#rickmas2024

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 20 - WRONGFUL PERCEPTION [E1]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC (Marie)

Summary : When the daughter of an old friend has compromised herself, Christopher Brandon sacrifices himself to save her reputation. But maybe love can blossom, even in the most unusual context.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness. Loneliness. Abandon. Rumours. Harsh mother. Unwanted pregnancy.

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

It had been a long time since Christopher had seen Sir William Fleet. He had known him in the army and although he was much older than him, he had quickly become friends with him. He was a wise, discreet, and introverted man, quite the opposite of John Middleton who was also a good friend of William. The latter liked to joke that John was often the yin to his yang.

Christopher's visit was not insignificant. He had received word from John that their old friend was very ill and the doctor was not certain that he would survive the winter. Christopher had therefore made the trip, hoping to see his friend in better condition than he had been told.

A servant showed him into the large Fleet home. The place was much more modest than his Delaford estate but it was a beautiful, well-kept place, which housed the memories of several generations, some more prosperous than William today, although he had done a remarkable job of managing the family fortune.

"Colonel Brandon, my father will see you," a small, shy voice startled him.

He turned around and couldn't help but stare in spite of himself at Marie Fleet, William's daughter. He had never met her before, every time he had come to visit his friend, his child too shy to meet anyone's gaze had always taken refuge in her room and her father, sometimes too indulgent, had always let her do it. Christopher remembered a month's stay where the young girl who could not have been more than twelve at the time had managed the feat of never being seen by anyone.

Marie was twenty-one now and she was a pretty young girl with soft features, but her eyes, which she had been pretty, seemed to carry a shadow that betrayed torments far too great for a young lady of her age and rank.

"Miss Fleet, I am delighted to meet you," Brandon said, bowing politely.

She gave him a small bow without answering, then headed down a hallway, still in silence. Christopher knew he had to follow her and she led him to a small private sitting room with heavy green drapes that filtered the sunlight, giving the room a pleasant, subdued light.

"Christopher, my old friend !" William exclaimed as he rose from his chair.

He didn't look very well but he didn't seem as ill as John had said. Perhaps the potions were taking effect.

"Do you need anything, father ?" Mary asked, never looking up from the floor.

"No, thank you, child. You can get back to your business."

She left without asking for more as William went to a bottle of Brandy to pour a generous amount into two glasses.

"You seem to be in better shape than the rumours suggested," Brandon pointed out cautiously.

"Marie is taking good care of me, but this cough refuses to leave me alone. The doctors weren't sure I'd recover, but I'm more robust than he thinks," William replied, taking a sip from his glass.

"John said you were dying."

William stared at his glass, swirling the liquid without really seeing it.

"I exaggerated a bit because I wanted to be sure you'd come," he finally admitted.

"Why didn't you write ? I would have come without you lying about your condition," Christopher said coldly.

"I didn't lie. Not really. The doctors really weren't sure I'd recover, and they said it would be a harsh winter, especially in this big, old house. But... there's something I'd like to ask you."

Before he could continue, he was overcome by a coughing fit that doubled him over. Christopher stood up to help him, but William stopped him with a wave of his hand.

"It would be as much of a lie as saying I'm perfectly fine. I'm getting old, and while I'm not yet in the grave, my health is failing. Fast. Too fast. And I need you to do me a favour, old friend."

"Of course, tell me," Brandon said, watching him closely.

It was true that William was not the dashing soldier he had once been. Life had worn him down, and Christopher could see the weariness imprinted on every one of his features, that weariness that life brings and that never goes away once it sets in.

"My daughter... She has no suitor. She has always been very lonely and the boys, the few who were interested in her fortune, have ended up turning away. As soon as she opens her mouth, she surpasses them and it scares them. And so much the better, I don't need a dowry hunter as a son-in-law. But, if I die and she is not married, she will have nothing. Everything will go to my nephew. I can't leave this world without being certain that she will be protected. She could work for you..."

"Work for me? You want me to make your daughter a servant?" Christopher asked, really surprised to hear such a thing, "her cousin will be able to take care of her, right ?"

"He would have done it before, but when... when she... not after that. He will disown her and she will end up on the street. She is a good girl, she made a mistake, but she does not deserve to pay for it for the rest of her life, and she is brave, she will work hard, I am sure of it and I know that you treat your people well."

Christopher frowned without understanding.

"Christopher, I trust you. I ask nothing more than that you accept her under your roof when I am no longer here. She and..."

"What are you hiding from me William? " Christopher asked, understanding that Marie's situation was not as trivial as it seemed.

There was something more than a father worried about his daughter who would not inherit his estate or his money and he could not put his finger on this certainty William had that his nephew would refuse to take care of Marie.

"Christopher, what I am going to tell you must never leave this room."

Christopher nodded solemnly.

"Marie, last summer she went to London with my brother and her cousins. There she met a young man. A young man unworthy of her affection, but she did not know that. She did not want to tell me much, but he comes from an important family and he is said to be a lawyer. Anyway, she believed his sweet talk and... and..."

William was unable to continue, the lump in his throat compressing him too much, this lump of fear for this only child that he had always cherished so much since the death of his wife.

"She's carrying a child," Brandon guessed, jaw clenched.

"Yes. It can't be seen yet, she must be barely two months old. We went to see a healer who offered to... to deliver her early, but Marie refused."

"How could your sweet and shy daughter have gotten herself mixed up with a smooth-talking lawyer?" Brandon growled, although his anger was not directed at Marie but at this miscreant who clearly refused to assume his paternity.

"Out of naivety. Also out of hope of finally being loved by someone other than her old father. It's my fault. I was too lenient with her, I wanted to compensate for her years when I was not there and she had to grow up with the firm and implacable authority of my wife who never let her get away with anything. I trusted her and her cousins ​​to watch over each other, but Marie, although intelligent, is terribly naive in matters of the heart and the flesh. She believed in her fine words, she let herself be seduced and now... now, if anyone finds out that she is expecting a baby out of wedlock, she will be ruined. And how can you hide such a thing ?"

William's voice broke on these last words but he bravely held back his tears.

"I first thought of hiding her until the delivery and then giving the baby away, but Marie... she wouldn't survive it, I know her, she wouldn't bear to see her baby taken away from her. And she couldn't keep such a secret, pretend that nothing had happened, she would suffer from it, would never recover and would be unable to find a husband."

"That's the best solution," Christopher pointed out, "you could entrust the child to good people, who would raise it well."

"I know, but I thought... I thought that you could take her and the child in. She could put some money aside, and I have some for her too, a little safe that no one knows about. When she had saved enough, she could leave for the Americas and invent a new life for herself. To say that her husband died in India. They say anything is possible there."

"So you want me to take in your daughter and her child, for your daughter to work for me until she has enough money to escape to a country where she won't know anyone and will be left to fend for herself with a child? " Christopher summed up.

"I don't know what else to do," William admitted.

"Marie is innocent, she can barely look anyone in the eye, and do you think she'll be able to survive alone in a distant land ?" Christopher asked.

"Isn't that her best hope ?" William asked, no longer hiding his tears.

Christopher stood up, pacing.

"No," he finally said firmly, "there is another solution."

"Which one ?"

"Marriage."

Christopher's words were followed by a heavy silence.

"Christopher, I would never ask you that," William began.

"No, but I'm offering it to you," Christopher interrupted.

"What about the child ?"

"Mine. No one will have to know."

"I... Christopher, do you understand what you're proposing ?" William insisted.

He knew Christopher was a good man, he also knew that after Eliza disappeared, hisMy friend didn't really believe in love anymore, but to find himself trapped in a marriage of convenience with a lost girl...

"I'll take care of her, she won't want for anything and you know that your inheritance interests me very little. When you die, I'll make sure that everything goes to your daughter and her child. If it's a little girl, I'll make sure that everything is done legally so that she inherits everything when she's an adult. That way, you'll know that at least one Fleet girl will have some freedom to choose the life she wants to lead."

"Christopher... Marie, what if she never gives you back what you're offering her now ?"

"Then, so be it. I'm not doing it so that she owes me anything. I'm almost 35 and I no longer have any illusions about finding love. I'm old and very unattractive."

"Nonsense! Old? Wait until you're my age, wait until you need a maid to get out of bed and you can call yourself old, you young fool," William said, rolling his eyes.

"No matter, I'll watch over her and the child. It doesn't matter if it's a boy or a girl, it will be mine and the child will never want for anything. As for Mary, she will be free to move around, the Delaford will not be a prison for her. Besides, John's cousins ​​are set to move in near him in his old cottage. Maybe she can find a friend with one of them."

William thought for a moment, emptying his Brandy in a slow sip.

"Are you sure, Brandon ? I don't want to give Mary false hope, make her believe that everything will be fine if you're not sure."

"I am. I won't back down."

"Good. I'll talk to her tonight," William said, feeling a terrible weight lift from his heart.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to do it myself," Christopher suggested.

William nodded, standing up with renewed vigour.

"How about we go see the ponds ? I don't really have time to tease their tenants anymore, but my gardener takes good care of them."

The two men went out together, William joking like in the good old days of the army, Christopher still the stoic and composed man who suffered in silence. He didn't suffer from his decision, however, he knew it was the right one. Mary would have a chance, she and her child, which Eliza had not had.

Late that afternoon, before dinner was announced, Christopher asked permission to speak to Mary alone. The young woman slowly entered the library where he was waiting for her, her eyes lowered, her cheeks slightly pink.

"Colonel Brandon, did you want to speak to me ?"

"Miss Fleet, we were never formally introduced."

She didn't answer, but he didn't miss her hand that almost landed on her stomach before she stopped it.

"Miss Fleet, may I speak to you frankly?" Christopher asked, observing her carefully.

"Of course," she answered, looking up at him for the first time.

"Your father... he confided... he confided your secret to me."

Marie blushed violently, her eyes wide in a mixture of fear, anger and shame.

"He..."

She was tempted to tell him that he was a little senile and no longer knew what he was saying, but she didn't want to disrespect her father in this way.

"He shouldn't have. It's my burden, not his," she said instead.

"I'm afraid a child's burden is always his parents'," Christopher replied bitterly.

Marie was lucky to have an understanding father who wanted to lighten his load. If his sister had ever returned home in Marie's condition, their father... he preferred not to think about what his father would have done. He remembered that his sister was happily married in France and focused on what he intended to tell Marie.

"I can help you," he said, his features softening with the compassion he felt for this very young woman.

"How ?" Marie asked, frowning.

"I proposed to your father and he accepted."

"What ? But he had no right ! And I, don't have a say in it ?!" Marie fumed.

Christopher couldn't blame her for her reaction, but she was still young and naive about the world around her. She had been far too protected by a father who had wanted to redeem himself by offering her everything she wanted without ever letting her stray too far from him. At least until that unfortunate escapade in London where she had proven that she knew nothing about the world.

"Your burden would also become mine. You would be protected from rumours, from judgments."

"A pity marriage ?" Marie spat.

William entered at the same moment.

"Come, come, my child, why all this shouting ?" he asked calmly.

"That's your solution, father ? Marry me to a stranger ? Chain me to a man I don't know ?"

"You feel insulted, Marie, but that's the best solution. Christopher is a good man, I have known him for a long time. He will watch over you and your child.

"Father !" Mary exclaimed, outraged.

"You will have a name and protection, just like your child." William said, raising his voice a little.

"You can't force me !" his daughter insisted.

"No, but if you have any common sense you will accept. You made a mistake, an unfortunate mistake, but all is not lost. Christopher is offering you a marriage to save your honour, you will have a roof over your head, you will get my house and my money when I die and this child will never be called a bastard, Mary. This is an opportunity and if you don't take it for yourself, don't be selfish, take it for the baby !"

She took a step back. It was the first time her father had spoken to her like that and his harsh tone took her by surprise.

"What if I refuse ?" she asked, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Christopher stepped forward, towering over her.

"I'll do everything I can to help you, but I think marriage is the best solution. It will spare you the rumours, the prejudices, and most importantly, it will spare the child. It will have a chance, a real chance in this world. You know that a child with no name has nothing in this world."

Marie remained silent, her green eyes shining with silent pain until she finally whispered :

"If you think this is the best solution, father, then I accept."

The old man sighed in relief. Making Marie see reason hadn't been too difficult, and with any luck, this marriage would become more than a marriage of convenience.

The marriage couldn't wait, not with a nearly two-month-old baby growing inside Marie's womb. That night, William was already making plans for the wedding with Christopher. It would take place in the small chapel that bordered his land. Nothing too lavish, nothing too flashy, which suited Christopher just fine.

Marie, she said nothing. It was not the wedding she had dreamed of, nor the man she had imagined her life with, but she had only herself to blame for having believed the fine words of this lawyer, son of a Lord with words as clever as the venom of a snake that paralyses its victim to kill her.

Except that she was not dead, and she was suffering. Her heart was broken and the child she was expecting would remind her for the rest of her life of her mistake and the fact that she was condemning Christopher to a life he had not asked for and did not deserve.

Five days, she would be married in five days. Her father had her mother's dress brought to her, but Marie hesitated.

"Father, I don't think she'd be happy if I wore her dress. Not under these circumstances."

"Marie, your mother was harsh, but she loved you. And she wouldn't have abandoned you, I'm sure of it."

Marie bit her lower lip.

"You'll look lovely," William added as he handed her the dress.

The days passed in a total blur for poor Marie who seemed totally disconnected from everything that was going on around her. In any case, she didn't really have a say. She was asked her opinion on the flowers and she just nodded, she was asked her opinion on the meal and she just recalled that she hated onions.

The ceremony took place with few guests, as agreed. Brandon, dignified and elegant in his red suit, supported Marie when her father handed her over to him. The young woman was shaking, but she was elegant in the white dress that her mother had worn years before. Christopher lifted her veil that hid her frightened eyes and smiled softly at her, hoping to reassure her.

When it was time for the vows, Marie said hers without even hearing them while Brandon said his with firmness and honour.

"We'll leave for the Delaford tomorrow," Christopher announced to Marie during dinner.

"Good," she said calmly.

She ate little, aware of her uncle who was looking at her sideways. He didn't know, she was sure, at least not about the child. But it was not impossible that the cousin to whom she had confided about those nights with the young man who had conquered her heart had spoken to her about it and that he had guessed the reasons for this hasty marriage.

Arriving at the Delaford, Christopher showed her the room she would occupy and Marie, once alone, lay down on the bed and fell asleep immediately until the next day. A maid came to help her get dressed and set up her things.

Christopher, for his part, was aware that he had to give her time. Only time and respect could lead Marie to adapt to this new life, and who knows, perhaps also to accept him as a husband and not just as a protector.

The days passed and if Marie made efforts to talk to him during dinner, she always kept a certain distance. However, although he wasn't really demonstrative in his gestures, Christopher did not fail to be so in his attentions. Every day, he ordered the servants to ensure that Marie's room as well as the small living room where she liked to embroider and the library where she sometimes read were always well heated.

He had also noticed the young woman's love of fruit tea and since then, the kitchen shelves were overflowing with it. He had also had new shoes made for her so that her swollen feet would suffer less and he had also asked that the poetry books, a genre she seemed to like, be all gathered on easy-to-access shelves in the library.

And yet, it never seemed enough to make the young woman lower her guard.

"A ball ?"

Christopher had just announced to her that they were invited to the Middletons. There was a ball there and he hoped she might meet John's cousins ​​or make friends with a lady to ease the loneliness that seemed to follow her like a shadow.

"I don't want to go," she said calmly.

"Why ?" Christopher asked softly.

"I... I wouldn't know anyone," she said.

He could see she was genuinely frightened. Perhaps the memory of the last social outings in London and their aftermath still haunted her.

"I'll be with you all the time," he said, "John is my best friend, I can't upset him by saying no."

She bit her lip, annoyed. She had met John and Mrs. Jennings soon after her marriage to Christopher and had found them nice if a little too outgoing for her tastes. She had also met Elinor Dashwood when she had tea one afternoon with Mrs. Jennings and had found her very nice but she had not liked her sister who thought very little before she spoke and who was a little too impulsive for her. She also did not like this man, this Willoughby, with whom she was constantly hanging out. Something told her that he was not trustworthy. He looked too much like... like the one for whom her heart had raced, making her believe she was in love, except that he was only a mirage and not a lover.

"I am afraid they will see," she finally murmured.

Christopher took her hand gently in his and she did not remove it to his great pleasure. No one would see, he thought. No one except him who could notice the subtle changes in her figure. But her pregnancy was still easily concealed.

"They won't notice. Amelia will take care of your dress and nothing will be noticed. But Mary, we'll have to tell them," he told her kindly.

"But they will know. It doesn't take a great mathematician to figure out that I was pregnant before we were married," she said in a small voice.

"We'll say the baby was premature," he argued.

"They'll see that it's not small enough to be premature," she pointed out.

"In that case, we'll stay confined for a while. They'll pretend that the child was born fragile and can't be in contact with too many people so as not to get sick," he said with conviction.

"And the servants ?"

"They won't say anything. They're loyal to me and they're carefully chosen by Mrs. Hudson and Mr. Stafford to ensure that they meet my standards and the grandeur of this house."

Marie finally accepted, her stomach in knots, but deep down, she wanted to please Christopher. She owed him that after all. He didn't force her to do anything, was always respectful and in return, she was going to impose another man's child on him. A child he had promised to recognize and raise as his own. She owed him more than a ball, she owed him everything. 

On the night of the ball, as Christopher had promised, no one noticed anything. However, he couldn't help but notice their similarities. Like him, she had this gift for not showing what she felt, even if he guessed her discomfort that must have knotted her stomach at the idea of ​​being surrounded by so many people, she was sparing with words and she had this melancholy air that never left her. He wondered if she had always had it or if, like him when he was just a young man in love with Eliza, she had been happy to live and all smiles.

He had asked her to dance, and although a little clumsy with her feet, she had accepted and had let herself be guided by his kindness. When they returned, she had accepted that he put his coat on her shoulders to protect her from the frost that was starting to bite the roads and arrive in their home, she had agreed to share a last tea with him before going to bed.

The next day, when she had joined him at the dining room table, she had told him to announce her pregnancy and Christopher's smile had made her heart skip a beat. It was as if he were announcing the expectation of his own child, he carried the pride of a father and it had hurt Mary's heart, all too aware of what she was doing to this man.

That afternoon was particularly rainy. Mary usually didn't mind going out in the rain for a walk, but today the rain was falling hard and the wind was blowing so hard that even the trees seemed to struggle to stay standing.

She had taken refuge in the private sitting room, the one that never saw a guest, and she was busy knitting socks for the baby when Christopher came back with a pile of mail to sort.

"Oh, sorry Mary. I didn't mean to disturb you. I can go to my office," he said, already turning around.

"No, stay. The office is probably freezing, no one has lit a fire in it," she said, setting her work down next to her.

"Can I help you ?" she asked as Christopher settled into an armchair by the fireplace.

"Well, you can answer these letters if you like," he said, handing her a few envelopes, "they're congratulations on the birth of our future baby."

He watched her furtively several times as she wrote concise but courteous replies. She was fragile and vulnerable, but he could see that she was strong, much stronger than she thought. He would teach her.

That night, Marie struggled to sleep. She was troubled by the conflicting emotions she was feeling. Finally, she decided to go down to the living room. She was pretty sure that the fire still warmed the room and she could read a little away from this oppressive room. 

As she entered, she jumped. Christopher was there, a book in his hand. He looked up at her and couldn't help but examine her closely. She wore only a simple nightgown that hugged her pregnant curves, making her look even more feminine than she had when they first met.

"Sorry. I didn't know you were here," she said, looking down.

"You're not disturbing me. Do you need anything ?" he asked gently.

"No. I couldn't sleep," she said, moving slowly into the room.

"Sit down. Would you like some tea ?" he asked, pointing to the still-steaming teapot on the coffee table.

She nodded, and he poured her a cup, which she held in her slender hands to warm them.

Christopher picked up a blanket that was neatly folded on a dresser and placed it on his shoulders. Marie murmured a small thank you, but the sincere smile she gave him filled Christopher with a joy he couldn't explain.

"Marie, do you have any happy memories ? Before... before all this ?"

He immediately blamed himself for asking, but he was itching to get to know her a little better.

"I remember my father teaching me to read in his study instead of working with the ledgers," she said with a wistful smile, "and summer days by the ponds. One of them was clear and I used to swim in them when I was younger."

"Marie, are you happy to become a mother ?"

There was a silence during which she had to make an effort not to burst into tears.

"I... I never imagined becoming a mother like this," she finally said, "but, he said he loved me, he told me we would live in his family's mansion, that we would have a good life and then... when he got what he wanted, he didn't even look at me anymore."

She couldn't hold back her tears any longer. Immediately, Christopher stood up to come and take her in his arms. She let him do it without resisting.

"And now, in addition to having ruined my life I ruin yours," she said between two sobs.

Christopher pulled back and took her by the shoulders.

"Marie, you didn't ruin anyone's life. You made a mistake, a mistake in judgment, but your life is not over because of it. You are strong and you should be proud of yourself for being here, still standing and fighting. And you are not ruining my life. I chose you and I don't regret a thing."

She looked at him, her eyes full of gratitude and for the first time, she thought she had had a wrongful perception of Christopher when he had proposed to marry her to save his reputation. He was a man of honour and he proved it to her every day.

"There are rumours, I know," said Mary as she pulled away from Christopher's embrace, "Marianne Dashwood mentioned it when we went on a picnic with Mr. Middleton and Mrs. Jennings."

Christopher clenched his jaw. Damn Marianne and her forked tongue. Of course there were rumours, he knew that. Some people said that this hasty marriage had been orchestrated to save the young woman's reputation but thanks to John who, although he understood the truth had been kind enough to pretend he knew nothing, the rumours thought that it was the honourable Christopher who was not so honourable that he will pass it was rising and that he had sinned before redeeming himself by marrying her.

"Don't listen to Marianne Dashwood. She is a girl of little judgment. This child, Marie, is ours and I will challenge to a duel anyone who dares to say otherwise, is that understood ?"

She nodded, but Christopher put a finger under her chin to force her to look at him.

"Is that understood ?" he insisted.

"Yes," Marie whispered.

"I know you think everything is ruined, that you are lost and that nothing is right, but it is not. Everything is fine and you are not lost, you are my wife. And in time, it will get better, you will see."

They finally separated and Marie returned to her room, gently caressing her round belly. She wondered how a woman like her who had sinned, damaged goods, could deserve a man like Christopher Brandon.

Christopher lingered in his office for a moment. He opened a drawer and pulled out a portrait of Mary, a portrait he had made himself. It had taken him no more than a few months to fall in love with her and yet, even if she opened up to him, she still seemed far away.

He had often wondered if an arranged marriage could open the door to true love and he had long doubted it. His parents had never been happy in their marriage, his brother had ruined Eliza, but still, John had assured him that his marriage, although arranged, had been a solid foundation and that the love he had built with his wife had been much stronger than a quick passion in the glow of a burning fire that made the heart of a man blinded by the illusion he called love beat faster.

But there was no wrongful perception for Christopher. He had fallen in love with Marie, and with patience, she might eventually give herself to him. At least, he hoped so, now that he had a chance to experience love in his tormented life.

[myveryownfanfiction]

Rickmas day 21: heartfelt confessions

continuation of days 8 and 17

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

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

warnings: swearing, death, snake attack, voldemort

I paced the boathouse, waiting for Severus to arrive. Voldemort had sent word to him and left me as bait. I turned as Severus entered.

“professor?” Severus asked as he saw me, a small twitch in his fingers as he scanned the room. Voldemort emerged from the shadows and smiled at the two of us. “My lord.” He bowed his head as Voldemort came to stand in front of him.

“Severus. Thank you for joining us.” Voldemort said. “There have been some…revelations of late. One that involves our lovely charms professor here.” Severus gulped as he looked between us. “I do believe you dared to defy me, saying you’d run away to join the muggles if it meant I wouldn’t find you.” Severus didn’t move, not emotion on his face at all. I bit the inside of my cheek hard to keep my face blank. Severus glanced at me and I noted the glimmer of fear in his eyes.

“my lord…” Severus started but stopped when Voldemort held up a hand, circling him.

“I must say Severus. I never expected you to choose a pure blood. Given your status and the unfortunate choice of a bitch you originally made.” I felt the shiver go up my spine at the mention of lily. “How much do you love our little professor? Hmmm? Enough to die for them?” Severus went pale, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he glanced at me.

“Die my lord?” He asked. “I…what…are you…” I stepped forward and stood in front of Severus. His hand came out to grab my arm, push me out of the way should anything happen but I grabbed his other arm and squeezed.

“you can’t kill him!” I cried. Voldemort looked at the two of us. He laughed darkly.

“I can’t can I?” He asked. “You little bitch, I think you forget your place. Unless you want to die alongside him.” I stood to my full height and stared down the most dangerous man in all of the wizarding world.

“better to die together than live with the pain of losing a loved one.” I shot back. Severus tightened his grip, still intent on pushing me out of the way. ‘Bastard thinks he killed Harry right?’ I thought. The brief squeeze of my arm confirmed it. I took a deep breath as Voldemort raised his arm.

“then you shall die alongside him.” Voldemort warned me. I stood defiantly in front of Severus as we watched nagini come closer. I counted down in my head, pulling Severus into apparition at the last possible second. I pulled him down just outside the boathouse as Voldemort roared with anger. Nagini was hanging off his arm, body falling at the wave of energy Voldemort gave off as the horcrux in the snake died. Voldemort stumbled against the wall as the venom coursed through his body, no horcuxes left to bring him back. I breathed out and leaned my head against Severus’ chest as a tear escaped my eye.

“How did you know that would work?” He breathed out, arms wrapping around me tightly. “How did you…”

“I didn’t.” I said, looking up at him with tear filled eyes. “I just wanted this to end.” Severus cupped my cheeks and kissed me deeply.

“you brilliant idiot.” He whispered, leaning his head against mine. “You absolute brilliant nut case. I love you. So so much.” I giggled and wrapped my hands around his wrists.

“I love you too.” I breathed out before kissing him again. He hugged me to him before rising. “Is he…”

“he should be.” Severus nodded, slowly making his way into the boathouse. He kept a tight hold on my hand as I trailed behind him. “Free. Finally free.” Severus breathed out, tears of his own rolling down his cheeks. “We’re free.”

“oh Severus.” I cried as I covered my mouth. Severus swept me up, spinning me around before kissing me again.

“let’s go. Let Harry find him.” Severus breathed out. “I have a mind to apologize to Minerva and then disappear to spinners end until this all blows over.” Severus looked at me with shining eyes. “If you’ll have me.”

“I’ll always have you Severus.” I confirmed before following him back up to the castle.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 20: Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2], Prompt 11. Out Of Reach [A3], Prompt 17. Truthful Longing [A4]

A/N: It’s Christmas time! Well, at least over her. Mom’s arriving any minute now and I’ve done a shift at the library today as well. Tomorrow the first Christmas celebration will go off and I’m super excited - stressed, yes, very much, but excited 😂👍 I hope you’re having an amazing Friday (or whatever day it is you’re reading this) and that you’re ready for some more Brandon love! 😍👏❤

Tags/TW’s: Not really any tags or warnings for this fic, I’m not sure how to tag it but there’s some angst, some mentions of the previous panic attack, some miscommunication (not between MCs) and a wild blurting of feelings 😅

Word Count: 1.4k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Wrongful Perceptions

“Are you certain I shall not ready the carriage?” Christopher asked as I adorned a heavy cloak smelling of him. “Marrygold will take me home. I am fond of riding.” “Then I shall ride with you.” “You will?” He nodded at my words and a butler stepped up with his coat and top-hat in hand. “Thank you, Peter.” “Master,” the butler replied as Christopher dressed for the cold. “I shall delay lunch,” the butler continued and Christopher nodded.

As the doors opened, a gust of icy wind whipped across my face. Two stable boys stood at the end of the stairs holding each of our horses. I glanced at Christopher, he had already planned to come with me it seemed. “Do not look at me with such judgement, Calliope.” “You ought to practice on your perception of my, what did you call it, expressive features?” “Is that so?” he asked with a smile as we walked down the stairs. “I am not judging, I am thankful to you…”

We fell into silence after that. The winds howling and Marrygold’s pleased snort took over as I grabbed her reins. A saddle had been strapped to her, not that I needed one, but it was proper. “Which way?” I asked as Delaford had been an unknown location to me before the turn of events that led me here. “North-east,” Christopher said. “North if we take the forest route, which is quicker.” “North it is then.”

The wind dragged my hair loose, my gloved fingers chilled while gripping the reins as we galloped between trees — Christopher and his steed close behind me. He called directions now and then, yet my mind lay not with our destination but the estate we were leaving. It would become my home should father agree to our hasty marriage.

I pulled on the reins while leaning back, halting Marrygold to a standstill with a neighing, and Christopher came to a stop beside me. I panted, my mind raced and that dreadful feeling of panic surfaced.

“Dear, are you fairing?” His words went passed me as hasty as the wind. “Calliope?” he asked, and came up right next to me, laying a hand atop my trembling one. “This is wrong,” I whispered. Shame marring my thoughts as I realised we had no dowry to offer, soon not an estate or coin to our name and it would drag my heart’s treasure down in the eyes of society.

“Summer sky,” he said, squeezing my hand. “The only thing wrong is your lack of enthusiasm at the moment. Have you… Are you regretful of accepting me?” “No! Christopher, lord no,” I said, guilt building within me. “But I am no match worthy of you.” “My heart has spoken, even if you had been a maid I would have asked for your hand. I am too old to trifle with my own heart, too gone in years and too seasoned to give society or propriety any thought in matters they have no say in.” “Oh, Christopher…” “As it is, you are from an esteemed family, with a grand legacy and a name worth something in the eyes of society. None of it matters, but your heart.” “Grand legacy… It will soon be gone.” “No, my dear. It will soon be entwined with mine and you shall want for nothing.”

⁛•⁛

The doors swung open before my feet hit the ground. “Calliope!” Father shouted while running down the stairs. “Where have you been?!” he continued and swept me into his arms. The gaping hole of the open doors held my gaze as I remembered the horrible sensation I had experienced of them wanting to swallow me and the grand room beyond expanding around me before plummeting toward me. A trick of the mind, of course, but no less terrifying.

“Father, I’m alright,” I said as he squeezed me tightly. “Where have you been? Why would you leave in such abandon?” he asked as he stepped back and took hold of my upper arms. His eyes lingered on the golden rope keeping the heavy cloak tied around my neck. Then he seemed to find himself, and propriety. along with etiquette in one swoop as Christopher dismounted his horse with a thud.

“Father, I have great news.” Father looked to my right where Christopher now stood. “Colonel Brandon?” he asked. “Indeed, sir. I had the good fortune of finding your daughter on my estate.” “At Delaford? My Calli, what—” I smiled, wishing to soothe the wrinkles of worry from his forehead. “It is a long story, but we have news, Father. Shall we take up the parlour?” I asked, and Father nodded while muttering a string of agreeing words and inviting Christopher in.

After disrobing, we entered the west parlour on the second floor. Christopher had walked close by my side while Father had led the way two steps ahead. I had paled during the ascent of the stairs. Only yesterday had I bolted down them in a rush of panic. Things were different now, yet the remnants remained.

We were served tea by Miss Abel, then Christopher and I found ourselves seated on the sofa while Father sat in one of the three chairs. “So, news you say?” he asked. I nodded, glancing at the man beside me for a second. “Good news. You will have a wed daughter.” Father spluttered into his teacup. “A marriage? What— When— Who have managed to capture you, my Calli?” he asked; as if the man sitting next to me was not evidence enough. “You have a nephew, Colonel Brandon?” he continued, his eyes going between us both — utterly confused it seemed.

Christopher chuckled. “No, sir.” “Then, I am at a loss.” I nearly rolled my eyes. “Father, I shall marry the colonel,” I declared and Father shot out of the chair as if it had burned his behind. “The what?” “The colonel, Colonel Brandon,” I clarified while laying a gentle hand on his strong thigh, not sure what to make of Father’s reaction. Should he not be jubilant?

Father dropped his teacup. It shattered atop the thin rug. “Father!” I called out, instantly on my feet. “What have I forced you to do,” he murmured, looking at me with an ache in his usually happy eyes. “You are my beautiful Calliope, your mother’s spitting image, a soulful being of joy and poetry. What have I forced you to—” “Father,” I interrupted harshly as the man he spoke so off-puttingly about had risen next to me.

I turned, laying my hands on Christopher’s chest — his heart pounded beneath my right palm. Looking up, I found eyes of sorrow once more looking down at me. “I shall find a solution to your dire situation,” he murmured, his voice held taut by pain. “I am not agreeable, it seems…” He smiled most softly, a half smile, a sad smile, a painful ordering of his handsome features. “No, please,” I whispered. “I shall find a solution for you.” He turned toward Father while grabbing my wrists to lower my hands before he fully twisted himself to slightly bow his head toward the wide-eyed, shocked man. “Lord Haymnick, thank you for your time. I return your daughter in a better state than I found her.”

That was it.

Father blinked, I tried to grab Christopher's arm but he moved out of the room swiftly in harsh strides. “Father!” I shouted, rounding the table and snagging myself on my own dress. “How could you?!” He blinked, seeming dazed. “What? My Calli, you cannot marry a man so—” “So what? Caring? Gentle? Kind? What?! He’s the best man I have ever met and I cannot hide a single thought from him! I cannot lie to him, I cannot stop myself from thinking about him!” “He could be my brother, for goodness sake.” “So? That has never stopped any marriage before. And he could not be your brother, he’s—” “Calliope, please, I have several good suitors for you on hand, you don’t need to—”

I snarled, frustration leaking out of me while I fought myself not to run after Christopher. “I want to marry him! I— Father, my heart is screaming for the man you just spoke so terribly about. You—! I was told to marry before the end of the year, and marry I shall, but I will marry none other than Christopher!” “But, but Calli, he’s—” “Wonderful!” I shouted, stomping toward the door after having lost the battle to run after him. “He saved me, in every way possible and I will marry him. Not because it is necessary, or because of the fraud you’ve spun. I will marry him because I… I am falling in love with him.” I grabbed my dress, and heaved a frustrated breath that had my nostrils flaring, as I glared at my gaping father before readying myself to run after the man I could not lose. Again...

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: GAAAAAH - Father, what have you done you nincompoop?! Thank goodness we get the next part of this already tomorrow - hehehe 😘

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[smilingformoney]

Rickmas Day 22: Shivering Certainty

Character: Elliott Marston (Quigley Down Under), Judge Turpin (Sweeney Todd) Relationship(s): Turpin/Mary (OC), Elliott/Mary (OC) Warnings: implied smut

Based on The Eternal Summer

AN: Inspired by Truly Madly Deeply, because I watched it and knew immediately who else would grieve a moustachioed Alan so hard that his ghost popped up :D Part 2 tomorrow!

Read on Ao3 or below:

At first, Mary thought she must have been going mad.

But it was real. He was real.

She reached out hesitantly to place a hand on his chest, and sure enough, he was as warm and solid as she’d ever known him.

“Elliott…” Mary gasped, looking up at him with eyes wide in wonder. “I don’t understand… how…?”

“I don’t know either, darling,” he replied, and Mary thought she might cry to hear his voice again, the voice she thought had been silenced forever. “All I know is I was in your arms, and then… I was here.”

“Oh, Elliott!” Mary sobbed, throwing herself into his arms. “How I’ve missed you!”

Elliott wrapped his arms around her tightly, and for the first time in a very long time she felt safe again.

“Shh, it’s alright, Mary… I’m here now…”

She sobbed profusely into his chest, neither of them caring that his shirt would no doubt be soaked by her tears. Elliott stroked her hair soothingly, even rocking her slightly, and he managed to coax her to sit down on the edge of the bed as he comforted her.

“How long has it been?” Elliott asked once he thought she seemed to have calmed enough to talk.

“F - five months,” Mary replied, sniffling as she raised her head to look at him. “The worst five months of my life.”

“Now, I know that’s not true.”

“It is! I couldn’t begin to describe… losing you was… oh, it killed me, Elliott. I might as well have died with you that day.”

“Don’t say that,” said Elliott sternly, cupping her face with his large hand. “Don’t you even think that, you hear me? I need you to live a long and healthy life for me.”

She nodded emphatically.

“I will, El. I almost… I did almost join you, but…”

“What?! What are you talking about? Did someone try to hurt you? I swear, if it was William —”

“No! No, he’s - he’s been so good to me ever since… since I tried… stupid, really… a bottle of arsenic, or so I thought… the apothecary must have watered it down…”

“Are you mad, Mary? What good would that have done anyone?”

“I know, El, I know! I’m so glad it didn’t work, because… well…” She sniffed, but she was smiling through her tears. “Gosh, how many times have I wished I could tell you…”

“Tell me what, darling?”

Mary wiped the tears from her face and took Elliott’s hands in hers.

“Elliott, I’m… I’m pregnant.”

His eyebrows shot up, and the look of surprise on his face was priceless. Mary giggled.

“I’m certain he’s yours. I can just feel it. I’ll never tell William that, of course, I daren’t think what he might do if he believed he wasn’t his, but… he agreed that we can call him Elliott for you.”

“…Mine?” Elliott repeated. “Do you really believe so?”

“Yes, yes, I do, he’s yours, El, I just know it!”

Elliott sunk to one knee on the floor and placed a gentle hand over her belly, as if worried touching it might harm the tiny life growing inside her.

“Do you know how much I fantasised about this?” he said softly, looking up at her reverently. “Marrying you and filling you with my child… oh, Mary, if only I could give you more, we’d have a litter of children…”

He leant forward and placed a soft kiss to her belly.

“I suppose he’ll be Elliott Turpin,” he said with amusement. “Not a name I ever thought I’d come across.”

“Oh, but El, what - what happens now? I mean… do you - will you stay?”

“I don’t know,” Elliott said as he sat back on the mattress with her. “I’d like to. But there are limitations. Don’t ask me how I know them, but I do.”

“Such as?”

“Nobody else can see or hear me, I don’t think. And I can’t leave this house. I don’t know whether it’s because of you or something else, but I can’t follow you outside.”

“But you… you’re solid, I mean… I’ve heard stories of apparitions, but never a ghost that you could touch.”

She placed her hand on his cheek and smiled. He was warm, his facial hair prickled against her skin… he was as real as if he were alive.

“Do you breathe? Eat, sleep? I can touch you, but…” Her eyes flickered down to his lips. “Can I kiss you?”

Elliott smirked. “Perhaps you should test it.”

Tentatively, Mary leant up and pressed her lips to his.

Yes, she could kiss him! She could kiss him, she could hold him… and he could kiss her back. His moustache rubbed against her skin just as she remembered, and when her lips parted for him, his wet tongue could explore her mouth just as he’d done before.

Elliott wrapped his arms around her waist and held her close, being careful not to place any pressure on her belly between their bodies.

“It seems you can most definitely kiss me,” Elliott murmured with a satisfied smirk. “And it seems I can kiss you too.”

Mary shivered slightly as a cold breeze came in through the window, and Elliott immediately took his jacket off to wrap around her shoulders.

“How are you enjoying the Australian winter?” he asked with amusement. “Is it odd to be cold in August?”

“A little, but English summers aren’t always hot, so it’s not that much of a change really.”

“Perhaps you should get under the covers.”

Mary looked up at him coyly. “Are you trying to get me into bed, Mr Marston?”

“Oh, I don’t need trickery to get you into bed,” Elliott said with a mischievous grin. “That belly of yours is proof enough of that.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, and carefully guided her onto her back so he could kiss her on the bed.

“What would your husband say if he could see this, hm?” Elliott purred as he kissed her neck, his body weight shifted to one side to avoid her belly. “Oh, hello, darling, welcome home. By the way, I snogged your dead cousin in our bed today, I hope you don’t mind.”

“Stop it!” Mary giggled. “If he knew anything of this, he’d have me sent off to the asylum instantly. Gosh, how am I supposed to sleep at night knowing you’re there?”

“You have a spare room, don’t you? Tell him you want to sleep alone because of the baby, then sneak into bed with me. How scandalous would that be, hm?”

Elliott took the skin of her neck between his teeth and teased her with a soft nibble.

“El! Be careful, you can’t leave a mark!”

“Can’t I? He’s left enough of his own. Who’s to say the mark’s not from him?”

Even so, Elliott didn’t try nibbling her again, opting instead to leave gentle, loving kisses over the top of the bruises she had from Turpin.

He moved down her body, his kisses travelling across her collarbone and then down her clavicle, until he reached her swollen breasts.

“Mmm, look how full they are… all ready to feed my son…”

He cupped her breasts in his hands, his thumbs ghosting over her nipples through the fabric of her dress, and Mary squirmed slightly with sensitivity.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle,” Elliott said softly. He placed a delicate kiss to each nipple, then said, “Are you leaking yet?”

“Not yet. But they’re sensitive.”

“And getting bigger, too, that’s for sure… fuck, Mary, you really were made for this. Pregnancy suits you.”

“I wonder, El… if you seem to be able to do everything you could as if you were alive… can you…?”

He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at her patiently.

“Can I what?”

“You know,” Mary said with a blush.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He was lying, and they both knew it, but he wanted to hear her say it. If they’d had more time - oh, the things he would have done for her - but the first thing he’d have taught her would be to ask for what she wants. She was too kind for her own good sometimes, too selfless, never doing anything for herself. But he wanted to give her the world, and she needed to ask for it.

Elliott shifted himself up the bed so he was face-to-face with her again, and planted a gentle kiss to her lips.

“Tell me what you want, Mary.”

“Make love to me,” she breathed, melting under his touch as one hand explored her body, tracing a route down her hip towards her thigh.

Elliott smiled.

“Anything you wish.”

Turpin arrived home late that evening, as he’d been playing cards with some of the other judges in Perth. He was a little drunk, but not debilitatingly so. The house was dark and quiet, so he surmised Mary must be asleep in bed.

She must have been very tired indeed when she went to bed, because she’d left the curtains drawn, but at least it gave Turpin some moonlight with which to admire his sleeping wife’s form.

He spotted something strange about her nightgown, so he pulled down the covers to reveal… she was wearing a man’s jacket, he realised with a frown.

He didn’t recognise it - it certainly wasn’t his! The worst case scenario immediately springing to mind, Turpin took her by the shoulders and lifted her to a sitting position so he could remove the jacket from her and, hopefully, find out who it might belong to.

The movement caused Mary to wake up, and she blinked her eyes open, looking around sleepily in the semi-darkness.

“Whose is this?” Turpin demanded, holding the jacket up to her. “This jacket is certainly not mine, so whose is it?”

“Elliott,” Mary mumbled. She looked around, blinking, as if she thought he might be around.

Turpin sighed. Elliott. Of course it was bloody Elliott’s. The man was five months dead, and still he lingered like a ghost haunting his wife’s heart.

“Go back to sleep, Mary,” Turpin said. “I’ll put this away.”

Mary wanted to protest, but what could she say?

Instead, she closed her eyes as she laid back down on the pillow, tugging the duvet back over her to stop herself from shivering.

A few minutes later, the mattress sagged as Turpin joined her, wrapping an arm around her to hold her close to him.

“I’m here now,” he said, his tone hard to interpret, somehow both a comfort and a firm reminder.

Yes, he was here - and Elliott wasn’t. Mary remembered falling asleep in his arms, having determined that he most definitely could still make love to her as a ghost.

That had happened, hadn’t it? She hadn’t gone so mad with grief that she’d imagined her dead lover returning to her?

No, it must have happened… how else would his jacket have ended up around her shoulders?

She shivered in the cold night, and her husband held her closer, doing his best to give her what warmth he could from his body.

Elliott had been warm too… he must have been real. He must have.

But where was he now?

[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.

[muiitoloko]

Rickmas 2024: DAY 02. SECRET WATCHING

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

Pairing: Hans Gruber × Fem! Reader

Warnings: mention of sex.

Also read on Ao3

Hans leaned against the doorframe, his hazel eyes dark with amusement as he watched you, utterly unaware of his presence. He couldn’t help the small, contented smile that played on his lips as he took in the sight of you on the bed, writhing with soft gasps, your fingers moving under the hem of his shirt—your eyes shut tightly as you whispered his name. The shirt, loose and oversized on you, only added to the scene’s allure, the fabric bunched up slightly as one hand cupped your breast.

“Ah,” he murmured finally, breaking the quiet with a low, teasing tone, “and here I thought there was still a week left until Christmas. Imagine my surprise—receiving my present early.”

At the sound of his voice, you froze, your eyes snapping open, startled and flustered, meeting his gaze as he looked at you with that infuriatingly calm smirk. Heat flooded your cheeks as you pulled your hand away, hastily tugging down the shirt, but Hans didn’t move from his place in the doorway.

“How long…?” you managed, still trying to process his sudden appearance. “How long have you been there?”

His smirk widened, his gaze never leaving yours. “Long enough, liebling,” he replied, his accent thick and velvet, each word drawing out your embarrassment as he stepped further into the room, slowly, purposefully. “Long enough to see how very… dedicated you are.” He tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with amusement as he added, “Didn’t even hear me, did you? But then again…” he raised a brow, “I wouldn’t be a very good thief if I didn’t know how to enter without a sound, wouldn’t you say?”

You bit your lip, unable to meet his intense gaze. “Hans, I…”

“Oh, don’t stop on my account, schatz,” he interrupted, his voice smooth as he moved to the edge of the bed, eyes traveling down the length of your body with a look of approval. “After all, I was thoroughly enjoying the show.”

Your blush deepened, and you managed to look up at him, a spark of defiance breaking through your embarrassment. “You could’ve made yourself known sooner,” you muttered, crossing your arms over your chest, only for him to chuckle softly.

“Where would be the fun in that?” he asked, his voice dropping to a low murmur as he leaned down, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your skin. “Now,” he continued, his hand moving higher, his gaze darkening with intent, “I think it’s only fair that I… continue unwrapping my gift.”

You shivered under his touch, your breath hitching as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of the shirt, his hand warm against your skin. “Hans…”

“Yes, mein Engel?” he whispered, leaning closer, his lips grazing the shell of your ear as his hand moved higher, inching toward where you needed him most. “Did you need something? Or were you simply calling for me because you were so desperate for my touch?”

You swallowed hard, your body already responding to his closeness, and he chuckled, his hand slipping between your legs, brushing against the dampness he found there. “Ah, so it is for me,” he murmured, his voice a dark, amused purr. “Well, then, it would be rude of me not to accept such a… generous offering.”

With a slow, calculated precision, he brought his mouth down to yours, his kiss possessive, claiming. His fingers teased you mercilessly, his thumb tracing circles that had you arching beneath him, your hands tangling in his shirt, pulling him closer. He took his time, watching your reactions with that ever-present, knowing smirk.

Finally, he pulled back, leaving you breathless, his lips brushing against your cheek as he whispered, “On your knees, liebling.” His tone was firm, leaving no room for question as he straightened, his eyes fixed on you with a commanding gaze.

With a soft whimper, you moved from the bed, sinking to your knees in front of him, his hand gently guiding you as he watched with an intensity that made your heart race. His fingers brushed your cheek, then slipped under your chin, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

“That’s it,” he murmured approvingly, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Let’s see just how eager my liebling truly is… and whether you can make this gift worth my while.”

[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

[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 🎉🎉

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

December 1st - December Moon

@deepperplexity 's Rickmas is back!!!!

Starting off the month with some Severus Snape x werewolf Reader. (Been under the influence of Snupin and Wenclair recently. The "soft goth x fluffy werewolf" dynamic is so good!)

Neutral reader x Severus. Slice of life. Fluff and comfort. Sev looking after werewolf reader as the full moon approaches.

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

It was a few hours before sunset when Severus emerged from his home lab, carrying a filled goblet to you in the living room. He found you curled up on the couch, half dozing near the warmth of the fireplace.

Gently, he placed a hand on your shoulder, “Come on, Darling. Last dose.” You groaned and forced your eyes open, knowing what needed to be done but still dreading it. Sev helped you to sit up and pressed the goblet into your hands. You looked at the blue vapour swirling from it and took a bracing breath before lifting the cup to your lips and downing it quickly. Sev took the cup from your hands and replaced it with a glass of water from the table, which you downed almost as fast. "I will never get used to that taste.” You grouched. Sev placed the empty cups on the side table and sat down on the couch, “I wish I could improve the taste without damaging it.” You lay down again, this time with your head on his lap, looking up at him through tired eyes. “Thank you for making it for me. For looking after me." Sev brushed his fingers through your hair, his dark eyes warmed with love, "Always."

When you had been turned, you’d been so scared. Scared of what would happen to you, what your life would become. Your biggest concern was how Severus would react. You knew how he feared werewolves and why. You couldn’t blame him, a werewolf without aid of Wolfsbane was one of the most powerful and dangerous magical creatures.  But he’d stayed by your side. Looked after you and kept you safe. And somewhere along the line, he'd healed a part of himself as well. He stayed with you through each transformation. Even though the first time you knew it was hard for him. You hadn’t asked him to stay, he just did. Told you he wouldn’t let you go through this alone. His love for you proved stronger than any fear.

You looked around the cozy living room, thinking, "We haven’t put up any decorations yet". Sev was still stroking your hair, “We can do that when you’re feeling better. “We’ll need to buy more decorations; we don’t have many.” "No. But I'm sure you have a list already of what we need." He said bit wryly, knowing how much you enjoyed the holiday. "Yup." A thought crossed your mind, and you giggled. “What?” He asked. “Just thinking what the reaction would be if any of your former students saw you buying Christmas decorations.” Sev smirked, “Their shocked expressions would be quite entertaining."

Sev saw you flexing your fingers and took one of your hands in his, gently squeezing your fingers and firmly massaging your knuckles with his thumb. By now he learned each of your tells for when you were in pain. He listened to your breathing shift and your head grow heavier on his lap. You were properly asleep now. In a few hours, you would be woken by the beginning of your transformation. It would be painful, but your mind would be your own. You'd curl up by the fire in wolf form, and Sev would sit with you all night. Tucked away from the world together.

[crusheswhimsandfancies]

The name’s Astley. Rick Astley

📸: cocoduffieldphotography on insta

[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 20: wrongful perceptions

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

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

warnings: swearing, weapons

“all clear.” I called as I met up with the rest of Elliot’s men. They nodded to me as I turned to ride back to the ranch. I dismounted when I reached the ranch house. “We ran all the dingos out.” I said. “I think Charlie bagged one. So fresh meat for the week.” I shrugged as Elliot cleaned his gun.

“if that’s what the men want.” He shrugged. “Honestly I wish there was a way to just kill them before they got on the property. Maybe then they’d stay away.”

“A sniper might work.” I said as I sat down. “They love to come in at night. A sniper on the roof…pot shots at them as they come in…might scare them off for good.” Elliot looked at me and chewed on his lip.

“tell Charlie to get up there tonight.” He said. I nodded and got up to go let the ranch hand know. “He’s the best shooter we have.” I sighed as I walked out of the house and made my way to the bunks.

“Charlie! Sniper idea is a go.” I called. Charlie nodded.

“you going up tonight?” I nodded. “I’ll grab em as they drop. If the others don’t try to turn cannibal.”

“wouldn’t want to lose a hand Charlie.” I agreed as I patted his arm. “Don’t let marston know. He thinks you’re going up.”

“still thinks im the better shot?” Charlie asked. I nodded. “One day he’ll realize.” I gave him a tight smile. The two of us started preping for the night ahead of us. Charlie helped me climb up to the roof once night fell before he ducked into the shadows. I set up my rifle before scanning the horizon for movement. Below me I heard the door open and someone step out. Three dingos moved into the compound and I lined up the shot. The rifle recoiled against me as I dropped the dingos in a line.

“what the fuck?” I heard Elliot say as Charlie ran out to collect the bodies. “Charlie! Get your ass over here now!” I started the climb off the roof and jumped down. My eyes went wide when I saw Elliot’s boots in front of me. I slowly looked up at him and gulped at the look on his face. Raising up, I took a deep breath and straightened my back. “What’s the meaning of this?”

“(Y/N)’s the better shot.” Charlie said. I tightened my grip on my rifle as my eyes flickered over to Charlie before focusing back on Elliot. “Always has been. Just didn’t think…”

“exactly.” Elliot said as he waved Charlie off. “You didn’t think.” He waited until Charlie had scampered off before he turned to me again. “So all those shots Charlie took…” he looked at the rifle in my hand. “That was you?” I nodded.

“yes sir.” I said, shifting my weight slightly.

“then you’ll train the others.” Elliot said with a smirk. “Wouldn’t want you to be the only one up there all night every night.” I finally relaxed, giving him a small smile. “Now come on. Let those three be a warning. You need some sleep. And I can’t sleep without you by my side anyway.” He wrapped an arm around me before leading me back into the house.

[snowblossomreads]

😭😭 HIS LITTLE LIGHT BINCHH U ARE ON THE ROLL WITH SWEET NICKNAMES THIS YEAR!!! UGH IMMA NEED THESE MENS TO STOP GRABBING LET HIS HEAD ROLL I AGREE WITH TURPIN HOW DARE! Ugh his sternness but care drives me up a wall ! Ugh i need these babies to get together )(as i do ALL the babies)

Also when ur with turpin u never need to be frightened if he adores u :) . heheh who could be safer than our dear judge 🤭🤭🤭

Prompt 14: Deceptive Kindness [C4]

Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem!OC

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

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

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

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

Word Count: 2.1k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Deceptive Kindness

⁛•⁛ Turpin’s POV ⁛•⁛

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

NEXT PART » Prompt 16: Thoughtful gifts [C5]

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

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

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 @elizabeth-baelish @severuslovebot @thethotthatbreathes @rickmandowneyjr @yellowbadgermole @snapesangel @commodoreseverus @reinekefoxart @lght-n-drk @cathym1102 @ankhmutes @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @thatlittlefangirl @sanji-simp @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos

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[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].”

[starlight-sev]

December 1: December Moon (Snape x Reader)

(Part of @deepperplexity’s Rickmas 2024 prompts)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Escaping duty, are we?”

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

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

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

To your surprise, Severus scoffed.

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

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

“Why? Because of what I wear?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes. My father. You?”

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

“Thanks,” you mumbled. He just nodded.

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

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

“Then why do you have a lighter?”

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

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

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

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

“Mm. Indeed.”

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

“Oh. You’re still here.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, no it’s okay-”

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

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

“Thank you. I owe you one.”

“Two, actually. The lighter.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

Severus nodded, the faintest smile on his lips.

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

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

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

“I suppose.”

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

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

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

“Drink and a dance?”

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

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

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

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

“Deal.”

[muiitoloko]

RICKMAS 2024: DAY 03. A TREAT

Summary: While shopping for Christmas gifts, you surprise Alex, your quiet but devoted bodyguard, with a luxurious new outfit, insisting he deserves to feel valued. Amid his gratitude and hesitation, he realizes you see him as more than just an employee, leaving him humbled by your kindness.

Pairing: Alex Hughes × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Also read on Ao3

The bustling mall was alive with festive energy as you moved from store to store, gathering Christmas gifts for your family. Despite your attempts at staying discreet, a few fans recognized you, approaching with excitement. Each time, you paused graciously, smiling warmly, taking photos, and signing autographs, always kind and attentive. Alex Hughes, your driver and bodyguard, followed close behind, keeping a protective eye on you while he silently carried your growing collection of shopping bags. His presence was comforting, solid and reassuring, his calm gaze sweeping the crowds as he ensured your safety.

Alex was, by nature, a quiet man, but you could tell he appreciated your down-to-earth kindness. To him, you weren’t just a celebrity or his employer; you were someone who’d looked beyond his past, someone who’d seen him for more than his mistakes. And you knew he valued that deeply. You’d learned early on that finding work was difficult for him, and he’d once quietly admitted how much this job meant to him, even if he didn’t express it in words often.

After browsing through another store and making your final selection, you turned to Alex, noticing the way he held the bags, his hazel eyes sharp yet patient behind his glasses, waiting for your next move. Something about him standing there, carrying all those bags with such quiet dignity, stirred an idea in you.

“You know, Alex,” you began, a mischievous smile forming, “it’s Christmas, and I think it’s time you got a little treat of your own.”

Alex blinked, his brow furrowing slightly. “That’s not necessary,” he replied, his baritone voice soft yet firm. “You’ve already been more than generous.” His hand shifted on the bags, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of you going out of your way for him.

“Oh, hush,” you teased, brushing off his protest. “Consider it my way of saying thank you for putting up with me—and all this shopping.”

Alex shook his head, a faint hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Truly, it’s fine. You don’t need to spoil me,” he insisted, his tone polite but resolute.

Ignoring him, you took his arm and guided him toward a nearby luxury store. “I insist,” you replied, casting him a look that told him there was no point in arguing. “Besides, everyone deserves a little something special at Christmas.”

Once inside, Alex looked around, visibly uneasy among the opulent displays. You could tell he felt out of place, but you knew he deserved something just as nice as anything you’d pick out for yourself. You made your way toward a section with men’s scarves, gloves, and coats, knowing he could use something warm and stylish for the winter.

Picking up a cashmere scarf, you held it up to him, studying how it would look draped against his coat. “What do you think?” you asked, reaching out to adjust it around his neck, letting your fingers linger on the soft material. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

Alex glanced down, his eyes meeting yours, his expression a mixture of gratitude and resistance. “You don’t have to do this,” he murmured, his voice low. “Really, you’ve already done more for me than I could ever repay.”

“You’ve earned it,” you replied, giving him a gentle smile. “Now just let me spoil you a little, alright? It’s Christmas, after all.”

Relenting, Alex let out a quiet sigh, his expression softening as he allowed himself to indulge, just this once. As you wrapped the scarf around him, he caught your hand, holding it briefly as he looked at you, a flicker of warmth in his hazel eyes.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, laced with genuine gratitude. “For everything. You don’t know how much it means to me.” His fingers brushed against yours for just a moment before he let go, a subtle but intimate gesture that sent a small thrill through you.

“Consider it a start,” you replied, giving him a teasing smile as you released his hand, watching as he adjusted the scarf around his neck. You couldn’t deny the warmth in your chest at seeing him look a little more comfortable, a little less guarded.

As you and Alex discussed the scarf, a saleswoman approached with a warm smile. “Can I help you find anything else?” she asked, glancing between the two of you.

You returned her smile, gesturing toward Alex. “Actually, yes. I’d like to get him a few things—a nice outfit, something that looks good but also professional. And maybe something more casual, too, for a Christmas banquet I’ll be hosting at my house.”

Alex, who had been quietly watching, suddenly looked startled. “A… banquet?” he stammered, his baritone voice filled with surprise as he tried to gather himself. “You—you’re inviting me?”

Ignoring his protests, you continued, turning back to the saleswoman. “I think a suit jacket would be a great start—maybe a deep charcoal or navy to complement his complexion. And let’s look at some shirts as well.”

The saleswoman nodded enthusiastically, clearly delighted to assist. She led you through the store, selecting a few options while Alex trailed behind, his expression a mixture of gratitude and discomfort.

As you held up a crisp blue shirt against his chest, studying how it might suit him, Alex leaned down, his voice a soft whisper in your ear. “This… this really isn’t necessary. You’ve already done so much,” he murmured, his hazel eyes filled with a hesitant gratitude, almost as if he couldn’t believe your generosity.

You tilted your head, giving him a playful smile. “Oh, hush. It’s a treat, Alex. Just let me spoil you a little. Besides, you need something nice for the party.”

He opened his mouth to protest again, but the words faltered as you placed another shirt against his chest, scrutinizing it with a thoughtful expression. “This one might be perfect,” you mused, ignoring his quiet resistance. “It’s classic, and the color brings out your eyes.”

Alex flushed, adjusting his glasses as he looked down at the shirt, clearly at a loss for words. “I—I didn’t even think I’d be invited… let alone need a new outfit,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Well, you are invited,” you replied, brushing off his concerns with a smile. “And I insist you look your best. So, let’s make sure we get it right.”

You continued browsing with the saleswoman’s help, picking out a tailored jacket, a few shirts, and a pair of slacks. Each time you found a new item, you held it up against Alex, analyzing how it would suit him. Despite his quiet protests, he let you continue, his gaze softened by something almost vulnerable, as if he was unused to someone caring for him in this way.

At one point, he caught your hand, his fingers brushing yours in a gentle, unspoken gesture. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with a depth of emotion you hadn’t expected. “For all of this. It… it means more than you know.”

You squeezed his hand in return, giving him a reassuring smile. “It’s Christmas, Alex. And you deserve to feel special, too.”

A slight smile tugged at his lips as he released your hand, allowing you to continue your search for the perfect outfit, a flicker of warmth in his eyes that told you he understood, even if he’d never say it out loud.

A few minutes later, you settled into the plush couch, a glass of champagne in hand as you waited for Alex to emerge from the dressing room. Shopping bags were piled at your feet, and you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him trying on the selection of clothes you'd chosen. From the luxurious labels to the finely crafted details, each item had been carefully picked to suit his understated style. The saleswoman brought over a plate of delicate pastries, offering you one, and you accepted, glancing over at the closed dressing room door with anticipation.

Inside, Alex was standing in front of the mirror, his expression a mix of surprise and apprehension as he took in the sight of himself in a shirt he’d just tried on. It was a deep navy, bringing out the warmth in his hazel eyes, and the tailored fit made him look sharper, somehow more confident. But as he reached for the tag, his brows furrowed, his breath catching when he saw the price. The number on the tag was staggering—far more than he’d ever imagine spending on a single shirt. He shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the fabric as he weighed the situation. A shirt like this… it was beyond anything he deserved, at least in his mind. He was here to protect and serve, not to receive gifts like some sort of VIP.

And yet, there you were, waiting patiently on that couch, calling this his “Christmas treat,” smiling at him like he was worth every penny. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly as he reminded himself of your kindness, your genuine belief in him. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this was more than he deserved, a kindness he hadn’t quite earned.

Taking a deep breath, he slipped on the suit jacket you’d chosen next, smoothing down the lapels. The charcoal gray suited him, giving him a refined, almost dignified appearance, and he realized how long it had been since he’d worn anything remotely formal. He adjusted his glasses, staring at his reflection with an unfamiliar sense of confidence. He wasn’t sure he recognized the man looking back at him—a man who, just maybe, could let go of his past, even if only for a night.

Finally, after a last glance at himself, he stepped out of the dressing room, his quiet hesitance still evident as he approached you. You looked up, your eyes lighting up as you took in the sight of him, the transformation more striking than you’d anticipated.

“Alex,” you said softly, the admiration in your voice unmistakable. “You look… incredible.” You set down your glass, standing to get a closer look, a warm smile on your lips. “See? I told you the colors would suit you.”

Alex shifted slightly, adjusting his glasses as he glanced down, a faint flush of color on his cheeks. “It’s… different,” he murmured, his baritone voice soft, almost as if he didn’t fully believe he could pull off such an elegant look. “But the price…” He hesitated, looking into your eyes. “I don’t think I can accept this. It’s too much.”

You stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Alex,” you replied, your voice reassuring, “this is a gift, something to show my appreciation. I know you’re used to taking care of others, but sometimes… it’s okay to let yourself be taken care of too.”

He looked away briefly, his expression filled with a quiet humility, the weight of his past clearly surfacing as he tried to process your words. “You don’t know how much this means,” he admitted, his voice barely a whisper, raw with an unspoken gratitude. “After… everything, I never thought I’d deserve something like this.”

Your hand lingered on his arm, a reassuring presence as you met his gaze. “Alex, everyone deserves kindness, especially you. This isn’t just about clothes—it’s about letting you feel as valued as you truly are. You do so much for me, and this is just a small way of giving back.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips as he looked down, a soft chuckle escaping him, though his eyes were still filled with uncertainty. “You’re… something else,” he said, his voice laced with warmth, almost as if he were seeing himself through your eyes for the first time. “Thank you. For… everything.”

You reached up, straightening his collar with a gentle smile. “Think of it as a start, Alex. Besides,” you added with a playful grin, “you’re going to be the best-dressed guest at my Christmas banquet.”

His brows raised slightly, a rare flicker of lightheartedness in his expression as he replied, “I’m not sure anyone will recognize me.”

You laughed, stepping back to admire him once more. “Well, they’ll see exactly who you are—a good man, and a very deserving one at that.”