#rickmas2024

[starlight-sev]

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.

[himegureisu]

1 | Christmas Eve

Summary: Your first Christmas together.

Your side of the bed was cold.

This was the first he noticed the moment he opened his eyes. His last memory of your change of clothes on the edge of the bed was cut short by slumber. His hand instinctively reached out for your familiar warmth, his sleep-addled mind slowly processing before finally getting up from the comforts of bed.

Where were you? His frown returned in your absence.

The Malfoy’s Annual Christmas Eve Dinner has sapped his remaining energy for the evening. His exhaustion was evident in how he didn’t remember if you ever joined him in bed, hadn’t even felt the bed dip from your weight.

In his drowsy state, he treads carefully across the wooden floor, following the faint sounds of music coming from downstairs. His hands come across the silver garlands you decorated on the staircase and then pieces of the puzzle clicked.

His enchanted gramophone was put to good use as tunes played in the background of your late-night decorating. From the middle of the steps, he could see you beneath a Christmas tree that certainly wasn’t there when you both came home hours before, surrounded by gift wrappers, fairy lights, and covered in glitter.

Though, he didn’t celebrate the holidays as much as others would before. His outlook in life had drastically changed ever since you’d formally been together. With you, there was something to look forward to.

This would be your first Christmas together, and he awaited the day you would ask when you would shop for decorations but you didn’t probably conflicted to ask but this will not do the next time.

His steps are cautious as he sits down behind you, arranging actual gifts beneath the tree, before slowly wrapping his arms around your waist. Though you could smell the faint jasmine of your body soap that he always ‘mistakenly’ used, you let him embrace you from behind.

“I missed you,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder, as his eyes locked in on the wrapped items and then you, “but it seems you were quite productive in my absence,”

Your cheeks heat up at his words and he presses another kiss to your temple.

“I’m sorry I know you don’t like celebrating,” you turned and explained. “But I hoped you’d make an exception,”

“I will,” his grip around your waist tightened, as your smile widened, “Every year for the rest of our lives,”

“Please don’t joke with me,” you gaped. His gaze was steady as his fingers brushed away the glitter that dusted your cheeks, “Really?”

“I hope you left something to do for me,” your heart swelled at his words. “I can’t have you doing all the work,”

“There is one thing,” you reached for the star, behind the wrappers, and presented it to him, “For you,”

Severus sighed.

Of course, you saved this particular thing for last but then again you couldn’t reach the top of the tree nor would you want to use magic to do this sort of thing.

In tandem, you stand, Severus on his toes as he reaches up to place the star at the top of the tree, and as soon as it’s situated it illuminates a soft yellow glow. Your eyes twinkled happily, and his heart was full at the sight of your happiness.

In the background, the clock chimes midnight. Just in time.

“Happy Christmas,” you whispered. Your lips curved in a smile as you faced him, “Happy Christmas, darling,”

Without a word further, his lips meet yours in a warm and gentle kiss. The world fades into the background in his arms. Your soft breaths further urged kindling desires as you pulled back for air.

Your foreheads rest against the other’s, cheeks tinged pink, and lips plump as his eyes only focus on you. There was a smidge of glitter on his sleepwear from your antics.

“Can we take this to bed?” his voice baritone vibrated through as he flicks his wand effortlessly to clean up, “If you’re not too exhausted?”

“No, never for you,”

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 1 - DECEMBER MOON [A1]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC

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

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

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

QUIET WISHING : Part II

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Henry ! Henry !" she shouted urgently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Found ?"

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

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

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

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

Christopher's smile immediately faded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes," you simply replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Give him to me," Brandon ordered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why ?" Christopher asked in a whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

"Miss [Y/S]..."

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[myveryownfanfiction]

Rickmas day 4: darkest night

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @deepperplexity, @smilingformoney

warnings: swearing, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), consensual even though it doesn’t seem like it

I struggled against the big man that was dragging me past my coworkers and into the office. I was thrown down in front of the desk. The man behind the desk leaned over it and looked down at me. I rubbed my arm as I glared at the big man that had carried me in.

"Thanks Kurt." Hans said as he got up. Kurt walked out of the room and closed the door behind him. Walking around the desk, he leaned against it and stared down at me. "Are you going to stay down there or are you going to get up?"

"What are you going to do about it?" I shot back. Hans raised an eyebrow at me, watching as I got up. "What did you drag me in here for? Forcibly I might add." Hans smirked at me.

"I think you know." He said, walking in front of me. "There is a reason I had you dragged in here in front of your coworkers and friends. And if they don't know what is going on, they will know soon." Hans grabbed my arm and pulled me against him. My hands hit his chest as he kissed me. I groaned and struggled in his hold. Hans broke away with a smirk. I hit his chest and tried to break away. He grabbed me in a bruising grip. "I don't think so (Y/N)." I stared at him with wide eyes.

"How do you know who I am?" I whispered. Hans chuckled darkly as he went to work getting my pants off.

"You think that I don't do my research?" Hans teased as he pushed me on the couch. "You think I go into something like this without knowing who I am going to encounter? Who I am going to have to con?" He climbed on top of me as he unbuckled his belt. He pushed down his pants as he grabbed my legs and forced them around his waist. "This is a tough job sweetheart. Stressful and full of things that I can't control." Hans stroked his dick as he lined up. "Good thing there is some stress relief readily available." I cried out as Hans thrust into me. I tried to push him away but he grabbed my hands and pinned them to the couch.

“you asshole!” I cried as he built up a steady rhythm. Hans chuckled as he leaned down to kiss my cheek.

“But you love it.” He whispered in my ear. “I believe you told me once you wouldn’t have it any other way.” I arched my back, pressing my chest against his as I bit back a moan.

“still an asshole though.” I breathed out. “All this show…” I gasped as he thrust up into me, slowing down so he could thrust deeper into me.

“you and I both know that if they knew what you really were, they’d throw you to me the first chance they got anyway.” He reminded me. I turned my head away from him as my mouth fell open. Hans covered my mouth as I orgasmed, eyes fluttering closed as he slowly removed his hand. Hans groaned as he came. Slowly pulling out, he righted my clothes before pulling his own pants back on. “Keep playing the part darling and we’ll be out of here before you know it.”

“sitting on a beach earning twenty percent.” I said, smiling at him. Hans gave me a wink before grabbing my arm and pulling me up.

“I’ll send for you when I need you again.” He whispered before throwing me out of his office and watching me stagger back down to sit next to holly.

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas Day 5: Open Doors

Character: Eli Michaelson (Nobel Son) Relationships: Eli x reader Warnings: smut, student/teacher hookup

Read on Ao3 or below:

You closed your laptop with a sigh. You’d tried pretty much every spot on campus you could think of, but everywhere was crowded and noisy, and you just couldn’t focus. You left the study hall with your laptop under your arms, trying to think of where you could go to get your coursework done. You needed somewhere quiet, somewhere no one would disturb you - preferably somewhere with a lock.

As you wandered through the halls of the college, you passed through the science block, and an idea struck you. It was a long shot, but you thought you might as well give it a go.

You found your Chemistry professor’s office door and knocked. After a few moments, the door swung open to reveal a frowning Dr Michaelson.

“Office hours are over,” he said shortly. He hesitated, though, looking you up and down thoughtfully. “…I might make an exception, though. What do you want?”

“I’m sorry to disturb you, Dr Michaelson, and I know this is gonna be a real cheeky ask…”

Dr Michaelson raised an eyebrow curiously and leant against the doorframe, his arms folded.

“I’m tryna do my math homework but everywhere on campus is so busy, I can’t focus. Is there any chance I could just sit in the lab to do my homework?”

“And risk knocking something over?” Dr Michaelson scoffed. “No chance. But… you could work in here.”

That took you aback.

“Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Sure. Just keep the noise down, would ya? I got my own work to do.”

Dr Michaelson stepped back and opened the door, gesturing for you to come in.

“Wow, thanks, Dr Michaelson, I really appreciate it. I owe you one.”

You said this as you walked into the office, so you didn’t see the hungry smirk that teased at the corner of your professor’s lips when he heard that.

“Not a problem at all, [Y/n]. Anything my students need. Here - lemme make you some space.”

He gathered up some of the papers strewn over his desk to make some space, then pulled a chair around for you. You thanked him again as you sat at his desk next to him.

“Now, don’t go telling everyone they can do this,” Dr Michaelson said firmly. “This is a one time thing, you hear? You caught me in a good mood.”

You mimed zipping your lips closed. Dr Michaelson smiled, then turned back to his own work.

You opened your laptop and loaded up your math homework again. Finally, you were able to concentrate. You liked having company when you studied, but not the obnoxiously loud company that Stanford seemed to be full of today. It was nice having Dr Michaelson for company, because he didn’t disturb you, and you were able to really focus on your homework.

Although he was mostly quiet, you did hear Dr Michaelson grumble under his breath sometimes. After the third “fuck’s sake” from him, you had to glance over.

“Something wrong?” you asked with amusement.

“I hate computers,” Dr Michaelson replied with a grumble as he hit the backspace button aggressively. “It keeps telling me I’m spelling Musettamycin wrong.”

You peered over at the screen, where his word processor had put a red squiggle under ‘Musetamycin’.

“It has two Ts,” you said.

Dr Michaelson frowned at you. “I think I know how to spell Musettamycin, [Y/n]. I am a Nobel Laureate.”

“Yeah, in Chemistry, not English.”

He narrowed his eyes, then stood up and grabbed a book from his shelf. He flicked through the pages, apparently found what he was looking for, and quickly put the book back on the shelf.

“Well done. You passed my test.”

He sat back down and added an extra T, and the red line promptly disappeared. You giggled.

“Do I get extra credit?”

Dr Michaelson looked at you thoughtfully.

“You get one chance for my help with your math homework.”

“Who says I need help?”

Your professor scoffed.

“You’re smart, [Y/n], but you ain’t that smart. You’ll need it,” he said confidently.

He turned back to his work, and you to yours - and, sure enough, eventually you came across a problem you just couldn’t solve.

“Alright, I admit it, I need help.”

Dr Michaelson leaned back in his chair with a triumphant grin.

“Well, well, well…”

“Stop!” you laughed. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

Dr Michaelson sighed dramatically. “Well, there are drawbacks to being a Nobel Laureate, I suppose. Everyone thinks you know everything - which I do. Come on, then, let’s have a look.”

He scooted his chair closer to yours to look at your screen.

“Oh, that’s easy. You gotta find a substitution to simplify it. Look at the denominator - what kind of substitution d’you think you need?”

“Uhm…”

Your mind went blank for a moment when you felt Dr Michaelson’s breath on your cheek. You realised suddenly that he’d scooted very close to you. He had one arm on the back of your chair, while with his other hand he pointed at one of the integers on your screen.

“Oh, er… trigonomic, right?”

“Good girl,” said Dr Michaelson, and you felt a strange shiver run across you, like he’d said some secret code to make you blush. He glanced at you, clearly noticing your reaction, and smirked.

“So… choose a substitution.”

He spoke softly, as if he were talking about something very different.

You cleared your throat and went to write out a substitution, trying not to get distracted by how very close to you he was. Dr Michaelson pulled his hand away from your screen… and rested it on your knee.

You could feel his gaze burning into you as you wrote out your workings, and when you paused, he glanced back at your screen.

“Good. Now, rewrite it in terms of theta.”

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to do that when his hand was still on your knee… or when it began moving up your leg, his fingers grazing your inner thigh. Was your Chemistry professor seriously coming onto you right now?

“Good girl… so smart,” Dr Michaelson muttered in your ear. “I don’t think you need my help at all… you just wanted some attention, huh?”

You could feel your heart racing. Your cheeks were burning red, but it just seemed to spur him on.

“Is it really all that busy on campus, [Y/n]? Was I really your only option for some peace and quiet? I don’t think so…”

“I, um… I remembered you said the lab stays locked…”

Dr Michaelson chuckled, his deep voice reverberating in your ear.

“Mmm, and you wanted to get me behind a locked door, is that it?”

“N - no, I…”

You gasped as Dr Michaelson reached the top of your thigh, but instead of stopping, he just kept going, his large hand suddenly cupping your crotch firmly through your pants.

“It’s bad form to lie to your professors, [Y/n],” he whispered. “I could report you for academic misconduct, you know.”

He stroked you with his fingers, and even through the fabric of your clothing, it sent a tingling feeling right to your core.

“Dr Michaelson…”

“Call me Eli.”

“Eli… how do you know I won’t - ah!” - another squeeze from him - “won’t… report you for this?”

He smirked.

“Are you telling me you don’t want it, [Y/n]? Say you don’t want it and I’ll stop.”

He continued caressing your crotch, his fingers dancing dangerously close to your zipper.

“It’s… it’s bad form to lie to my professors,” you said, stealing a glance at him. His pupils were wide with lust, his confident smirk on his lips just begging to be kissed.

Eli chuckled.

“Smart girl.”

He unzipped your pants and slipped his hand inside, causing you to let out a high-pitched whine.

“Wet already?” he teased, his fingers exploring your folds as you tried to keep your lips closed tight, lest you cry out a little too loud and be heard in the corridor. “My, you are an eager little thing, aren’t you?”

He pushed two fingers between your inner folds, digging deeper into the wetness that was pooling between your legs. You bit your lip, your eyelids fluttering, and let out another whine when Eli’s fingertip found your sweet spot.

“You need to simplify the expression,” he murmured in your ear as his finger circled your clit.

Your eyes fluttered open, confused.

“I - huh?”

Eli nodded towards your computer screen. “Simplify it, then integrate with respect to theta. Then your integral will be straightforward.”

What the fuck was wrong with him?

What the fuck was wrong with you, for that matter?

He stopped his movements very suddenly, and you whined in frustration.

“Go on. Show me how clever you are.”

You tried to clear your mind and focus on the expression on your computer screen, but you were far more interested in the finger that was now circling your clit again, spreading your wetness around as you tried to remember what numbers were.

“Good girl,” Eli said again. He’d clearly figured out how weak you were to those words, and he was using them to his full advantage. “What do we do next?”

Finger me, you thought.

“Substitute back to x,” you said.

“Go on, then. You can finish it from here.”

As your fingers moved across the keyboard, his fingers moved down through your folds, and pushed at the entrance to your pussy.

“One more step. Go on.”

You cried out as his fingers slipped inside you, but you kept going, willing your mind to try and think about stupid numbers at a time like this.

“Root over four minus x squared,” you said aloud, trying to ignore the way Eli’s fingers were crawling deeper inside you, reaching out to find your G-spot.

“And then - ah! - plus C.”

You sighed with relief as you finished your answer.

Eli smirked.

“See? You didn’t need my help with math. But I do think you needed my help with this, didn’t you?”

The hand that was on the back of your chair reached around to slide under your arm and grab your breast through your t-shirt as he began pumping his fingers harder inside you. You moaned.

“You like that, huh? You like getting fingered by your professor?”

“Y - yes,” you admitted. “It feels so good…”

“You think this is good? Just wait ‘til you feel my cock… you’ll be coming back every day on the pretence of needing help with homework, but really you just need my cock.”

You let out a moan of his name, which seemed to spur him on, as he began fingering you more aggressively, his other hand pawing at your breast, as if he were resisting tearing your clothes off to get straight to your flesh.

You grabbed onto the arm of your chair to steady yourself, and with your other hand, you reached over to Eli’s lap to cup his hard length beneath his trousers, and you couldn’t hide your reaction when you felt how big he was.

“You want it, huh? You want my cock, [Y/n]? Go on, tell me you want it… all you have to do is ask…”

“P - please, Dr Michaelson,” you panted. “I need your cock. Please - please, fuck me on your desk…”

Eli groaned, overwhelmed with arousal at your words. He withdrew his hands from you, then grabbed you by the waist and pulled you onto his lap. Your lips connected with his instantly, his arms wrapped around your torso, and you could feel his rock hard erection straining through his trousers, rubbing against your own far too clothed crotch.

He was a sloppy kisser, seemingly trying to get as much of his saliva in and around your mouth as possible. You reached down to unbuckle his belt, and he groaned with relief when some of the pressure on his cock was relieved.

“Fucking hungry little minx,” Eli growled as you fumbled with his belt. “Bet you’ve been dreaming about this, haven’t you? Fingering yourself to the thought of me… mhm, I know you have. Go on, get those damn pants off.”

He pushed you off his lap, and you obediently pushed your pants and underwear down past your knees, kicking them off along with your shoes while Eli finished opening his fly and pulled his cock out from underneath his boxers.

He hummed with satisfaction as he looked at you, pulling languidly on his cock as he took in the view of you, naked from the waist down, your pussy soaked and ready for him.

Oh, he had definitely found his new plaything.

Well, he’d better test her out.

He got to his feet and kissed you again, his cock brushing against your skin, his lips parting from yours only to pull your t-shirt over your head. He grinned when he saw the lacy bra you were wearing.

“Someone had a plan when she got dressed this morning,” he said smugly. “Did you decide to seduce your professor this morning or were you already planning it last night?”

“I like to wear this sometimes,” you admitted. “It makes me feel confident.”

“Mmm, and damn right too… God, those tits are so fuckable. Maybe another day, hm? I promised you my cock and you’re gonna get my cock. It’s what you deserve for being such a smart girl. Now - on the desk.”

You obediently hopped up onto the desk, perched on the edge, but Eli placed a firm hand on your shoulder and pushed you onto your back. You could feel papers sliding around beneath your back, and you had to push aside a stapler that was digging into your shoulder, but something about getting fucked by Dr Eli Michaelson on his work was incredibly hot.

“Look at you, fucking hell,” Eli growled as he rolled a condom he’d pulled from a drawer down his shaft. “You’re gonna get your slutty pussy juice all over my papers. Ah, well.”

He entered you with one fluid motion, causing you to cry out in surprise as his cock pierced your cunt, sliding easily up your walls, stretching them out with a delicious burn that sent your pleasure receptors wild.

Eli kept a firm grip on your thighs as he thrusted into you, groaning with abandon and no apparent care for who might be walking by.

“God, I fucking needed this,” he moaned. After his wife had left him and his last plaything graduated, he’d been going through a frustrating dry spell. And now here you were, presenting yourself at his office with your low-cut top and your tight little ass. It was too good an opportunity to pass up.

“Oh, fuck - fuck, Dr Michaelson, that feels so good…”

He smirked proudly at your moans. He knew just how good he was at fucking, but he still loved to hear it.

“Your cunt’s full of my cock, [Y/n]… I think we’re on first name terms now.”

You laughed, which quickly turned into a groan of surprise when Eli pushed your thighs back further, spreading your pussy out for him as his hips pummelled into your flesh.

“How long have you wanted this, [Y/n]?” Eli asked. “Did you walk out of my first lecture with soaking wet panties? Or did it take you a few lectures to realise how badly you wanted my cock?”

“I - I always thought you were handsome,” you admitted. “Ever since I - ah! - saw your picture in the paper when you got your Nobel Prize. I saw you worked at Stanford and - oh! - applied for my postgrad here.”

Eli grinned, his ego swelling as much as his cock.

“You applied here just so you could fuck me?”

“No!” you insisted. “I was gonna go to UCLA, but I thought - mhm - if I came here instead, I could study under a - ah! - a Nobel Laureate - fuck!”

Eli picked up his pace, fucking into your cunt furiously, the stroking of his ego sending a fresh wave of lust over him.

“Mmm, now look at you - you’re certainly under me now, huh?”

The desk was shaking violently, papers flying everywhere, and you heard the crash of a pen pot falling to the floor. Neither of you paid much mind to it.

“I might just have to schedule some one to one tutoring with you, [Y/n]… since you went to such lengths to be under me. Would you like that?”

“Y - yes,” you panted, your voice straining as you felt pleasure coiling inside you. “I think that would be - ugh - beneficial… fuck, Eli, I’m gonna cum…”

“Mmm, yes, cum all over my cock,” Eli growled. “God, look at you… fucking magnificent… and all mine…”

He released one of your legs from his grip to press his thumb against your clit, and as soon as he began rubbing circles around the swollen bundle of nerves, you knew you were done for.

“Yes… yes… Eli…”

“Fuck, [Y/n], I’m so close… I’m gonna cum so fucking hard…”

His moans increased, his thumb rubbing your clit and his cock furiously fucking into your cunt, and combined with the look of unadulterated pleasure on his face, you felt yourself tipping over the edge, and you cried out his name as you came, your legs twitching and your cunt gushing around his cock as your orgasm overwhelmed you.

Feeling you cum around his cock was the last straw for Eli, and he moaned loudly as he came too, filling the condom with his seed as he continued fucking you through his orgasm, hips stuttering erratically as he came inside a cunt for the first time in far too long, and such a warm, tight one too.

Eli stayed buried inside you for a few moments as his movements stilled and you both caught your breath. Then, he pulled out of you with a loud squelching sound, and passed you a box of tissues to clean yourself up.

“Fuck, that was so good,” he panted as he pulled the spent condom from his cock and deposited it in the bin.

You mumbled what sounded like “uh-huh” in agreement, your mind still addled from the pleasure as you tried to mop up as much as you could from between your legs.

When finally you’d managed to locate your clothes and get them back on, Eli was sitting back in his chair, watching you with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Well, I’d certainly give you an A for that,” he said proudly.

You laughed.

“What, am I majoring in sex now?”

“If you did, you’d be top of the class.”

He passed you your laptop, which thankfully hadn’t been damaged by your escapades.

“So… reckon you need some one-to-one tutoring?”

You blushed under his intense gaze, his eyes still staring at you hungrily.

“If you think I need it, Professor,” you said coyly.

Eli grinned and reached around to give your ass a squeeze.

“My door’s always open for you, [Y/n].”

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 24: Christmas Party [OS]

Pairing: Snape x GN!Muggle!Reader

POV: Third, Snape

Setting: Snape lives AU, set many, many years after the Second Wizarding War and life has been kind to Severus at last — with you by his side.

A/N: It’s Christmas Eve darlings! Merry Christmas! 😍🎄✨ We’re in full swing with the celebrations and with the in-laws visiting it’s quite nice. For those who don’t know me, my husband is from Hong Kong and so we have quite different cultures, language barriers (no shared language despite having many languages between us) etc in our family but we always end up having such a great time 🥰

I wish you all the best holiday and I hope next year will be amazing! Let’s end this year’s Rickmas with some Old-Happy-Snape 😍❤

Tags/TW’s: Fluff, Cuteness, Snape Lives, Old Snape, Love, Kissing, Hugging, Comfort, Happiness, Domestic Fluff, HAPPY SNAPE, COMFORT READ

Word Count: 1.1k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Christmas Party

There was little to do for him. You always sorted everything needed, with a smile so bright and a warmth so strong he would never have enough of it. Each year, as if it were a magical law, you turned into an energetic ball of joy with a need to decorate every surface of the little house he had come to feel at home in — a feeling he never expected to experience. It had been years of this warmth now, years of having a bright home and that odd feeling in his gut that came with complete relaxation.

It was all you, of course. It had nothing to do with the cosy kitchen where your favourite mug and his stood side by side next to the kettle. It had little to do with the fireplace of natural stone dressed in garlands and two stockings with his and your name hand-stitched into the white fabric in the living room. There was nothing special about the bedroom with the hand-sewn quilt of fabrics procured during all your travels around the world. Not even the cute covered porch with the hanging swing big enough for two to sit and watch the marvellous sunsets during chilly spring evenings had anything to do with it.

It was you. Just you. He could live in a shack at the edge of the world and you’d make it wonderful, he was certain of it. You were magical. A muggle, sure, but more magical than any spell or incantation could ever hope to be.

“Severus! Where are you, love?” you called and he could not help but smile as he put down his book and got out of the comfortable chair of worn-out leather. “The study,” he said, his voice carrying through the house despite it not being loud. You poked your head in with that bright smile and those warm eyes. “Cheeky, love. Come on, they’ll all arrive soon.” “On my way,” he said while you disappeared, your quick steps sounding out through the house while he moved a bit slower.

He stretched out his back, two pops going off before he rolled his shoulders once. He was no spring boy anymore, and time had not been kind to his body — but you seemed to love it as much today as you had all those years ago. That was all that mattered.

He drew a deep breath, not fearing what was to come as he had done for the first decade by your side. Now he knew better. He was better. Again, it was all your handiwork. So, as he walked through the narrow hallway from one end of the house to the other he found his steps to be light and the warmth of the house felt comfortable rather than stifling as it had done all those years ago when life had been dark and he had been broken.

“Can you get the ice chocolate and the fudge from the fridge?” you asked as he entered the kitchen. “The red or green bowls?” he asked as he grabbed the sweets. You looked over your shoulder at him, a little flour on your nose and the amazing smile had gone even wider. “The red ones, I think the green ones for the gingerbread and candy canes.” He nodded. “Certainly. You know best, sweetheart.” You giggled. “Again.” He harrumphed but obliged. “Sweetheart." “Onnnne more time?” you asked, your eyes warming as you’d stopped whisking whatever was in the bowl before you. “Sweetheart,” he said, not wavering in his gaze hooked to yours. “I love you.” You smiled softly all of a sudden and his heart stuttered.

He sat the sweets down, walking up to you. He grabbed at your waist and pulled you close before whispering into your ear. “I love you beyond all things.” “Sev.” “Mmh, my sweetheart…” he murmured before kissing your cheek that was all warm against his lips. “You’re a wonder, each year—” The doorbell rang and interrupted him. “They’re here!” you called out and he chuckled as you scrambled out of the apron, revealing how perfectly dressed you were in greens and silver. He grabbed your wrist before you bolted. “Flour,” he said before brushing it off your nose.

You leaned up and kissed him quickly with all the love in the world shining in your eyes. Then you nearly ran to the door while he walked slowly out of the kitchen just as jolly voices rang through the house in a cacophony of wishes for Happy Holidays and Merry Christmases. It made him smile hearing his in-laws and friends be so happy to enter his home for a Christmas party. Never had he imagined he’d ever have anything the likes of his current life. But, with you, he had all the things he’d thought impossible — despite the differences and difficulties the two of you had gone through at first it had all been worth it.

He chuckled to himself as he entered the hallway. You were in full swing with gathering everyone's coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. You were more of a clothing pile on legs at that moment than a human. He drew out his wand and flicked it, lifting the burden from you and hanging it all up. “Oh, thank you, love,” you said with a chuckle as he nodded. “Now, can we all gather in the living room for some toddy and sweets that would be great,” you said loudly while the general noise of twelve people in the tiny hallway made it quite hard to hear.

Everyone greeted him warmly, happily, before moving through the house and into the soon-to-be packed living room while you brought up the rear end. “This will be wonderful, love,” you said, giving him a quick hug and kiss. “You make everything wonderful,” he said before releasing you. You blew a raspberry. “Sev, love, you make me who I am,” you said — something you had told him several times but it would probably be the one thing he would never fully understand.

“Then I shall keep doing whatever it is I am doing, sweetheart,” he murmured before stealing another quick kiss before the both of you moved to the living room and all the happy guests who wished to spend Christmas Eve with the two of you every year. I am blessed, he thought and you stopped just beyond the threshold — forcing him to do the same. “You deserve this, Sev.” He glanced down at you. “What?” “You think you’re blessed, but you’ve done all the work to get here. You deserve this, so, smile and enjoy it with me?”

That you knew him so well only added to the warmth. He leaned forward, kissing your temple gently. “Every day, sweetheart. Every. single. day, he murmured with that low tone you seemed to adore so much. And, indeed, your eyes warmed further and there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be than right there in the chaos of a loud Christmas party with you by his side...

The end of Rickmas 2024... Thank you for this year, darlings!

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: HE DESERVES ALL THE HAPPINESS! 😭👏🎄✨❤

Merry Christmas darlings! I hope you've had a wonderful time this December and that you're all warm on the inside with this last fic of Rickmas 2024 ❤❤❤

I can barely wrap my head around having been able to post every day for Rickmas this year without missing a single day, and it's ended up at a total 69k word count in the end - holy moly 👀😅

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @dontwanttobeanamercanidiot @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @snapesno1thighrider @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @goldenglowwoman @morphineisouthoney @meteoritewolf69 @bionic-otp @elizabeth-baelish @romanceandsarcasm @severuslovebot @glowstar826 @rickmandowneyjr @yellowbadgermole @snapesangel @a-queen-and-her-throne @impulse-anchor @commodoreseverus @writewithmarites @alisongurl13 @yan-senna @writewithmarites @reinekefoxart @nixislight @lokisbjchnl  @lght-n-drk @ladykardasi @lyrixsnape @sunset90 @meliasnape @B3lls @canihelpyou201 @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @sanji-simp @snapesrn @thatlittlefangirl @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos @sanji-simp

Want to be tagged? You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you!

[snowblossomreads]

Day - 5 Open Doors

Pairings: Colonel Brandon x Reader

Summary: In where reader goes searching for her husband and has her heart warmed on a chilly afternoon.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): None!

A/N: And in something totally different from yesterday! Here is a little sweet fluff about reader from last year 😉. Side note this is in 2nd person which I have not written in in AGES. So sorry if it's not as pazzzzah~ as the others! Onwards my friends!

"Christoper my love, are you in here?" You inquired, as you opened the third door that evening, looking for your dear husband who you hadn't seen since lunch that afternoon.

It was quite strange for him to suddenly go missing, as he usually made sure you knew where he was if he was going out. So, in your mind, you assumed he was just somewhere in the house. But where? You had no idea, as you had left a number of open doors on your hunt for the man you were utterly devoted to.

At first, you thought you would find him in his library working on missives and the such, but no luck there. He wasn't in the stables either, caring for his favorite steed. Though you did find the stable boy who told you he hadn't seen him around. 

You quickly thanked the boy, and then gently coaxed him to go back inside once he was done tending the horses. It was much too cold to be wandering around outside. Even if for a moment.

Next, you checked in his study after warming up from being out in the chilly December air. Yet no luck. 

"Hmm, where are you my love? You must be in this great big house somewhere," you whispered to yourself, as you poked the darkened wood in the fireplace with the poker, causing some of the bark to fall in and stir up some of the blacken ash from previous fires. 

It was then a gentle knock on the open door alerted you to someone's presence, and you placed the poker down before turning to look at who had come in.

"Milady, are you alright?"

It was Charlotte, one of the young housemaids who you were close in age with, and someone you were comfortable being more casual with in private. 

"Charlotte hello! I'm alright, and it's [Y/n] please," you answered without thought. That was until you remembered your little problem and corrected yourself. "Well no actually. It seems my Colonel has gone missing, and I cannot for the life of me find him."

"Oh, have you not checked the second floor yet ma'am?" Charlotte inquired, ignoring your request to be called by your first name as she took a step in the room. "I believe when I saw him last, he was in the halls there. But that seems to have been almost an hour ago. Granted I do not believe I've seen him downstairs afterwards."

Hearing that she last saw him upstairs, brought an immediate smile to your lips, knowing exactly what he was doing, and it made your heart swell with even more love. Not that it wasn't already full of it for him.

"Milady?" The young woman asked again as she saw your face light up.

"I know exactly where he is Charlotte thank you!" You beamed strolling up to her and giving her a tight hug.

"[Y/n]!" She sputtered out, a grin forming on your lips as you finally got her to address you less formally. 

Quickly, you made your way out of the room to the staircase, looking forward to what you were going to find upstairs.

Each step brought you closer to him and made your heart beat faster, as you grabbed the skirts of your dress. When you reached the top of the steps, you began to walk swiftly and quietly towards where you had an inkling of where he would be. 

And as you neared the door that was cracked open, you knew you were right and it made your heart almost burst at the seams. The closer you got, the slower you walked, as to not alert your husband, wanting to see what he was up to.

Slowly you tiptoed, reaching the door and peeking inside to the sight that made your heart whole and melt all at once.

There he was, standing in front of the cradle of your little one. His back turned to it, and in his arms, was the love of both of your lives. The little boy you had given birth to the year before. Who screamed and cried and woke the entire house up that cold winter night.

But now in his father's arm, asleep and safe as you listened to him whisper to them, rocking them back and forth. 

Of course he was here. He was utterly devoted to you and his child and it moved you so much to see how gentle he was with the tiny baby. 

It wasn't a complete surprise to you truly, he was the gentlest soul you had ever known, and you were all too lucky to have fallen in love with him and have that love reciprocated tenfold. More than that actually.

The moment was so intimate, so sweet, so lovely that you stood there for a while watching. Admiring your husband and child, and just being thankful that even if your beginnings in life wasn't as full of love and tenderness that it was okay, because you had it now, and that was more important.  So engrossed in the moment, you hadn't even noticed the way your heart crept its way towards your throat until tears made their way down your cheeks.

Letting out a small sniffle, one that of course alerted him to your presence, you watched as he lifted his head, his eyes meeting yours and a twinkle glimmering in them. 

"Darling is that you," he wondered in that thunderous voice that could be commanding, but was so kind to you that you feared speaking in case you began to cry.

Instead of answering with a yes, you opted to answer with a 'mhmm', wiping your eyes to not worry him before, opening the door completely, revealing yourself to him and walking over to the two people who completely held your heart.

"I had been looking for you earlier and had worried my Colonel had run away," you teased sweetly as you went to kiss him on his cheek, before leaning down to look at your sleeping child. All safe and warm in his father's arms. "And here you are, watching over our little one with such love and sweetness, that it warms me more than any fireplace could on a day like this."

Hearing your words made him smile gently, as you as he watched you stroked your child's cheek. Happy little babbles leaving the child even if he looked a bit drowsy. 

"I apologize if I made you worry my darling," he started that voice of his soothing you like nothing else could. "I wanted to make sure he was sleeping well as I know the trouble he has been having during his midday naps."

"Do not apologize for tending to our child my love," you answered looking up at him with glimmering eyes, "there are not many men in this world who keep up with their children's sleep schedule, and there are fewer who give them such care without the need of their mother's or nursemaids direction."

"Such praise from you my darling makes a man like me only want to do even more to bring our little family happiness."

"A perfect husband, father, friend, and the many more things that you are, I believe you are already doing enough to bring as much love and happiness."

Looking at you and finding you gazing at him with a tender yet sincere smile, he couldn't help but feel warmth bloom in his chest that mirrored your own.

Both of you were truly happy with one another and of course with your little baby boy who when you both went to look down at him had closed his eyes. Having fallen asleep with ease as both of his parents watched over him before they set him in his crib together.

A/n: Eeee i hope that warmed you all up especially if it's chilly outside now like it is here! The colonel is such a soft gentle soul how could I not write about him during the holidays! Let me know if he makes u feel warm and cozy as well! See you tomorrow 🎉🎉

[muiitoloko]

RICKMAS 2024: DAY 10. LINGERING TOUCH

Summary: Colonel Brandon attends Christmas dinner at the Dashwoods’ residence, where he finds himself captivated by a guest—a cousin of the Dashwoods—whose warmth and intelligence intrigue him. Sharing a heartfelt conversation and an electric, lingering touch, Brandon is left deeply affected, realizing he has formed an unexpected connection with you.

Pairing: Colonel Brandon × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Also read on Ao3

Colonel Brandon arrived at the Dashwoods’ residence for Christmas dinner, feeling a surge of quiet excitement at the prospect of spending an evening in Marianne’s company. The warmth and joy of the season seemed to fill every corner of the Dashwood home, and the air was thick with the pleasant scents of holiday fare and evergreen branches. Brandon had come hoping to share a few moments with Marianne, to observe her happiness, and perhaps, if he dared, to hear her laughter in a moment of ease. But as he took his place among the gathered company, he found his gaze straying not only to Marianne but also to you—a guest who had captured his attention far more than he could comprehend.

You were seated across the room, laughing quietly at some remark from your brother. Your smile was soft yet lively, your gaze filled with an intelligence and warmth that both intrigued and unsettled him. Brandon, ordinarily a man of firm control over his own emotions, found himself at a loss. He had scarcely spoken to you, yet something about your presence drew him in, stirring within him a curiosity he hadn’t expected.

After a few polite exchanges with Mr. Dashwood and your brother, Brandon gathered that you were visiting, that you were a cousin to the Dashwoods, and that your brother was perhaps keen on arranging a match for you. The notion troubled him, though he could not quite say why. He listened as your brother described you as “a fine match” with a self-satisfied pride that made Brandon bristle inwardly. He wanted to object, though he had no reason to; he hardly knew you, after all, and it wasn’t his place to feel anything but courteous interest.

Yet, as the evening unfolded, he found himself watching you in quiet fascination. The warmth of the candlelight softened your features, casting a gentle glow over you as you listened intently to the conversations around you. Brandon could see a thoughtfulness in your eyes, a kindness in the way you spoke, and when you turned to him and offered a genuine smile, he felt his breath catch, his heart inexplicably moved by the simple gesture.

In a rare moment of courage, he moved to stand beside you during a lull in the conversation. "Miss Dashwood tells me you enjoy music,” he remarked, his voice low, carrying the smooth cadence of his baritone.

You looked up, a spark of interest in your eyes as you replied, “Indeed, Colonel. Music has been a solace to me in many a quiet moment.”

He nodded, feeling an unexpected kinship with you. “A solace, yes. I believe it has a way of speaking to the heart in ways that words often fail to capture.” His hazel eyes met yours, lingering just a moment longer than propriety might allow, and he felt a sudden desire to know more of you—to understand the thoughts that lay behind that quiet gaze.

The two of you continued speaking, exchanging thoughts on music, literature, and the pleasures of quiet moments in a world often filled with noise. Brandon found himself surprised by how easily he could talk to you, how naturally the conversation flowed. There was a gentleness to your manner, an intelligence that captivated him, and he wondered if, perhaps, it was not mere coincidence that he had met you tonight.

As the evening wore on, your brother approached, interrupting the conversation with a broad smile and a jest about “catching the Colonel’s attention.” Brandon felt a flush rise to his cheeks, and he cleared his throat, murmuring something polite but evasive. Your brother’s remark had been in jest, but it struck closer to the truth than Brandon cared to admit.

When your brother moved away, you turned to Brandon with a soft, amused smile. “I hope you won’t take my brother’s teasing to heart, Colonel. He often speaks without thought.”

Brandon managed a small smile, his gaze softening as he looked at you. “Think nothing of it, Miss. I find I am rather…grateful for his lack of discretion, for it has allowed me the pleasure of speaking with you tonight.”

You looked at him, a slight flush coloring your cheeks, and for a moment, you seemed unsure of what to say. But then, your smile widened, a glint of warmth in your gaze. “I confess, Colonel, I have found our conversation most enjoyable as well.”

He felt his heart stir, a mixture of emotions he could scarcely name—hope, admiration, perhaps even something more profound. It was rare for Brandon to meet someone with whom he felt this kind of connection, and as the evening drew to a close, he found himself reluctant to part from you.

When the evening finally came to a close, the Dashwoods moved to see their guests to their carriages, laughter and goodbyes filling the brisk night air. Brandon, lingering near the door, watched as you and your brother prepared to leave. His gaze was drawn to you, catching glimpses of your face illuminated in the warm glow spilling from the Dashwood’s entryway. There was a kind of quiet regret nestled in his heart—a wish that the night had stretched just a little longer, that he could have stolen a few more moments in your company.

When your brother turned to give last thanks to Mr. Dashwood, Brandon took the opportunity to step forward, offering his hand to assist you into the carriage. You glanced up in surprise, your eyes meeting his, and for an instant, the world seemed to fade around him. It was only the two of you, his hand extended, yours lifting to meet it.

“Thank you, Colonel,” you murmured, your voice soft and sincere.

He nodded, the barest trace of a smile at the corner of his lips. “It is my pleasure,” he replied, his baritone voice low, carrying an unexpected warmth that he scarcely dared to reveal.

As your hand settled into his, a jolt shot through him, a shock that seemed to course from his hand to his very core. His breath caught, and he fought to keep his expression steady, though he could feel his composure slipping. Your hand was soft and warm in his, yet there was something electric about the touch, a sensation so unfamiliar that he found himself involuntarily tightening his grip. For that single moment, his world narrowed to the feeling of your hand in his, to the delicate brush of your fingertips, to the brief press of your palm.

Brandon’s heart thudded heavily, his fingers longing to linger, to feel the warmth of your hand just a moment longer. But you slipped your hand away, thanking him with a gentle smile, oblivious to the small chaos you had caused within him. As your hand left his, he felt a peculiar emptiness, his fingers curling instinctively, as though to cling to that fleeting sensation. He drew his hand back, hiding it behind his back, forcing himself to open and close his fist as though that might dispel the warmth that lingered, the tingling that refused to fade.

He cleared his throat, straightening himself, feeling the full weight of this unbidden, unknown feeling. You turned back toward the carriage, and he watched as you settled into your seat, a soft expression on your face, as though unaware of the effect you had left upon him.

As the carriage began to move, he felt a tightening in his chest, a strange reluctance to let you go, as if part of him were still tethered to that moment, bound by the touch of your hand. He opened his mouth, as if to call after you, to say something—anything—that might bring you back, if only for a moment longer. But the words escaped him, lost in the heavy silence, and he was left standing, watching your carriage disappear into the darkness.

Once the carriage had faded from sight, Brandon drew a steadying breath, finally breaking from his reverie to nod his goodbyes to the Dashwoods. Yet as he walked away, his mind lingered on the memory of your touch, on the warmth that still clung to his hand. He was a man accustomed to control, to duty and discipline—but tonight, that brief, electric touch had awakened something deeper, something he had long kept hidden.

[korpuskristae]

Wrapped Tighly - Severus Snape x Reader

Warnings: Sexual remarks, Sickness

Word Count: 1,100+

Pairing: Severus x Female Reader, Reader uses She/her

Summary: Severus gets a sick after spending too much time outside in the cold.

AN: I wrote this in record-breaking time, at least for me. I want to do a few more prompts for Rickmas this year but I definitely don't have time for all of them sadly. Expect at least four more Rickmas prompts! As always, be wary of spelling errors and general nonsensical sentences, let me know if you see any! As this is one of my more less developed one-shots I can guarantee errors.

⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅⋅───⊱༺ ♰ ༻⊰───⋅

“I absolutely cannot believe your stupidity!” You shrieked. Staring down at Hogwarts’s youngest and most infuriat- “most brilliant professor”. Pale and sickly, Severus lay there barely conscious listening to your verbal degradation as he shivered.

“You are overreacting woman”, he muttered, unable to keep his eyes open and his teeth from chattering as you surrounded him with all the warmth you possibly could. Hearing you slowly fade into the background as he drifted off to sleep once more, he was suddenly awoken by you violently shoving a spoonful of chicken noodle soup in his mouth, which he promptly choked on.

Sputtering, his eyes shot open as he coughed, sitting up in your bed, “What in the blazes!? Are you trying to kill me!?” Glaring at him from your seat next to the bed, you were holding the mug of soup you had lovingly made for dinner before you found out your husband had just so happened to decide to frolic in the snow without so much as a coat.

“You let yourself get hypothermia! You’re the one with a death wish!” you said, wrapping him up in yet another heated blanket after setting the mug of soup down on his nightstand. Standing up, you walked over to the fireplace and jabbed at the log with the poker. “Seriously Sev, it’s the middle of December! In Scotland for Merlin’s sake! We live in a castle surrounded by water! The wind chill alone is enough just cause to avoid prolonged periods out in this horrific weather!” you huffed, poking at the log with a little more aggression than you intended.

Severus, tucked into his mountain of dark blankets, resembled a bat in its most defeated form looking uncharacteristically pitiful. You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for having been so harsh. Nevertheless, the sight was absurd—cocooned in those signature shades of green and black, as though he couldn’t bring himself to wear anything more undignified than that, he looked so out of place, wrapped in those blankets so tightly that even his sense of bitterness seemed muffled. Mentally poking fun at him for the earlier fit he threw when you offered him a pink blanket you couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement, heaven forbid he ever consider something as utterly disgraceful as a pink blanket to provide him with warmth even if he so desperately needed it.

Placing your hand over his forehead Severus flinched slightly, still a little delirious and barely conscious, “How are you feeling?” you said softly, feeling bad for being up in his face for getting sick. His face, obscured slightly by all the blankets, was barely visible save for his eyes, which held their usual sharp glare. His cheeks were slightly flushed now, adding an adorable shade of rosiness to the potion’s master's usual pale complexion.

“I’m fine” he muttered, yet his voice was nasally and groggy, giving his obvious sickness away. He was not fine, in fact, he was far from it. Frostbitten, ill, and hypothermic a mere two hours ago, Severus was the epitome of “not fine”. A sharp almost imperceptible sigh left his lips as he shifted underneath your concerned gaze.

“You’re lying,” you shook your head quietly, rolling your eyes in exasperation before brushing your fingers against his forehead again. Sighing, you spoke once more, “You’re sick Sev…” you said softly, worry creeping into your voice as you felt how high his fever had risen.

He didn’t respond at first, letting the silence stretch on to an uncomfortable degree, much like a child trying to ignore the consequences of their actions by willing them away.

Finally, with a low grumble, he shifted uncomfortably, “I’m not accustomed to being coddled,” he said with a half-hearted sneer, though it lacked its usual venom. He was too exhausted to offer any sarcasm or biting remarks.

You softened at his reluctant admittance and momentary vulnerability, it was something you knew took a lot of strength for him to verbalize. Lowering your hand to brush your hand against his cheek after you pushed the blankets out of his face, a smile tugged at your lips, “I know Sev,” you murmured. “But you’re human, and that means you can’t just shut yourself out when you’re vulnerable, physically and emotionally,” you said, brushing his hair out of his face.

He gave you a pointed look from beneath his pile of fabric, his expression skeptical, but it was clear the only reason you were spared from one of his usual retorts was because he simply did not have the energy for one. 

Deciding to take pity on him and spare him from the awkward silence you spoke up, “Is there anything I can do to make you feel more comfortable?” You said, coming to the conclusion that Severus was absolutely not going to take his illness seriously, nor was he going to take it easy unless you kept him under constant supervision. Already turning around to search your nightstand on the opposite side of the bed for the hot compress you had, you waited for his response.

He watched you sift through your nightstand for the hot compress, not so subtly checking you out as you bent down. His eyes trailed down your back and landed on your ass, turning around, you arched a brow at him, catching him in the act. Giving him the stereotypical, unimpressed wife look, you gently placed the hot compress on his forehead, causing him to sigh in relief, “Perv” you said lightheartedly.

 Huffing in what seemed to be amusement, he looked up at your face, “I’d love for my wife to stop mother-henning me and join me in bed” he huffed reaching out for your waist so he could drag you into bed.

Letting him pull you into his arms, you reluctantly wrapped your arms around his shivering body frowning as you felt him shaking. “Are you cold?” you mumbled, pulling the blankets tighter around him.

“For Merlin’s sake woman, you have me swaddled in several heated blankets, I am warm enough,” he said, rolling his eyes. Dragging you underneath his blankets, he pulled you atop his body, holding your hips before he decided to playfully grope your ass. “Any chance we could partake in other activities that raise one’s body temperature?” He said playfully, arching one of his eyebrows at you in amusement.

Staring at him in disbelief, you let out what seemed to be the hundredth exasperated sigh of the day, “By Merlin you are insatiable.”

Next Rickmas Prompt: Day 9 - Unwanted Solitude - Detective David Friedman

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

December 2 - Secret Watching

Hans Gruber x Reader

Hans watches a woman from across the room at a casino, which leads to an encounter that will change the course of his life. (In the same universe as last years Imperfect Holiday. Here's how Hans met his equally dangerous love.)

Second day of @deepperplexity's Rickmas 2024

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

Zurich, Switzerland

Hans made his way slowly across the casino floor. He'd had a fortunate night at the poker table and was now content to observe the room. His attention was drawn to the blackjack table. Specifically, to you.

You were having a fortunate night too, if the stack of chips in front of you was anything to go by. His eyes drifted appreciatively over the way your figure looked in your sleek black dress. Your beauty had a captivating quality, and your sharp intelligent eyes were focused on the cards on the table. Hans stood there for a time, quietly watching you from across the room. It wasn't often his attention was caught like this. But everything about you, from the confident way you held your shoulders to the smooth elegance of your hands as you handled the cards had him captivated.

You stayed at the table for a while longer, till you had grown the pile of chips to a sizable amount, before leaving. Hans watched you walk out of sight, downed the last of the whiskey in his glass and forced his thoughts away you.

He headed out of the casino, buttoning his coat against the cold air. He saw you again at the steps of the casino, your dark red coat standing out against the snow-covered street. He was about to head to his hotel when noticed two men following you at a distance. He recognised them, they'd been at the blackjack table Something felt off about this and found himself following down the street. He lost sight of you and the men in the winding street but a few moments later he heard a shout and a grunt of pain from a nearby side street.

Approaching cautiously, he was surprised by the sight that met him. One of the men was leaning against the wall, clutching his bleeding arm, and you were facing off against the other man, a stiletto switchblade held expertly in your hand. Hans didn't doubt that you could handle this fight without problem, until the man you were facing pulled a pistol from his jacket. "What are you gonna do now?" The man asked, with a cocky smirk. His smile quickly faded when he felt the barrel of a pistol press against his neck. "You should be more worried about what I will do." Hans' voice was icy, "Drop it." The man let the gun fall from his hand into the snow. "Now," Hans ordered, "Take your friend and start running." The man hurriedly grabbed his companion, and the pair scurried out of sight.

Hans grabbed the gun off the ground and unloaded the bullets, pocketing them and tossing the empty gun in a nearby dumpster. You observed your rescuer carefully. You thought he saw strikingly handsome, and very obviously dangerous. Oddly enough, you felt quite safe at this moment. "Thank you, for coming to my rescue." You told him. Hans looked at you, appraisingly, "You handled yourself well." He glanced in the direction the men had ran, "An attempt at robbery?" You laughed slightly, "Sore losers. I cleaned them out at the blackjack table and they were convinced I had been cheating." "Were you?" You smirked, "Loosers call it cheating, winners call it strategy." Hans smirked. You were intriguing, he could sense a fierce fieriness beneath your cool demeaner.

And when he woke the next morning in his hotel room, with you still in his arms, he felt he had met a woman who could match him in every way. Wherever this went, it would be a lot of fun.

[crusheswhimsandfancies]

The name’s Astley. Rick Astley

📸: cocoduffieldphotography on insta

[starlight-sev]

December 10: Lingering Touch (Snape x Reader)

(Part of @deepperplexity’s Rickmas 2024)

As you can tell from the way we went from December 3 to 10, I had a case of work burnout :’) my apologies!!

This one is much more angsty, I’m sorry but also not sorry 🥲I recently watched HP 7 which destroyed me and was also inspired by something Alan said about Snape in an interview: how he viewed him as someone who’d never raise his voice, and played Snape as such. It got the gears turning and this came out of it. Enjoy!

A dark shadow descended upon Hogwarts after Dumbledore died.

You knew it was only a matter of time. You had seen it coming, but you never thought Death Eaters would be running the school. You never thought it would come to this.

Severus, the man who only months earlier was spending every night with you, who would kiss you passionately in darkened hallways at midnight when you were both on patrol, no longer so much as looked at you. He was Headmaster now, and you had never felt so inferior to someone you would give the world to.

You’d try from time to time to get Severus to open back up to you. You knew it was dangerous with the Carrows around, so you’d wait until after hours before silently stepping into his office. Every time, it would end the same. You’d receive a withering glare before Severus would turn around and leave you waiting with a sinking heart at the door.

Sometimes between classes you’d walk by his office, lingering in the doorway hoping to catch his eye. You longed to open up to him the way you two had done countless times before the darkness came. You needed him more than ever now. Yet it was as if you were invisible to him.

Your final straw was when the cheeky Irish boy, Seamus Finnigan, walked into your classroom late. He was so badly hurt from whatever punishment the Carrows had inflicted on him, you barely recognized him save for his accent, when he apologized in a trembling voice for being late.

You dismissed class early that day, and made your way straight to Severus. Your heart was racing, and your throat felt tight. You had to speak to him.

As you entered his office, you caught the way his cold and critical eyes seemed to sharpen as he watched you walk in unannounced. Your heart sunk.

“Professor, you do not have an appointment.” Severus murmured icily. He remained at his desk, studying pages and pages of parchment as if his life depended on it.

“Too bad.” You retorted. You hated the way your voice trembled. “I’m here now. I need to speak with you Severus, it’s urgent-”

“Headmaster.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the way he so calmly interrupted your panicked tone. “What?”

“You are to address me as Headmaster Snape.” Severus corrected you, keeping his eyes on the parchment on his desk. “Surely you know that, or must I lecture you like a first-year student?”

Your breath left you with a small whoosh as you took in his words. This was how it always ended, with you in a state of despair, and Severus seemingly unbothered. In the past you would have retreated, but the fear that had been living in your veins for weeks sparked anger inside you.

“What is wrong with you?” You demanded, making your way to Severus’s desk. He didn’t even pause to look up at you. “One moment you’re telling me you don’t know what you’d do without me, and the next you won’t even call me by my name?”

Severus didn’t look up, but you noticed his hand stilled as he paused his note-taking.

“Do I really mean so little to you that you’re able to throw me away overnight?” You questioned as you now stood beside Severus. He kept his gaze down as you spoke.

“The Carrows are wreaking havoc!” You exclaimed. “Students are being tortured every day, punished for things they never did. Hogwarts is going to hell, and you’re hiding up here in Dumbledore’s office playing Headmaster-”

“You think I don’t know what’s going on?” Severus’s voice was a deathly silent whisper. His chair screeched as he stood up, towering over you. His dark eyes were unreadable. “You think I enjoy this?”

“You’re certainly not doing anything to stop it-”

“Tell me then, what would I do?” His voice was nothing short of a whisper, but it cut through you like a knife. “Swoop in like some martyr to defend the students?”

“No, of course not. I-”

“What, do you want me to save the day? Like a hero? Like Potter?”

“No, Severus listen, I just-”

“I am running a school in the midst of a war and you want me to-”

“I want you to look at me!” You yelled, feeling tears prick your eyes. Severus flinched almost imperceptibly, but you caught the crack in his mask. Your lip trembled.

“I am so scared,” your voice shook, but you kept going. “I need you. I’ve needed you for… months. You told me once that I could always come to you. Yet you’ve been shutting me out, and I don’t know why.” Tears were flowing freely down your face now, and it seemed the longer you spoke, the more Severus softened, bit by bit. “I’ve been feeling so alone. You’re all I have now. I don’t even know what that means to you anymore.”

An eternity passed between the two of you. Severus never once broke his gaze as his eyes connected with yours. He moved as if to turn away, but then stopped. And then, slowly, as if to not scare you away, he closed the distance between the two of you as he caressed your face with both hands.

“I think of you every single moment of every day.” He whispered. “It tears me apart that I have to keep my distance from you.”

You rested your hands over his wrists, as if to hold his hands in place. You focused on his touch for a moment, afraid that if you so much as breathed the wrong way, all this would disappear.

“Why do you do it then?”

Severus breathed a small laugh, his thumbs gently stroking your tears away.

“Hogwarts is crawling with Death Eaters. If they see us together, you’re as good as dead.”

You shook your head, hating the fact that Severus was probably right.

“That’s not true.” You answered in a small voice. “I can fight. You know that.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Severus murmured sternly, but for the first time in months, his eyes were warm as he took in your features. “If anything were to go wrong, and so many things have been going wrong lately… I cannot have you attached to me. You will be a liability. You’re my weakness. They cannot know that.”

Severus shifted his hands away, only to gently take each of your own and hold them tightly. His hands were surprisingly warm for how cold it was in his office.

“I…” he frowned, struggling for the right words. “I love you far too much to risk losing you so foolishly. And that means for the time being, during this war, I have to love you from a distance.”

You wanted to protest. Yell until you ran out of breath that it wasn’t true. That you could find a way to make things work despite the chaos you were in. But you came up empty and you knew it was because, deep down, Severus was right.

“This isn’t forever.” He whispered, a feeble attempt at reassuring you. His eyes mirrored the heartbreak you felt inside. “But for now, it is safer.”

“Can I stay with you?” You asked, your voice feeble. “Just for tonight?”

There was a flash in Severus’s eyes that had you convinced he was going to agree. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead before wrapping his arms around you.

“I’m sorry.”

He didn’t have to say anything else. You knew.

“I love you.” You whispered, returning his embrace tightly. You closed your eyes, bringing your attention to every cell in your body, every nerve ending, in an attempt to memorize the way Severus touched you. The lingering warmth of his hands, the feeling of his fingers that were now gently running through your hair. The soft tingle of his lips against your skin.

“I love you too.”

He retreated, but his touch lingered on you like fire.

A reminder that you’d carry him with you, always.

[jerry-enthusiast]

Merry Rickmas bitchezzz 🥂

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 2 - SECRET WATCHING

Pairing : Judge Turpin x OC

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

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

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

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

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

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

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

Who were you ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jealousy completely consumed Richard in the face of this sight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lord Turpin," you said in a breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I..."

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

You looked down, not knowing what to say.

"Is it the action of your fiancé ?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Is he your fiancé ?" Richard asked again.

"Yes," you finally answered.

"When ?"

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

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

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

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

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

"And your father, does he know?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you really have to marry him ?"

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

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

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

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

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

You raised your head, surprised by this proposal.

"Going to Scotland ?" you asked suspiciously.

"Indeed."

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

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

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

"But... and my father ?"

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

"And the wedding ?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Nothing at all, I promise you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you think he is so influential ?"

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

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

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

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

And without even realizing it, you whispered yes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Miss [Y/S],

[Y/N],

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

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

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

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

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

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

Richard Turpin"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And ?" he finally dared to ask.

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

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

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

His raw sincerity disarmed you for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I want a husband."

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

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

"So be it," you whispered.

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

A year later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[myveryownfanfiction]

Rickmas day 10: lingering touches

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @deepperplexity, @smilingformoney

warnings: swearing

I smiled at Severus as I passed, my hand reaching out to touch his in the safety of his robes. He nodded as he passed, fingers tangling with mine momentarily before drifting away as we headed in opposite directions. Thus was how we interacted in front of the students. Sitting down next to him at dinner, I pressed my foot against his.

“how were classes today?” I asked, looking out over the great hall as the students chattered. “I heard Finnegan managed not to blow up his cauldron for once.”

“You heard correctly.” Severus said, grabbing his goblet before turning to look at me with a small smirk. “But unfortunately longbottom nearly poisoned us all with the fumes from his.” I sighed and shook my head.

“for a boy so handy in herbology, he really sucks at the practical element of it all.” I fussed as I passed along the potatoes to hagrid. “Still…at least there weren’t any trips to the hospital wing?”

"Not today thank Merlin." Severus breathed out. "I saw you leaving earlier. Everything alright?"

"Oh that." I laughed. "A student thought it would be funny to turn into me before class. I wasn't paying attention and well...I thought it was an actual mirror since we were practicing beautification charms. Leaned a little too close and bonk." I shrugged. "We're both fine. Turns out Madame Pomfrey didn't even know we had a fucking metamorphmagus at Hogwarts. They hid their talents well."

"Indeed." Severus said, having finished eating and putting his hand on my knee. "But just in case, I'll check my stores. Make sure no one is making polyjuice potion again." I nodded.

"I doubt it but you never know." I agreed. After dinner, we walked back to my quarters with our shoulders touching. "Thank you Severus. I look forward to our rounds tomorrow night." He nodded before turning and headed back to the dungeons. The next night, Severus offered me his hand as we walked the grounds.

"You know, when all this is over..." He started. I nodded.

"It'll be nice to be open about all this." I agreed. Severus smiled at me, leading me past the Herbology green houses and towards the entrance to the dungeons. He paused before pulling me into one of the many secret passages the school offered. Severus pulled me into a kiss that made me weak in the knees. I wrapped my arms around him to try to remain upright. "You know the Weasley twins can probably see us on that map they took from Filtch right?" I asked when we had parted for air.

"I don't fucking care." Severus laughed. "Let them. Who are they going to tell?" He said, eyes shining. "And what if they treat us a little kinder or a little different than normal. At least they'll stay out of trouble." Severus' hand ghosted down my side.

“you don’t know that sev.” I giggled. He ducked his head to kiss along my neck before kissing me deeply. “Oh sev.” I breathed out as his hands kneaded my hips.

“I can’t keep doing this. Lingering touches and hidden rendezvous.” He breathed out. “How much longer?” I sighed as he pulled me as tight against him as he could.

“nearly there sev. Nearly there.” I assured him, running my fingers through his hair. Severus pulled back with a nod, kissing me again deeply before breaking away and leading me back into the dungeons to finish our rounds.

[smilingformoney]

Rickmas Day 2: Secret Watching

Character: Judge Turpin (Sweeney Todd) Relationships: Turpin/Mary (OC) Warnings: allusions to coercion and non/dubcon

Based on Sins of the Flesh

Read on Ao3 or below:

Being the most revered judge in London was a significant responsibility, one Turpin didn’t take lightly. He was proud to have achieved as much as he had to bring justice and peace to the city.

And yet… it burdened him sometimes. He saw the very dregs of society pass through his courtroom, and though most of it was forgotten by the time he left the courtroom, some days cases lingered in his mind.

It was almost 2 o’clock in the morning, and Turpin was still awake, unable to switch his mind off from the horrors he’d heard about in the courtroom. Fortunately, he had a way to destress, and she was lying, asleep and vulnerable, in the bed next to him.

Mary was a gift bestowed upon him for the hard work he’d done throughout his life, of that Turpin was sure. He’d almost thought it a dream when the beautiful virgin girl showed up on his doorstep, begging him for mercy, offering him anything he wanted if he’d spare the life of her thieving brother.

Little did she know, as strict as he was, he wasn’t in the habit of sending petty thieves to the gallows for their first offence. A second or third offence, perhaps, but not a first - else there’d be no boys left in London. Had she not intervened, he’d likely have sent the boy to prison for a few weeks and nothing more.

And so when Turpin realised he could make a deal that gave him the gift of a virgin in his bed in exchange for simply doing his job, he couldn’t refuse. But when he’d taken the girl into his bed and pierced her maidenhood, he found that she was the warmest, tightest cunt he’d ever taken. Beneath her rags, she had a beautiful body, and her moans were delectable. He knew he couldn’t have her for just one night… and so he came up with a plan.

He sent the brother off for transportation, promising Mary that so long as she remained his plaything, the boy would be safe. He didn’t think it necessary to mention that, once a convict was in Australia, he had no further control over their fate until they returned from their sentence.

So here she was, the prettiest woman he’d ever laid eyes upon, sleeping next to him in his bed as obediently as if she were his wife. She looked even more innocent now as she slept, her features relaxed, a peaceful look on her face as she dreamed of whatever it was pretty women dreamed of. Turpin longed to touch her, to wake her up and fuck her until he exhausted himself into sleeping. He didn’t even need to bother waking her - he could, and some mornings would, take her any time he pleased, even as she slept. His passions would wake her up eventually, but she never protested. No, she wouldn’t dare - even if she didn’t fear for her brother’s safety if she were to deny him, Turpin knew she loved it, even if she hadn’t yet admitted it to herself. Her sweet moans when he bestowed upon her the touch of his fingers or his tongue were enough to betray the truth to him. She welcomed his touch, and she knew she was lucky to spend each day in bed with the great Judge Turpin.

Mary mumbled something in her sleep and rolled towards him. When her hand grazed against his chest, she seemed to realise he was there, and her arm slid around his torso to embrace him. Turpin smiled. Taking her touch as permission, he wrapped an arm around her. As she breathed steadily, her chest rose and fall, and Turpin could feel the peaks of her nipples brushing against his chest hair.

Lord have mercy, she was irresistible.

“Just you wait until morning, Mary,” Turpin whispered as he closed his eyes, sleep finally beginning to overcome him. “I’ll take you harder than you’ve ever known…”

With that, he was asleep, the rhythm of Mary’s breathing and the warmth of her embrace finally ridding his mind of the thoughts that had kept him up.