt this feeling before. Not like with Marianne, no. But like with Eliza.

He shook his head vigorously as if to get your image out of his head. He couldn't afford to have heartbroken, he wouldn't survive it, not when he had finally come to terms with the idea of ​​being alone for the rest of his life, in the comfort of the Delaford, with his dogs. And yet, he didn't see his day go by. Not because he had been busy with his fishing trip and his horseback ride, but because his mind had been busy. Busy with you.

And for no real reason, he found himself visiting his friend John two days later, under the pretext of proposing a hunting trip. John accepted enthusiastically, unaware that his friend's real intention was to see you again. And it didn't take more than two days for him to come across you near the small river that crossed John's land. Recognising him, Henry ran towards him, barking happily.

"Miss [Y/S], what a nice surprise to see you again," Brandon said politely, bowing.

"Colonel Brandon, this is a surprise indeed," you replied, giving him a slight bow.

"You don't have any gloves," he remarked, a little concerned.

However, what he didn't mention, although he noticed it right away, was that you were wearing his coat, the one he had forced over your shoulders a few nights earlier and that you had forgotten to give him back. The fabric still smelled like him, in addition to being of undeniable quality, giving you a welcome warmth. Christopher was kind enough not to say anything, happy that you had something decent to cover yourself with.

"I never wear them," you replied, shrugging, "I can't turn the pages of my book with gloves," you added, showing him the book with the worn cover that you were holding in your hands.

"Can I accompany you on your walk, Miss [Y/S] ?"

You nodded shyly and you walked along the small river together, Henry at your side. The Colonel didn't seem bothered by your four-legged companion who regularly jumped on him, leaving his footprints on his black pants. When you apologised, a little embarrassed by Henry's behaviour, Christopher replied with a smile that he loved dogs and that it didn't matter to him that Henry decided to repaint his pants.

When the sky began to darken in the late afternoon, you politely excused yourself, stating that you should go home before nightfall.

"Can I walk you home ?" Brandon suggested, genuinely worried about letting you walk home alone.

You bit your lip, hesitant. On one hand, you didn't want to risk being seen with a man and having rumors spread about you, but on the other hand, you didn't want to risk hurting the kind Colonel Brandon. You finally agreed, praying inwardly that no viper's tongue in the village would see you two. Your wish seemed to have been granted and it was with the manners of a gentleman that Colonel Brandon wished you a good evening before waiting until you had closed the door behind you to turn on your heels.

In love. He was in love, for sure. And it wasn't an illusion this time. You were nothing like Eliza. You were neither lively nor spontaneous. In fact, you were more like him: thoughtful, calm and sparing with words. But you also had a certain depth, a certain culture and a natural curiosity to feed your mind. He knew that with you, he would always have a subject of conversation, whether it was books, poetry, art, theatre or music. He had understood it when, despite your lack of education on the subject, you had taken an interest in his life in the army and when you had started to drown him in questions not about him but about India, the different cultures and people he had met there, he had found it refreshing.

At no time had you asked a question about his field or made any allusion to his status. But that was where the problem lay in Christopher's mind. His status. He had never really given importance to social class differences. Not with Eliza. Not with Marianne. His father had taught him a first lesson, Marianne a second, more bitter than the first one. What would he do if you were also a dowry hunter?

Christopher wanted to be loved. Loved for himself, not for his wealth, not for the Delaford. Of course, if you were his he would spoil you like never before. You would have the most beautiful dresses, your own coats, gloves, clothes for every season and jewellery to match each dress. 

You would have access to all the books you wanted and he would teach you to draw and play the piano so that you could occupy your time in his big house. But it was not for all that he had to offer that he wanted you to love him in return. It was for himself and a small, vicious voice told him that a girl like you, a girl of little condition, penniless, a gardener's daughter, an old maid at that, could never truly love him for himself. But another small voice, weaker but still there, told him that he must not let himself be swayed by a bad experience. 

After all, Marianne was just a child, a capricious and changeable little girl and he wasn't even sure that her real interest in his love stories was money. With her impulsiveness, Marianne fell in love as easily as one falls off a chair and he wondered if she would keep her promise made before God to be faithful to her high judge. Although he knew the latter well enough not to doubt that he would hold this little demon with an iron fist.

Several miles from the Delaford, your thoughts were haunted too. Haunted by a tall man with dark blond hair and hazel eyes. His eagle-beaked nose that made him even more distinguished and his shy smile haunted you. You knew exactly what you felt for him. You had known it the moment he had wrapped you authoritatively in his coat before forcing you into his carriage to take you home on that December night lit only by the moon.

You loved him. You loved him as you had thought you loved twelve years earlier. But you realized today that what you had taken for love at only sixteen had nothing to do with what you felt for the dark Colonel Brandon. This time, you were experiencing true love, the kind that burns you from the inside, consumes you, haunts your nights and fills your days.

But you had no right to love him. By discreetly asking around at the old bakery, you had learned who Colonel Christopher Brandon really was. A man who wasn't for you. A man too good, too important, too rich. How could a man like him ever be interested in a woman like you ?

But that wasn't all. Even if, by some totally improbable chance, Colonel Brandon could have the slightest interest in you, you were hiding something. A secret that would repel any man, even a man of your status. A secret that only your grandmother knew and that she had taken with her to her grave. A secret that would die with you but that condemned you to remain alone forever.

A few days later, you were alone outside in the middle of the night, frozen to the bone as a pure white snow fell on Dorsetshire. Henry was sheltered in your coat, or at least the Colonel's coat. The little rascal had burrowed away again and now you were both going to catch bluetongue. If it hadn't been for the full moon, you would never have been able to find your way through all that white. Just then, in front of you came a man on horseback, a magnificent black stallion with a fine appearance.

Inwardly, you felt anxiety take hold of you. It was late and you could tell that the rider was a man, and you hoped that he was a man with good intentions.

The closer the horse got, the more familiar the figure on it seemed to you. But it was only when he was a few steps away from you that you recognized Colonel Brandon, dashing in his long wool coat.

"Miss [Y/S] !" he exclaimed in an almost angry tone, "what are you doing out in this weather ? You're going to catch your death !"

"It's Henry, he disappeared again himself again," you replied in a very small voice.

Hearing his name, the dog stuck his head between the flaps of the coat, his tongue hanging out trying to catch the snowflakes that were falling on you.

"Maybe we should build a proper barrier to stop your companion from scaring you to death... and freezing."

Brandon had said this with a firmness that left no room for any kind of humour. You nodded timidly, shivering despite the warmth of his coat.

"Give him to me," Brandon ordered.

You hesitated for a moment but when he held out his gloved hands towards you, you handed him Henry without fear. Deep down, you knew he wouldn't hurt your best friend. Christopher placed your dog inside his own coat, then he held out your hand.

"Ride with me, I'll take you home !"

You placed your hand in his hesitantly and he hoisted you up without any harm behind him before setting his horse into a gallop.

Your hands hooked on his hips, you gently rested your head against his back. You could feel the warmth emanating from his body pierce you and for a moment, you imagined what it must be like to be loved by a man like him.

When the horse stopped in front of the cottage you shared with your father, the snow had stopped falling and it shone like millions of diamonds under the benevolent gaze of the moon.

"Your father isn't here ?" Brandon asked worriedly, seeing no candles lit in your candle, nor the smoke of a warm fire burning in the fireplace.

"No. The Hawthornes are having a small party for the staff and he was invited," you replied as he helped you dismount.

Christopher dismounted as well, Henry still sheltered against his chest.

"Do you need help lighting the fire ?" Brandon asked, genuinely concerned.

"No, thank you Colonel, but I'll be fine."

The truth was that you couldn't start the fire eight times out of ten, but if anyone found out that a man had come into your house while your father wasn't there to chaperone you, it didn't matter that you were already 28, the rumour that you were a girl of easy virtue would spread like wildfire in the village and your father would risk losing his job with the Hawthornes, people of great kindness but who couldn't stand to be the object of mockery, especially at the fault of their employees.

"Good evening, Miss [Y/S]," Brandon murmured, his gaze tender.

"Colonel, I can't go home," you murmured.

"Why ?" Christopher asked in a whisper.

"Because you're still holding my dog in ​hostage," you replied with a slight smile.

Christopher chuckled before handing Henry back to you, but as he placed him in your arms, his fingers lingered longer than necessary on your icy hand.

Gently, he untied the silk scarf that brought a little more warmth to his throat and chest to place it around you, adding a touch of modesty to your fragile form in the face of his imposing stature. The scarf, light and delicate, immediately offered you an additional touch of warmth, a touch of warmth that manifested itself in a delicate blush on your cheeks, a touch of warmth caused by the violent feelings you felt for Christopher Brandon.

"I offer it to you. As well as the coat. They will keep you warm this winter," Brandon said softly, almost as if he were reciting poetry.

"Colonel..." you murmured, too moved to add a thank you.

"Miss [Y/S]..."

He hesitated for a moment. What he was about to say would change the destiny of both of you forever. He wasn't going to offer to be your friend. No, he was going to take a risk, a new one.bet against the reason that pushed him to make you a mere memory, against his heart that screamed at him that he would suffer again, against the love that seemed to refuse him with force, leaving him a little more broken each time.

"Miss [Y/S], do you allow me to court you ?"

A million emotions crossed your gaze and he could not name any of them. Inside, you screamed with joy while your heart beat so hard that you wondered if it would not explode with love. But there was this secret. This secret that could destroy the slightest illusion that you could nourish towards the slightest spark of love between Colonel Brandon and yourself. Yet, if your head told you to say no to him immediately so as not to hurt him later, so as not to hurt this man who seemed sincerely good and kind and who deserved so much better than you, it was your heart that answered.

"Yes."

You said it in a breath, your eyes diving into his. With tenderness, he caressed your face, a slight smile softening his features so often severe while you allowed yourself a sincere smile that hid your fear that he could learn what had haunted you for more than twelve years.

"I promise to always respect you miss [Y/S]," Christopher murmured, confusing your apprehension for what you were hiding with the fear that he was playing you.

"Colonel, please, call me by my first name," you asked him candidly.

"Only if, in private, you call me Christopher."

You nodded with emotion. He squeezed your small hands in his, smiling slightly at Henry's antics who was impatient at the idea of ​​going back to get warm.

"Come back, [Y/N], get warm. I'll come back to see you tomorrow and talk to your father. I'll ask for his blessing to court you properly." 

And without waiting to answer, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, while on this December evening, only the moon was witness to this hope that you both nourished. The hope of a new chance, of redemption, of finally knowing true love.

[purplelupins]

A quick word on my Judge Turpin x Reader fic:

It will be a slow burn that will span over roughly 8-10 chapters.

For those who are used to reading Snape fics, please remember that Turpin is very different in his speech and mannerisms than him. Same actor, different role (I have to remind myself of this all the time)

It takes place from 1838 - 1845+

Reader is around 24(but please use whatever age you’d like so long as they are of age.)

Turpin is around 55-60, but again, you can make him as old as you like- it is not directly referenced in the fic.

[chaos-caffeinated]

Good news, bad news...

I'm currently at the school computer about to admit that I am writing a quick story with smut, and my friend (caffeinated) is probably going to read this and either 1) chuckle 2) snort 3) sigh as he shake his head slowly as he knew this was bout to happen and he has no one else but him to blame because he got me into it because my head is full-on empty except rotten with Judge Turpin and saw that there were few....like too few for my comfort of fanfiction, much less smut (except you @deepplerplexity and the few dedicated writers, love your story and I have now settled down to be patient - for once in my damed life- to wait for a story) , but I just decided "hey this blod is open... to anything I feel comfortable and equal parts to caffeinated- I WILL JOIN IN THE TURPIN TRAIN MUAHAHAHHAHAH *runs and speeds up only to grab the rail to horny jail for Turin content* hahahahahha!

Miracle of a Chance is too close for my comfort to post any chapters as I do want some space and am very busy with school (apparently not but I gotta bulk up with muscles so that's there too). Ehm what else, yes so right now I am writing it, it is a Judge Turpin x femme!reader in the modern era and there WILL be smut, and that good ol' smut from size difference kinks, different positions, different roles (try to argue with me that Turpin is only dom, he is NOT, he is a switch and likes to sub for hsi darling, fight me on that), anyways that's it, I simp for older men, I have no shame, and a lot of smutty goodness, good day y'all!!

[ilikefandom]

A Bookclub From the Bench

Request: Hi, can I request Judge Turpin? Where the reader is a close friend of his ward and he kinda likes her, something like that HAHAHA. it’s okay if u don’t want to.

Requested by: Anon

Genre: Fluff

Synopsis: Johanna has a new friend to read books with.

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem Reader

Warnings: None

When the bench was installed on the street outside of his house, the honourable Judge Edward Turpin almost threw a fit. Sure it was technically on public property, it couldn’t be seen from most of the windows of the house, and it wasn’t an ugly looking bench, but Johanna could see it from her window. His honour would have no young men sitting on that bench to ogle at Johanna, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Johanna, on the other hand was excited to see other people for once, not just catch glimpses at the passers by. And, as she sat in her window reading a book, she thought she may have the chance to make a friend.

Although Edward couldn’t bear to watch his darling Johanna find a disgusting young man outside of the house, he had  to go to the courthouse to work. He left Johanna and, tightening his cravat to his throat, made his way to the courthouse.

A few hours into the day, Johanna looked up from her book to see a pretty, young, woman sitting on the bench. She wore a sky blue dress and a matching bonnet, the dress itself was simple, although purchased from a store, it was apparent that this girl's family had some wealth. She looked to be older than Johanna, but not by much eighteen, maybe twenty years of age. That girl was (Y/n) (Y/l/n). Mr. (Y/l/n) was the warden and head official of the Newgate Prison, and he had a small portrait of his daughter in his pocket watch. Johanna remembered her face from that lifelike painting, when he had come over for a visit with Mr. Turpin.

(Y/n) looked up at Johanna and smiled at her giving her a little wave as her male companion, that had been just out of sight, came into view. It was her brother William, a bailiff in Turpin’s court. 

Johanna, confident that Mr. Turpin would allow her to visit with the young lady, give a small wave back, her book still in hand. (Y/n)’s eyes widened and she pulled the same book, Pamela, Virtue Rewarded, from the basket her brother carried, she cradled the small object to her chest and smiled. Catching the meaning of the gesture, Johanna hugged her book too.

 (Y/n) hurriedly called out, “Can you hear me?”

Johanna nodded and replied, “Yes, I can hear you!”

“I’m (Y/n).” (Y/n) said shyly as she lowered her book to her lap, sitting once again on the bench.

“I’m Johanna.” Johanna responded, placing her book down as well. 

And that was how a beautiful friendship began. Every Tuesday and every Friday from that point in time, William would walk (Y/n) down to the bench, even as the seasons turned, from fall to winter, (Y/n) and Johanna discussed books they both loved and made a delivery system with a wooden basket, yarn and the trees. 

In the middle of February, Edward Turpin couldn’t help but notice that Johanna was lighter, happier, and that made his insides wrench, who was it that made Johanna this happy that wasn’t him? The next day, a Friday, he sent Beadle to watch the house. 

That day, Johanna was prepared for the book club that the two girls had going, she had finished (Y/n)’s copy of The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless and her best, and only, friend was returning her copy of Evalina. When (Y/n) arrived with William, Johanna gave her an enthusiastic wave, unaware of Beadle listening in and watching the two girls.

(Y/n) was clothed in a new winter dress, the bottom was already wet from the snow and the matching half cape was pulled over her shoulders. Complete with a white, rabbit fur, muff, she looked like one of the girls from the posters in dress shops. 

Beadle’s eyes widened, it wasn’t a boy professing his love for Johanna that was making her happy, it was a young woman who loved books just as much as the young girl in the window. 

The two were engaging in small talk when Johanna scooted forward with an excited grin, “How was your first courting ball of the season?”

(Y/n) made an embarrassed face before admitting that nobody had even asked her to dance. “Father waited too long. I should have entered last year. I’m twenty years old Johanna, two years older than the typical entry age, I should have realized I had no chance.”

Johanna made a small noise in the back of her throat. “Any of the men of upper status would be lucky to have you as his wife, (Y/n).”

(Y/n) gave a small smile, “I have more trials and balls this year, if not I have three or four more seasons.”

Beatle slunk away from the two friends, who made their goodbyes with promises to meet on Tuesday, and made his way back to the courthouse, this he had to tell the Judge about.

Edward Turpin was surprised to hear that his Johanna had made a friend, but to hear that this friend was a young woman, of marriageable age, excited him. He didn’t know why, but he had to meet this girl and know her as well as his ward did. 

On Tuesday, Edward wrapped up his last case early and departed from the hall of Justice, Beatle at his heels. He was basically running down the street and the servant followed behind him. He rounded the corner and stopped in his track, causing Beatle to stop rather quickly behind him.

There, sitting on the bench before the two men was a vision in pink and white. (Y/n) smiled and laughed, her giggle flowing down the street, flooding the ears of all who heard. And for one moment after the noise stilled, Edward wanted nothing but to hear it again. He didn’t want wealth or power. He didn’t even want Johanna, he wanted that angelic noise to fill his ears again.

Turpin set off toward his house walking at his normal, brisk, pace. Approaching the gate, he caught the young woman’s scent. It wasn’t much, just cleanliness and lavender. Then he caught her eye under the pink and white hood. (Y/l/n) yes, but what was her first name, he had recognised her from a pocket watch portrait. 

She stood, almost tripping over the hem of her dress. “My lord.” she gasped as she stumbled back, he caught her hand before she fell and Johanna let out a small shriek.

Edward Turpin did not consider himself the romantic type, but right here and right now, holding (Y/l/n)’s daughter by her waist, he felt his face flush as thoughts circulated his mind. As the young woman in front of him in pure white a veil hiding her face and hair. Of her teaching Johanna the piano as she ran a hand over a stomach swollen with a baby, his baby.

Dismissing the thoughts from his head, he picked up a book that she had dropped and handed it to her, with a reminder to be more careful next time as the road was slippery. He slid inside of the house looking back on (Y/n), her eyes were wide and a shy smile graced her face. She held the book to her chest and then averted her eyes making her way down the street, as the sky grew dimmer in the twilight.

He lit a fire in the fireplace and pulled a book from the shelf before calling up to Johanna, “I like her.”

And he did, maybe a little too much.

Author’s note: Hello readers! This is my first fic for Judge Turpin. I think the name Edward suits him. Please reblog, comment and request fanfic ideas, as yours will get done, eventually!