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starlight-sev · 3 months ago

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December 3: A Treat (Snape x Reader)

(Part of @deepperplexity’s Rickmas 2024)

Every time I try to write for other characters Alan has played, I find myself coming back to Severus over and over. He’s just so complex.

Enjoy this sweet lil awkward date :)

Getting Severus Snape to go on a date with you was hard enough.

Getting Severus Snape to go on a date with you in public? Near impossible.

Sure, it was nice hanging out with him in his office after work, sipping wine together and complaining about the latest student shenanigans of the week. But you found yourself wanting more.

How you finally managed to convince him to physically go out with you was like pulling teeth: it had taken countless evenings in either your office, or his office, along with countless glasses of wine, before he had finally (and rather reluctantly) agreed.

Now that the winter holidays were in full swing, and most of the students had gone home for a few weeks, you suggested going into Hogsmeade for the afternoon. And of course even then, Severus tried his best to manoeuvre as far away from the public as possible.

The two of you sat side by side on a fallen tree, overlooking the Shrieking Shack in the distance. You two were familiar with each other’s company — comfortable enough to sit with your shoulders touching, but not quite at the point where you could reach out and hold his hand without a second thought.

“Do you have any favourite places at Hogsmeade?” You asked after a brief moment of silence passed between the two of you. Severus glanced over at you with a slight frown.

“No, I can’t say I do. I don’t often come here.”

“You don’t?”

“No.” He replied, burying his face a little further into his scarf. “Unless I’m on chaperone duty during a school trip.”

“Well,” you answered quietly, nudging his shoulder. Severus glanced at you quickly with a frown before softening when he realized your gesture was of a friendly nature. “Thanks for coming out here with me.”

He nodded slowly, his eyes dark and unreadable as usual. “Of course.”

Your heart raced a little as another silence passed between the two of you. Why was being with Severus so damn hard this time around? Usually when you two were together, the conversation was effortless. Things flowed nicely. This time… it seemed neither of you knew quite how to break the ice.

A gust of wind rattled the trees around you, and you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself. It was much too cold to be sitting out here the way you were, and you longed to be inside somewhere warm.

“What’s your favourite treat?” You found yourself blurting out suddenly. Severus looked at you as if you had just insulted him in another language.

“My… what?”

“Favourite treat. Do you have one?”

Severus blinked in surprise, lost for words for a moment.

“I don’t think I have one,” he admitted. He seemed to be tiptoeing around you, choosing his words carefully. “Do you?”

You nodded. “Hot chocolate… from Honeydukes specifically.”

Severus shook his head. “I’ve never tried it.”

“Are you serious? Let’s go, I’ll get you one.”

“That’s kind of you, but I don’t need one.”

“Well, I do.” You announced as you began walking. Anything to get out of the cold.

As you walked into Honeydukes, you were gently cocooned by a rush of warm sugary air, and you couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Severus stuck out like a sore thumb in the store, in his all-black attire. You noticed the way he hung back in the store, staying close to the wall as if not to be seen. He stayed rather still, but he kept glancing around at the small number of others browsing the shop. He seemed anxious.

Before you could convince yourself otherwise, you grabbed his hand gently and tugged him up to the front counter. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught him visibly stiffen before slowly softening as he grew more familiar with your touch. His hands were surprisingly warm.

You ordered two hot chocolates, and just as you were about to pay, Severus stepped forward and silently took out a few Galleons from his pocket. He placed them on the counter quickly, beating you to the payment.

“Oh.” You murmured in faint surprise. “I was going to get it for you, you didn’t have to do that-”

“I insist.” Severus replied softly. His eyes were warm, and you caught the tiniest smile grace his lips for a split second. You nodded your head in gratitude.

“Thank you.”

Hot chocolates now warming your hands, the two of you walked in silence and sat together in a small clearing, just around the corner from the main street. Severus took a small sip of his hot chocolate, and you caught the tiny gasp of surprise he made as he took in the flavour.

“What do you think?” You grinned, watching his reaction. He scrutinized the cup, deep in thought, before nodding slowly as he turned to smile at you.

“I see why you like this so much.”

You laughed and took a sip for yourself. “See? I told you it was good.”

The air felt much less awkward between the two of you, and more like how it was when you’d visit each other’s offices at Hogwarts. Now that you were out of public view for the most part, Severus seemed to have visibly relaxed.

You glanced over at him and had to bite back a smile. He had the smallest bit of chocolate just above his lip. You pressed your lips together to keep from saying anything, but Severus caught your expression. He frowned curiously.

“What is it?”

“You've got, um…” you tried to tap your mouth quickly to signal to him, but he didn’t quite get the right spot.

Oh, to hell with it.

“Um no, it’s a little lower…” you reached up quickly and swiped it away with a gentle touch. Severus kept his gaze on you the entire time. Dozens of emotions seemed to flash in his eyes all at once. You found it hard to look away. He looked beautiful in the winter light.

You leaned forward and pressed the tiniest kiss to the corner of his mouth. Your lips didn’t quite touch his, and as a result it was more of a cheek kiss really, but your heart was still racing nonetheless. Severus blinked curiously, observing every tiny movement and expression you made.

And then, after setting his hot chocolate down without a word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours softly.

You inhaled sharply, every sense suddenly running on overdrive. You tensed at first, but then Severus rested his hand gently on your leg, and you found yourself relaxing immediately. Your kisses were slow. Deliberate. As if you were testing the waters together.

You broke away, breathing a little more intensely than before. Severus looked at you as if to ask if that was okay, and you knew right there that he had fully captured your heart.

“Could I kiss you again, perhaps?”

You had to giggle at his question. You nodded, setting down your hot chocolate on the bench beside you so you could properly face him now.

“I’d really like that.”

Severus smiled, genuinely. It was a sight you knew you’d love to get used to seeing. He leaned in, kissing you again with much less hesitancy than the first time.

You’d never be able to look at hot chocolate the same way again.

#rickmas 2024 #snape x reader #severus snape #snape imagine #harry potter #severus snape x reader #severus snape imagine #alan rickman #rickmas2024

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muiitoloko · 3 months ago

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Rickmas 2024: DAY 02. SECRET WATCHING

Summary: Hans catches you in an intimate moment, his hazel eyes gleaming with amusement as he teases you, savoring the surprise and embarrassment on your face as he makes his presence known.

Pairing: Hans Gruber × Fem! Reader

Warnings: mention of sex.

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.

#rickmas2024 #alan rickman #judge turpin x reader #judge turpin #judge turpin x you #sweeny todd #evans23

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thesoftboiledegg · 2 months ago

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This will probably be the last holiday-themed merchandise roundup of 2024. Retail stores are already winding down, although I did find a few new items...including this light-up sweatshirt at a thrift store!

However, today isn't just the year's last holiday roundup. It's also my birthday--and yep, I was born on Christmas Eve. 🎄

This year has been a little slow for Rick and Morty fans, but we had fun. The Ultimate Rick Showdown (@ultimaterickshowdown), a Christmas-themed promo, the anime (OK, maybe that one didn't land), and--oh yeah, who could forget the Rickmobile tour?

Visiting the Rickmobile was legitimately one of the best days I've ever had. It's not often that this fandom comes together in person to share our love of the series. The Adult Swim employees were great, and everyone was smiling and having a good time.

Kind of like Cool Rick! Another thrift store find.

And the socks are still in stock.

I saw these at Marshall's. I actually love the packaging.

It's not Rickmas without a new pair of pajama pants!

I'd been hoping to see the infamous Vat of Acid Christmas ornament in person, and the Hallmark store in the mall finally had it!

It's a great episode, but knowing what happens in it...yeah, I would NOT hang that on my tree.

The "skate shop" (are you REALLY a skate shop if you're a mall franchise?) had a new Members Only jacket. I actually didn't spot it on the rack until I saw the Rick and Morty tag on the sleeve.

Charlotte Russe hasn't had much Rick and Morty apparel lately, so I was pleased to find these T-shirts and pajama pants!

Buttons at the toy store!

Finally, I posted about this a while ago, but it was back on the shelves after disappearing for months, and I thought I'd share it again because it's so unique. And it's my birthday, so I can do what I want.

It's not just a figurine: it's the whole setting.

This collection is from 2017-2018, so it's a little old. I always think it's interesting to see merchandise from the seasons 2-3 days when Rick and Morty was at its peak.

Adult Swim signed off on this show and probably figured that it'd find an audience but never expected it to be the center of the zeitgeist in the mid-2010s. Some people try to rewrite history now that it's had controversies, but nope: Rick and Morty was popular. It was cool. It was THE show that everyone was watching.

I was there. I didn't watch it until 2019, but I saw it become a pop culture phenomenon. A lot has changed, but we're still on here talking about it because it means so much to us. Who knows--maybe the people who dismiss the show because of its reputation will catch on.

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #morty smith #summer smith #long post #charlotte russe #thrift store #marshall's #hallmark #members only #roundup

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jacks-valentine · 17 days ago

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

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

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

A Helping Hand

Title: A Helping Hand

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

Pairing: Sinclair Bryant x Original Character

Warning: Angst to fluff to smut

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

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

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

Also available on:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62372701

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

Two Years Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my God, Sinclair!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"That would be wonderful."

#alan rickman #sinclair bryant #sinclair bryant x original character #alan rickman fanfic #close my eyes 1991 #I'm new to fanfic writing #hazy n dazy n confuzed #aspiring writer #aspiring author

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ao3feed-janeausten · 3 months ago

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#IFTTT #AO3 works tagged 'AUSTEN Jane - Works'#Jane Austen #fanfic #fanfiction

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myveryownfanfiction · 2 years ago

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Rules for requesting!

-have age in bio 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

-no ships, reader insert only

-fictional characters only

-gender neutral readers only please

-no incest, rape, pedophilia, etc.

-details will be worked out in DMs for smut

-inbox or DM works

-no homophobia, racism, sexism, ageism, fatphobia, etc.

-no commissions, I write because I want to write

-all fics are published here. No private only for me works

-reserve the right to turn down requests

Rickmas 2024 prompt list

sharpmarch 2025 prompt list

Masterlist - 5/25/23 last updated

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starlight-sev · 3 months ago

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December 1: December Moon (Snape x Reader)

(Part of @deepperplexity’s Rickmas 2024 prompts)

It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything, but I really wanted to participate in Rickmas this year!

Writing’s been tough as I have a new (much more demanding) job, but I’ll do my best to get as many prompts out there this month as I can.

Gender neutral reader as always for this one. It’s platonic too. Enjoy, and happy December!

The first hour of the Yule Ball had been fun, but now the novelty was starting to wear off.

The glamour and elegance that welcomed you when you first walked into the Great Hall was now gone; napkins littered the floor, chairs were haphazardly strewn here and there from students rushing to dance in excitement, and the music had changed to ear-blasting rock.

On any other day, you would’ve loved it. But sitting here at the teacher’s table, in shoes too narrow and a fancy outfit that was beginning to itch, you just felt like crawling out of your own skin.

You were technically still on supervision duty — Dumbledore had scheduled all the teachers in one hour shifts to ensure there were chaperones at all times. Casting a glance at the silver clock on the wall, your heart sunk as you realized you still had another 45 minutes before you could retreat back into the comfort of your own chambers.

Surely no one would notice if you left for a few moments though, right? If you left your jacket on your chair, you could easily pass off a quick absence as an emergency bathroom break.

You got up out of your chair and rushed out of the Great Hall as quick as you could. You forced yourself not to look back as you turned the corner and headed into a secluded spot in the courtyard.

The winter air was a welcome chill that crept across your skin as you settled down on a step. You could relax for a moment, finally. Even if it were only for a quick smoke break. You thanked Merlin for formalwear with pockets as you snagged a lonely cigarette out of your side pocket, and fumbled around looking for a lighter in the other pocket. You did bring it with you, didn’t you?

“Escaping duty, are we?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as a quiet, yet deep, voice spoke from behind you. You shot up to your feet quickly and whipped around to see Severus smirking at you.

“Bloody hell, you scared me.” You gasped, taking in his attire. You had to admit, even in all black, he still cleaned up nicely for an event as formal as this. He had on a wool coat, and what looked like a handknitted scarf. Though he wore his usual stoic expression, the way his hands were jammed in his pockets suggested he was just as cold as you were.

“Sorry.” You muttered. “I’ll go back in. Don’t tell Albus.”

To your surprise, Severus scoffed.

“I’m escaping as well, if it weren’t obvious enough. I’ve had enough of that music.”

You laughed at that. “I thought you’d like what they’re playing.”

“Why? Because of what I wear?”

You glanced away, and out of the corner of your eye, you swore Severus smirked at you.

“I didn’t know you smoke.” He observed with a murmur, quirking an eyebrow slightly as he nodded to the cigarette resting between your fingers. You shrugged.

“I usually don’t. I’ve managed to kick the habit for the most part, it’s only in situations like these when I need something to keep me sane.”

You searched your pockets again and swore under your breath. You had forgotten your lighter.

Severus almost seemed to read your mind, and with an unreadable expression, he took out a lighter of his own. You raised your eyebrows.

“You have Muggle parents too?” You asked, somewhat astonished. Most wizards would simply use their wand as a lighter, but something about having a physical object with only one purpose felt comforting to you. Familiar.

Severus nodding in response, rolling his eyes while doing so.

“Yes. My father. You?”

“My dad too.” You replied. You held the cigarette between your lips, and, to your surprise, Severus held the lighter up for you. It was a strangely intimate gesture, and your stomach did a little flip-flop as you locked eyes with him, before lighting your cigarette.

“Thanks,” you mumbled. He just nodded.

“I’d offer you a cigarette,” you continued. “But I only brought one. Sorry. I try to limit myself.”

Severus shrugged, slipping the lighter back into his coat pocket. “I don’t smoke.”

“Then why do you have a lighter?”

There was a thick silence that filled the space between the two of you as Severus pressed his lips together.

“It belonged to my father. I suppose I keep it out of spite.”

You opened your mouth to reply, but you caught the warning in Severus’s eyes as he shifted to gaze at you. You remained quiet, and turned your gaze upwards to the sky instead.

“It’s a nice evening. Full moon tonight.”

“Mm. Indeed.”

You keep your gaze on the moon as you smoke. Neither of you speak for a while, and as you finish your cigarette, you wonder if Severus glided back into the castle as softly as he came. As you finally tore your gaze away from the moon, you caught the shadow out of the corner of your eye.

“Oh. You’re still here.”

Severus smirked a little. “Do you want me to go?”

“No, no!” You mumbled quickly, shaking your head. “It’s not that. I just… didn’t think you liked me enough to stay this long.”

As if to challenge that statement, Severus stepped a little closer to you. “And what exactly brought you to that conclusion?”

You tried to mask the way your breath caught in your throat. “Nothing, I just… I don’t know. Seems you don’t like many people here. Me included.”

“I’m selective with my company.” Severus replied slowly. “The fact that I am still here should prove you wrong, should it not?”

You couldn’t exactly argue with that. You sighed, wrapping your arms tightly around your torso. The cold was starting to hit you.

Severus noticed your feeble attempt to stay warm. Rolling his eyes, he unraveled the scarf from around his neck and draped it around you without a word.

“Oh, no it’s okay-”

“You’re shivering like a damn dog. Take it.”

You go to protest, but the fire in his eyes shuts you up quickly. You give up quickly, and nod your gratitude.

“Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Two, actually. The lighter.”

His face is serious, but you could swear you see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“Okay,” you said sarcastically. “What’s your payment then?”

To your surprise, Severus actually considered your question. He cast his eyes back up to the moon and exhaled slowly before gazing at you.

“Tea tomorrow. Say, after the staff meeting?”

This wasn’t at all what you were used to from Severus. Maybe it was alcohol talking. Maybe it was the full moon. Nevertheless, you nodded slowly.

“Deal.”

Severus nodded, the faintest smile on his lips.

“Good. Now go back in there. Or else Minerva will have your head.”

You snickered, shaking your head. To your relief, you felt lighter than when you walked out fifteen minutes earlier.

“Are you coming in too?” You asked Severus as you began walking. He shrugged almost imperceptibly before following you.

“I suppose.”

“There’s still music playing. We could dance together.”

Your suggestion was a joke, but there was a part of you that was silently hoping he’d agree. Instead, Severus laughed and shook his head.

“Absolutely not. But I’ll share a drink with you.”

“Drink and a dance?”

“No. A drink. Two, maybe. But no dancing.”

You grin as the two of you walked back into the Great Hall. You slid into your seat at the teacher’s table, and Severus sat down beside you. You slide him a bottle of Firewhiskey from the middle of the table.

“How about two drinks and we sneak out of here for the night, for good this time?”

Severus smirked as he picked up a glass and held it out to you.

“Deal.”

#rickmas2024 #snape x reader #severus snape #snape imagine #harry potter imagine #harry potter #severus snape x reader #alan rickman #rickmas 2024

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starlight-sev · 3 months ago

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December 2: Secret Watching (Jamie x Reader)

(Part of @deepperplexity’s Rickmas 2024 prompts)

I never thought I’d write anything based around Jamie from Truly, Madly, Deeply, yet here we are.

This is a quirky platonic one. No warnings, other than a mischievous ghost. Enjoy.

It didn’t matter what anyone else said, your flat was definitely haunted.

It started off as just a feeling that would come and go. Barely there, but every now and then, as you cooked dinner or sat down to watch a movie, you’d have the distinct itchy sensation that you were being watched. Sometimes, even though you knew you were alone, you’d do a quick wander through each room, just in case. And then, shortly after you’d notice it, the feeling would pass.

Nina, the lady you rented your flat from, seemed nice enough. She had mentioned a rat issue in the past, but this definitely didn’t feel like rats that were watching you. You wanted to ask her if there was more that has gone on in this flat, but you didn’t have the heart to. It seemed crazy.

It was your first Christmas in this flat. Nina had kindly left a box of Christmas decorations to put up, if you wanted to.

You dug through the box as you sat in the living room, trying to find any lights that would bring a little more life to this new place of yours. You felt a little twinge of hope as you pulled out what seemed to be clouds on a string, but let out a sad huff of disappointment as the tangled mess turned out to be a mobile, not a string of cloud-shaped fairy lights.

There it was again. That strange feeling of being watched.

You frowned, glancing around the flat. Your curtains were shut, the place was quiet. And yet, you didn’t feel alone.

“Hello?” You felt both a little stupid and a little scared as you called out into thin air. There was no response.

“Hello?” You called out again, but even as you did so, you could feel the air returning to normal. The feeling vanished as quickly as it came.

With a sigh, you placed the cloud mobile back into the box, and called it a night. Surely it was just your imagination.

Except it wasn’t. The next morning you woke up to find the same cloud mobile you had placed back in Nina’s decoration box was now hanging in the corner of your room, rotating slightly as if someone had gently tapped it only moments earlier. Unless you had been decorating your flat in your sleep, you were certain there was something going on here that you couldn’t explain.

In fact, it only seemed to get worse from there. As more Christmas decorations went up, stranger things kept happening. The lights on the tree would flicker, or sometimes extinguish completely. Bells would tinkle faintly by themselves. And for some reason, the cloud mobile that belonged to Nina kept moving around your flat with each day that passed.

It was when you came home after work one evening only to walk headfirst into the cloud mobile, which was dangling right in front of the door, that you had finally had enough.

“That’s it,” you called out, tossing your shoes and bag to the side as you spoke. “I know you’re here. I don’t know who, or what, you are. But I know you’re here.”

As usual, there was no response. You shook your head and took down the cloud mobile. You marched into the living room and held it up in front of you.

“Want to explain why this keeps moving around?” You demanded to no one in particular. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror in the living room, and you realized just how ridiculous this was. Just as you were losing hope, however, your Christmas tree lights began flickering constantly.

The faint outline of a tall man in what seemed to be a wool trenchcoat materialized in front of you, and you stumbled backwards in a panic. You weren’t sure what you were hoping would happen when you began speaking to thin air, but it certainly wasn’t this.

“Christ, what the-”

“Sorry,” the man said quickly. “Sorry! Sorry. I’m trying not to scare you, I swear.”

You stepped even further back, placing as much distance between you and the ghost as possible.

“Who are you?” You asked slowly. The man raised his hands in what seemed to be surrender.

“I’m Jamie.” He replied carefully. “You’re Y/N, right?”

You nodded, your heart still racing. “I don’t like that you know that.”

“Oh, come on,” Jamie nearly rolled his eyes. “Your name’s written on every piece of mail over there.” He nodded to the pile on your table. “I may be dead, but I can still read.”

“Right…”

“You noticed that then?” Jamie nodded to the cloud mobile, which you had tossed onto the couch. He had a small gleam in his eyes.

“Hard not to, when it’s moving around the flat every other day,” you retorted. “Why this one specifically?”

Jamie sighed, glancing at the item distantly. For a second, you could’ve sworn he almost appeared to be sad.

“It was mine.”

You blinked in confusion. “So this used to be your flat?”

Jamie shook his head. “No, no. It is… was… my girlfriend’s.”

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. “Is she dead too?”

Jamie seemed taken aback by your question. He frowned. “What? No, of course not… she’s…”

There it was again, that distant look in his eyes. You felt a pang of empathy as Jamie seemed to battle his own memories and emotions for a moment.

“It’s okay. I don’t need to know.”

Jamie visibly relaxed at your comment. He gave you a slightly relieved smile in gratitude.

“Why me?” You asked him curiously. “Why have you been trying to get my attention?”

Jamie glanced around the room as he pondered your question.

“It’s been a while since I’ve celebrated Christmas.” He admitted softly. “Time’s a little different on this side. My friends often lose track of how long they spend doing one thing. They love watching movies, you see. We often miss Christmas by the time it occurs to us to actually get up and do something else. But I remembered in time this year, and came here to check on…” Jamie faltered for a moment. “…an old friend. I found you here instead. You’ve decorated nicely.”

You nodded slowly, trying to piece together what Jamie was saying. He seemed kind enough, but it was infuriatingly difficult to have him get to the point. He seemed to almost speak in riddles.

“I’m not sure I follow.” You admitted quietly.

“Right.” Jamie pressed his hands over his eyes for a moment, as if to clear his head. “I suppose… right, I’ll just outright say it. With Nina having moved out-”

“Nina?” You asked incredulously, your eyes wide. You stepped closer to Jamie, and noticed the way the light passed through him. It messed with your head. “You know Nina?”

Jamie pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded hesitantly. “I do… well, I did. Anyway, as I was saying, I miss celebrating Christmas. It’s been a few years since I’ve died, and it’s just not the same on this side.”

“So if I’m following correctly…” you mumbled slowly, glancing at the nervous expression Jamie wore. “You want to spend Christmas with… me?”

Jamie nodded very slowly, almost as if he was ashamed.

“I’ll be quiet. You won’t even know I’m here.”

“You were flickering Christmas lights this past week. Making bells jingle. That’s quiet?”

Jamie swore under his breath, and it almost made you giggle, if it weren’t for the fact that you were talking to an actual ghost.

“Electronics and other things go a bit wonky when I’m around. I’m sorry. I was only trying to get your attention with this.” He held up the cloud mobile and shook it, causing a tinkling sound to fill the room. “I have a bit more control over things that anchor me to my previous life. This is the only thing that’s allowing you to see me right now.”

You nodded slowly, not fully understanding the logic behind being a ghost. You knew better than to question it at this point.

“I suppose you can stay. On one condition.”

“And that is?”

“No more watching me in secret. If you’re here, you show up and be here with me. Got it?”

Jamie nodded, seemingly relieved that everything was now out in the open.

“I can do that.”

“Good.” You murmured, sitting down on the couch. Jamie stepped closer to you, and sat down beside you. There was enough distance between the two of you, but you could definitely feel a chill gently travel through the air as he moved.

“So does this mean we’re roommates now?” He asked gently with a small smile.

“I suppose.”

“Do you snore?”

You wrinkled your nose as you glanced at Jamie. He seemed serious.

“No, I don’t think I do.”

Jamie smiled. “Good. We’ll get along just fine, then.”

#rickmas2024 #truly madly deeply #alan rickman #jamie truly madly deeply #this is so niche idk what else to tag this #alan rickman imagine #alan rickman x reader #rickmas 2024

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