Prompt 15: Winter Solitude - Justin R. Durban (T4)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader & Third, Turpin
Setting: Fareham
Continuation of: (T1) Carol of the Fates, (T2) Fairy Dance, (T3) Ice Storm
A/N: Alright, okay, we need to get this sorted and oh my gosh am I so utterly in love with how this yearning is just... I can't even... like, it's just alllllll there and he'll not accept no for an answer. Not that Y/n wants him to, no, no she's so wholly consumed by this palpable grief of a love she thinks is absolutely impossible, they are fucking idiots in love. That's what they are. Idiots in love finally exposing both of their pining 😩👌
Tags/TW’s: Love Revelation, Declaration of Want, He’s Possessive, Sorrow, Broken Heart, Unintended Confession, Yearning & Longing, Possessive Nature, Mutual Unknown Secret Pining, Short-form Slowburn, Self-deprecating Feelings & Thoughts, Emotional Turmoil, False Beliefs, Misunderstood Situation, Miscommunication If You Squint (lack of talking, more like it), Historical Vibes/Elizabethan-like Writing, D/s Tendency Hints, Soft Reader (not weak!)
Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name | Y/L/N - Your Last Name
Word Count: 1.5k
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⩤• YOU •⩥
The snow kept falling, the wind continued its tug on your dress and the ends of his coat. There was no escape. The hurt was a dull blade scraping along your skin, as if seeking entrance through every inch of your aching body so abhorrently overrun with anguish. Judge Turpin stood so utterly still and stiff as you took an unprompted step back, leaving the shield of his broad back and wide shoulders covered in black. “I am so sorry,” you whispered, riddled with shame and a guilt that was not yours to carry, yet placed upon you by society nonetheless. Inescapable. Unbearable. Constant.
“Me?” he asked, his dark drone of a voice lacked all emotion and held no depth or tone to it.
“I am so terribly sorry, my Lord…” Your voice was scarcely a whisper. “You hold no blame,” you continued quietly. “I-, my heart is-, there are no-, I am truly utterly remorseful of my errant heart, sir…” There was no stopping the tears from flowing down your cold cheeks as you spoke so softly and painfully to the very man you had sought in all situations, yet never found seeking you in return.
He turned, so stiff and slow in his motions that it sent a single spike of fright through you. “I am your heart’s desire?” he asked slowly, pinning you with the steely gaze, showing nothing of what he felt as he stood deathly still and tall before you.
You gulped a breath, snivelling before exhaling shakily. You lowered your gaze, fighting the need to let go of the last strength keeping you on your feet. “Please,” you whispered through a suffocated whimper. “Even though I am of no wealth, no true standing, no worth to the world, I am not heartless. My heart, it… Lord Turpin, it does not listen to my wishes for it to cease. I-I-, I have tried,” you nearly whispered in earnest, cinching your eyes shut and keeping your head bowed, for you could not look upon the grand and stoic man with a brutality to every feature you found so incredibly mesmerising.
The wind loosened strands of your hair, making some stick to the stains of tears across your cheeks. “I have tried,” you said once more, barely able to force the words out. “God knows, I have done all in my power to end it. Yet I—” your mouth worked to swallow “—cannot stop my heart from wanting despite it being akin to a winter solitude of endless darkness and coldness.”
“Darkness…” he drawled, the word raking its way down your back as if his finger had trailed your spine. “And, coldness…”
You shivered, lowering your head further so the cold of winter swept across the top of your exposed neck. “To long for you, a man out of my reach, a man bound to wed another so perfectly matched, it is a dark and cold prison I shall never esca—” His polished boots came into view a second before his hand — clad in rough leather — gripped under your chin and tilted your head back in a motion so sharp your eyes snapped open fully.
He drew harsh breaths, his nostrils flaring on each of them, and the steely greys of his eyes stole your breath in a shallow gasp. He peered down at you, keeping you still with his fierce grip on your chin. You fought against the desperation to lean into his hand, to take whatever contact you were granted in that moment before your heart was to be forever ripped out of your body.
“I am bound only to one other.” The words were low, harsh, and unyielding.
“And she is perfect for you. I-, I know you shall be loved, and that is all that matters, sir,” you whispered, fighting the need to lean in and run away at the same time.
His fingers hardened, his brows drew together in what you could only term as rage. “You declare me bound to another?” He leaned closer. “There is but one for me, little wisp. One. And I shall have her. Mark me, I shall have you.”
There was no air to breathe. Your blood roared in your ears as the warmth of his breath fanned your face from how close he now was. He misspoke. “S-sir, you are to be wed,” you said with some difficulty due to his restriction of your jaw’s movement — or, perhaps, it was the sheer difficulty of speaking such words out loud.
“Yes.”
“Please, do not torment me further.”
“I shall torment you, always,” he murmured, a grim tone of truth to the words.
“You need put no effort into such an endeavour, I am beyond repair, my Lord.” The words mingled with the falling snow as your eyes were locked for an indecently long moment.
You blinked. Believing, for a moment, you saw him smile ever so slightly.
“I have restrained myself, for three. years. little wisp,” he said with emphasis through clenched teeth as he pulled on your chin, raising you to stand straight with him. “And now, you have been declared desiring me. There will be no relief from this torment; I will bind you to me. Forever. Nothing in this wretched world can prevent it.”
You jerked your chin free. Your breath came in short pants as you shook your head disbelievingly. Stepping backwards, his gaze never left you. You took another step, the hem of your dress getting trapped under the heel of your shoe, and you toppled backwards. The snow and layers of your skirt stopped the impact as you looked up at the towering man before you. He moved closer, taking long strides while your heart ran away from you at the mere thought of being bound forever to him. You already were, and would always be, though.
⩤• TURPIN •⩥
He watched you, sat atop the snow with your eyes fixed upon him — still, there was no fear in those demure eyes that left him aching for constant access to them, to you. He stepped closer, peering down with every ounce of his strength used to stave the incessant need to grasp you, hold you, keep you close. It had been a dull ache, furthered by the quiet solitude of his life, and there was now no escaping the possessive want he had held caged within him.
“S-Sir,” you whispered, so soft-spoken yet sounding tormented through it to his indecent delight.
“You shall not deny me,” he said, a sense of urgent desperation filling him. “Only one will be mine for eternity, and so help me God, it shall be you, little wisp.” The depth of his voice held not a candle to the vast extent of the words — rooted deeper than any ancient tree and more blinding than any ravaging blizzard.
He watched your cheeks turn yet another shade darker, studied how your throat worked to swallow between rapid breaths that moved your chest up and down in a rush. He took one last moment to watch you as an unbound woman. Once he grasped you anew, it would be for eternity. A heart holds no restrictions of society or propriety, and still, his mind could not stop asking how the heart of the demure little creature of softness and quiet countenance had been captivated by him when he was all she should never intermingle with.
Richard was a god-fearing, strict, unforgiving man, with the law and justice system held to the highest esteem. Yet, he was also flawed and cruel. He was depraved and dark. He knew he took matters seriously, and many times he was too harsh. The chill in his heart was undeniable. However, he was not cold enough to resist you. Not harsh enough to remain unaffected, but cruel enough to act upon his depraved desire to have you and wicked enough to ask forgiveness of God for his sins rather than denying them.
He stepped forth. The snow crunched underfoot, and his glove-clad hand reached out toward you. “Come, little wisp.” Your eyes flicked between his hand and face, before you — to his utter joy — reached up, and he grabbed your hand. “You shall be by my side, forever,” he declared while pulling you up and close.
You gasped as he deliberately pulled on your hand too roughly, forcing that alluring body of yours, so fully covered and hidden from sight in many layers of clothing to ward off the winter chill, to come closer than proper. Your hand sat splayed over his chest, just to the left of his heart, and as you looked up — and he placed his free hand at your lower back sturdily — he felt the whisper of a warmth wholly unfamiliar to him. Solitude became a thing he would no longer prize so highly.
It was the second time you were in his arms. The second time he held you close. A second time of that light hand of yours pressing against his chest. There shall never be another chest beneath that hand. Mark my words.
“M-My Lord,” you stuttered, attempting to back away.
He hardened his grip. “You shall not move away from me,” he declared in a low drawl, the hand at your back pressing even harder. “Mark me, little wisp. You shall never be in another embrace. None… than mine.”
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: Offh, only got space enough for one more part of this, so... expect smut next time around as these yearning idiots are finally sorting this out. Do I hear wedding bells, too? 👀😇
Pairing: Young & Adult Snape x Young & Adult!Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader & Third, Snape
Setting/History: You suffered amnesia when you were in an accident in December of 1977. You lost your loving parents as your flying carriage got trapped in a snowstorm and plummeted into a mountainside in northern Sweden. It took a year to find out who you were, but you never regained your memories of that day or what you had lived through before that. Only the faint memory of red snow flashed in your mind from time to time with a trailing horror so devastating it tormented you despite the lack of understanding of why. Now it’s 1999, one year after the war, and you have finally returned to your roots — even if you have no memory of them.
Continuation of: (S1) White Winter Hymnal, (S2) Fireside
A/N: This part has me all choked up and it's so damn sweetly painful and warmingly tormenting 😭 Like, I love-love-love-love this part 😭👏 I'm not gonna hold you up, let's just go back to 1977 and see what happened right before you left, darling ❤❤❤
Tags/TW’s: Past and Present Story Elements, Snape Lives, Post-War AU With History, Hidden Longing, Mutual Love, Lost Love Found Again, Rich Y/n, Grief/Sorrow, Loving Parents (Y/n), Amnesia from Adolescent Trauma, Painful & Beautiful Memories, and a bit of absolute fluff along teenager being embarrassed by their protective parents… (seriously, you are Rich not only in money but family as well - they absolutely adore you, care for you, love you, and you them - how often does that happen in fiction? 🤣)
Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name
Word Count: 2.7k
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⩤• YOU - December 1977 •⩥
•We return to the day you left, but before his coat rested on your shoulders•
A chill is in the air, and as the world outside turns frosty white beyond the castle walls, you laugh with a love so pure for that time of year; for December, for the holidays, for Christmas, and the magic it brought each year with cheer.
You were no longer a child, no longer looking to the sky to see a glimpse of Santa and his sleigh, yet you saw magic unfold all around you — real magic, true magic — and you vowed never to lose the joy of watching it.
“Running in the halls?” a nearly rumble of a voice muttered just as you passed a large window in a rush to get outside. “You ought not, Y/n.” Your name came out in a rough squeak, making you hide a giggle as you turned back, leaning out from the pillar you’d passed with an even wider smile.
“Severus, don’t be such a Scrooge,” you said while happily plopping yourself down next to him on the cold stone. “It’s enough that Peeves is snarling at every decoration he can’t touch anymore.”
“Hm.”
“Seriously, give me a smile,” you urged, leaning forward and looking up at him by twisting your neck — his long black hair was like curtains around his head as he stared down into a book. “Come on, smile for me.”
“No.”
“Gee, no cheer at all as usual.”
He kept reading the book on potions, and you turned to stare out the window. A couple skates on the frozen water of the fountain in the courtyard, their clothes were green and yellow, and you giggled with a fresh wave of joy as one girl spun the other around before they kissed sweetly with snowflakes in their hair. They flitted from the sky most marvellously, building up the thick layer of snow already covering the ground.
Glancing at the beautifully dark boy next to you, so engrossed in his book that he barely noticed you at the time, you wondered how pretty his hair would look with white snowflakes of unique shapes atop it and mixed in with the long strands you had a wish to drag your fingers through. You didn’t, of course, the dark boy you loved so dearly would probably detest it if you tried. It made you hide another giggle.
“Well, if not a smile, then tell me your Christmas wish.” You stood as you spoke. “Everyone has one of those, so come on, out with it, little bat.”
Severus stiffened and jerked his head up, onyx eyes captivating you effortlessly in their disgusted glare. “What, did you…call, me?”
You pressed your chilly fingers over your mouth. “Ooops, it just slipped out,” you said, giggling as he stood and slammed his book shut.
“Slipped…out?” he huffed, looking as miserable as usual, even if there was a definite pinkish hue to his nearly hidden cheeks.
“Why? Can’t call you my little bat?”
“I’m a head and neck taller than you.”
“So?” you asked, putting your hands on your hips while leaning up on your toes to try and reach as high as possible. “I happen to love bats. They’re cute and cool at the same time,” you huffed, plopping down on your heels.
“Pitiful,” he murmured, passing you in long strides. “And I’m not your anything.”
“But you wish you were,” you countered in a jiffy, catching up to him with your heart absolutely pounding and your cheeks burning at the hope you held back now that you finally — sort of — dared to — kinda — ask, well, imply.
Severus halted by the open arch to the courtyard. With it framing him, and the falling snow behind creating a moving picture so utterly pretty, you seemed to have lost your breath. Staring at the poor boy as if he were a Christmas cookie to devour — despite the tattered coat and crudely patched bag hanging low from his shoulder by the thin strap, you let slip a single word. “Beautiful.”
“What?” he asked, beginning to glare with that all-too familiar self-consciousness you hated to see in his eyes.
You shook your head. “Nothing.” It wouldn’t matter if you spelt it out, he’d only deny and change the subject. You didn’t mind too much; you understood why he did it, even if you wished he didn’t.
His gaze lowered. “Thought so.” Those narrow shoulders, in the coat a size too big for them, seemed to lower and stiffen.
Severus turned, leaving you scatterbrained for a moment before you ran out into the snow, not quite dressed for it yet as you’d been on your way to the dorms to grab your coat, mittens, and scarf. “Sev! Wait, I’ll be leaving soon!” you called out, catching up halfway across the bridge toward the gamekeeper’s end of the land, where the terrifying tree stood that Severus seemed to be close by more often than seemed healthy. You’d asked him to come with you to Sweden, but he’d not been allowed by his parents.
Severus glanced down at you. “And? You will return with the rest of the throng come January…”
You hugged yourself as the chilly wind howled through the covered bridge and tore at you through your clothes. “Yeah, but tell me your wish first, Mom and Dad will be here any minute so I got to get ready, but I want to hear your wish for Christmas. I can tell you mine, too.”
Severus stopped just as you caught up to him fully. “You have a Christmas wish? Are you serious?”
“What? Of course I have a wish for Christmas! December is like the time for wishes and hopes and dreams and all that good stuff. Why, by Merlin and Santa alike, would I not wish?”
“I didn’t think people wished for things like that?”
“Like what?” you asked, rubbing at your own arms to keep warm.
Severus didn’t say anything. He merely took off his coat and draped it over you like a tent of warmth, smelling so deliciously of him — of peppermints, sage, and something so utterly him as the smell of pine wafted towards you both from the forest beyond.
“You’re such a child,” he muttered, but there was a streak of amazement in that fluctuating voice of his as he did up the buttons one by one for you.
“That’s my wish.”
He stilled, looking down at you as if you had three heads. “To be a child?”
“No, silly little bat, to keep my mind as wonderful as a child’s. To keep the unbelievable magic and never see our magic like something mundane, like the adults seem to do.”
“We’re magicians. It is mundane.”
"Is it, though?”
He arched a brow with a bit of force. “Yes.”
You arched a brow at him in turn as he raised his without showing much emotion. He seemed colder this year around, as if the darkness he always housed and seemed to be trapped within had grown. You hated it. But December was no time to hate, no other time was so full of Christmas cheer, or millions of wishes being granted, so you exhaled and took his chilly hand. Squeezing, you pulled him into a run until you reached the hills.
“Do the charm you made for me last year.”
“The stars?”
“Yes, do it, on those trees—” you pointed to the edge of the Forbidden Forest with the towering pines “—and then I’ll show you.”
Severus arched a brow once more, but dug out his wand. “Calidum Stellarum,” he said, casting the spell with a star shape drawn mid-air by the tip of his wand.
The world slowed down as your heart sped up. Severus was perfect, in every way, and seeing the stars on trees sparkling so vividly when he cast the spell he’d created last year — his present to you — had you gripping his hand harder while he slid his wand back in his pocket. You closed your eyes, finding your focus as you’d practised so hard on. Lux via mea, you thought while picturing the route behind the trees, where you’d walk to see behind the trees.
Light began to glow, filling the air behind the trees with sparkling stars, and making them glow brilliantly.
“Whoa, that’s… pretty,” Severus said, so quietly you almost missed it when his voice was light rather than deep again. There was some form of wonder to it that held your heart so dearly.
“See, how can that ever be mundane? That’s honestly an insulting notion.”
“Mundane…no, I suppose not. But mundane as in an everyday thing, yes.”
You gasped and whirled your head around. “Severus, no, don’t be like that. When I see all this magic, the stars and the lights that are hung everywhere, the snowflakes and foggy breaths, the decorations, the—” You drew a steadying breath, getting riled up and wanting to show him your view of the world would do no good at the moment. Severus saw the world differently from you, and you understood that even if you didn’t like it.
You steadied your heart, daring to wish for something more this time. “When I see the stars on trees sparkling, that’s how I know it’s December, darling, and it’s you I want to—” Neighing filled the air, the swoosh of enormous wings came after as an interrupting boom, and Severus pulled you against his body, cradling your head with one arm while he drew his wand with the other.
But you knew those sounds. “S-ev,” you mumbled against his hard chest as ground-shaking galloping rang out. “It’s-, my m-om, and da…d,” you forced out into him before he loosened his grip as the rolling of wheels stopped.
“You are disgustingly wealthy,” he murmured, but it wasn’t harsh or said in a mean way; there was a dejection and pain in those words that you hated so fiercely.
“You reject me anyway, no money in the world will help, it seems,” you said as his arm had slipped down and away from you in time for a shovelled lane to appear from you to the carriage with its opening door.
You were reminded of all the gifts he’d rejected, all the offers of trips and holidays he’d either declined or told his parents of and not been allowed to attend, and it hurt to know he was so broken you had to wait and be patient beyond belief rather than just being allowed to help beyond being in his life as much as he allowed.
A sudden lantern formed behind the two of you; it had you nearly giggling. Your dad was ever the curious man, the kindest man, and the sweetest one, albeit frustratingly invested in your business at times — private or not. Your parents were amazing, loving and caring, utterly diabolically protective, but also encouraging in every manner.
They intruded with warmth, and annoyed you with their questions, but they supported you in every endeavour — be it a petting zoo of enchanted paper animals when you were five that turned to confetti, or attending the annual Yeti Jul Ball at the Three-Country Cairn this holiday. They were there for you, and you tried your best to be a good daughter, a good person, and someone who would make them proud in as many ways as possible. You wanted their goodness to shine through you, and reflect back on them in turn.
“Our lives are so different,” Severus said, looking toward the pegasus-drawn carriage in all its glory.
“They don’t need to be, Sev. If you’d only—”
He glanced down at you, those thin lips set in a harsh line, with the depth of his onyx eyes seemingly impenetrable. “Yes, they do.”
“Why? You won’t even let me know you beyond this, whatever this is between us.”
“For good reasons.”
“No. For no reason at all, you’re being quite cruel and selfish about this. I think I should have a say about us.” You spoke with care in your voice, no yelling, no blaming, no frantic tone. “Think I don’t know you’re poor? That you’re being hurt at home, and here at school it’s blatant bullying that nobody could miss, and you won’t ever let me stand by your side through it. I know, Sev, you just won’t let me know you deeper, or let me be closer. I don’t think that’s fair of you.”
A red scarf appeared around your throat. You spun around, shouting over your shoulder. “Dad! Stop that! I’m having a really important conversation about the injustices of the world over here!” you barked, annoyed.
A strong voice boomed across the distance, elevated by magic. “My freedom fighter and soldier for justice, I’m happy to hear such a thing, but stay warm either way, my little star.”
You rolled your eyes and turned back to Severus. “Sorry, he’s a bit protective.”
“All the more reason to stay away from me,” he muttered, his face falling deeper into that strange sadness, with his shoulders slumping.
“Ha! As if. You’re the safest person I know.”
A loud harumph filled the air.
Your eyes widened in horror. “DAD! NO EAVES DROPPING!” You’re so embarrassing, by the gnome…
Severus chuckled quietly while you glared toward the carriage with burning cheeks and a fuming annoyance (embarrassment, to be perfectly frank) directed at your ever-nosey parent.
“Dear, come along now, you can speak with your friend when you return, or send the nice boy a letter,” your mom said gently through the wind — her voice carried loudly, how your dad’s had previously, but it was still soft and comforting.
“Coming, Mom!” you called back, backing away from Severus despite your wish to remain.
“They won’t wait for us, you know,” she continued in that almost rushing voice. “The gates will close.”
“I know! I’m coming!” you called anew, smiling apologetically at Severus just as your bags came zooming past you on the wind, or, that’s how it seemed, but there were footprints in the snow all of a sudden.
“When I see the stars on trees—” you turned while gripping the lapels of the coat to keep it closer to your nose “—that’s how I’ll know, my little darling bat. I’ll spread my arms, and wait.” You kept that last part to yourself, whispers on the chilly wind for only the spirits to know. The snow crunched under you as you walked toward the carriage’s open door…
⩤• SEVERUS - December 1999 •⩥
He watched you, the dark of night had since long cradled the outside with a chill in the air that the flames in the hearth chased away, keeping it outside the walls of his usually chilly home. Not with her here, no coldness will be allowed to touch her. His head tilted slowly. You called me darling, all those years ago… How could I forget until now? His gaze swept over you, finding your brows suddenly knitted, and pearls of sweat had begun dotting your hairline.
He flicked his wand, lifting you gently to remove the thick coat without disturbing your sleep. The other woman, whose name he never did pay attention to, groaned on the floor while slumbering fitfully. He ignored her and gently lay you down once more, the stiffness in his shoulders and back had him standing a moment later as your features evened out, yet a quiet little sound slipped past your lips. A moan, but, quietly dark. Neither of those things he associated with any sound coming from you.
He squeezed his wand, the dark of night fought with the fire’s flames as their light danced over you beautifully. Severus tilted his head, barely visibly so, and raised his wand anew. “Calidum Stellarum,” he said, and sparkling stars — appearing to be of lightly glowing ice — grew across the ceiling of the room. “When you see stars… I hope…you will know.” The glow shimmered, and his heart ached with a longing so painfully deep it forced him out of the room, if only to privately feel the torment of his worst loss for a moment out of sight.
Or, perhaps, it was to stop the burning behind his eyes he had not experienced since he gave up his future for the good of the world all those years ago. When he had nothing, when there was nothing left for him but death, when he only saw a need to end the misery yet fought to save the world because you would have done so.
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: I’m not crying, you are. I’m not. I swear. I’m not 😭
Prompt 13: Winter Wonderland - The Sweeplings (B3)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader & Third, Brandon
Setting: Delaford
Continuation of: (B1) A Christmas Wish, (B2) As the Right Bell Sounds
A/N: We really, really, really left off at such a cliffy and its been a whole weeeeeek since the last part of Brandon’s story (I mean, waiting a week for a fic part is short in normal standards but for Rickmas it feels like an eternity yet super fast at the same time 😂). <- written before I wrote the fic vs written after I wrote the fic ->I’m stressed and feeling the utter pressure of all the things I need to get done this December - from writing to cooking really - so I’m sorry if I couldn’t quite get into the exact feels of this prompts song but I think it still turned out rather good and the higher tempo/slight pressure in the text I think suits the situation of the fic 😂😂😂
And I wish everyone a lovely Lucia - if you celebrate 🥰
Tags/TW’s: Wishful Thinking, Longing, Mutual Pining, Heights, Reckless Behaviour, Societal Differences/Patriarchy, Offering of Marriage, HE HOLDS HER CHEEK GENTLY, Debating, He Listens To Her, and more pining with a view…
Word Count: 1.8k
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⩤• BRANDON •⩥
He had seen death, had led men to their own in battle and faced his several times in turn. Yet, now, faced with the likely death of you, it carved gashes within his chest. You were but a stranger, a servant, a woman he did not even know the name of, and still… it tormented his heart.
Reaching out, he laid his hand atop yours where it gripped the ladder’s tip. “I will not accept it.”
“What?”
“You shall never again climb a ladder, or scamper across a roof.”
“Colonel, that is—”
“How it shall be, miss.” He climbed higher, standing at eye level with you where you sat on the edge of the roof, half sunken in the deep snow, and so utterly beautiful it stole his senses. “If I so must wed you to see to it.”
Your widened eyes blinked at him. “W-what?” you stuttered, and he thought himself mad for so desperately wishing to hear you speak his name in that voice.
He reached out with his free hand, pushing it up along your jaw until he could gently hold your face as he’d wished to do for several days without ever knowing who you truly were. “If you would be so kind—” he held your gaze as his innards tightened “—come down with me, later on, we’ll conspire by the fire to break the societal standards with a marriage. If you wish it.” He dared not confess to the worry fully, yet he needed to offer you the security of refusal. He was all too aware of his age, and his appearance — even if his wealth spoke in his advantage.
⩤• YOU •⩥
Was he absolutely off his head? You had no idea, but those warm eyes holding your gaze so utterly steadily really had you wishing to dream by the fire and never more set so much as a toe atop a roof or ladder. But it cannot be so. It is late afternoon, perhaps he has had drinks? But you could not smell any foul alcoholic scent, nor did he act as if he’d been in a bottle, and it felt more absurd to think he had. “Are you mad, Colonel?” you asked softly, leaning closer and subsequently taking further enjoyment of his large hand cupping one side of your face so gently.
His chuckle reached your ear. “No, I dare say I am not, although the thought has crossed my mind, too. But for the first time in an abundance of years, more than I care to admit, I wish to frolic and dream, to wish and subsequently ask of what my heart is already set upon.”
“Perhaps the cold has swept away your sense?” you whispered, feeling that very same wish fill your chest with nothing but warmth.
Night after night, you had dreamt of your saviour, and during the days, you had thought of his warmth, his gentleness, his steady hands and handsome features. But, above all, you had wished for a man so kind to find you once more. For him to find you walking in a winter wonderland and to face, unafraid, the feelings so doomed by society and propriety.
When he had been only your saviour, it had been difficult, and now, as he appeared a grand colonel of considerable wealth, it felt like an impossibility. Yet he asks for my hand? Asks to wed me? A roof cleaner, daughter of a poor sweeper, to wed a colonel? It’s nonsensical. Your heart wished for nothing else, though. Despite how little you knew of him, how few minutes you’d spent with the man, you knew he was good — he was good, kind, caring, and helpful, unlike the wealthy men you’d previously crossed paths with one way or another.
“Master?” called Mrs Bart below with a fretting voice. “Shall we fetch you down, sir?”
“Bring another ladder,” he called without releasing your gaze or hand. “We shall bring—” he tilted his head “—I do not even know your name, my dear. Forgive me."
“I’m-, my name is Y/n Y/l/n,” you whispered, feeling your cheeks burn as his face brightened with a smile so soft and thrilling it had your heart in a twist.
“Soon it shall be Mrs Y/n Brandon.” Your heart nearly skipped its way out of your chest at his confident words, like a piano being played brilliantly by its player’s seducing fingers just as his left your cheek.
A second ladder thudded right by your bent knees, just barely missing you as you jerked backwards.
“Careful, dear,” Colonel Brandon said, before he looked down toward the man rushing to climb upwards. “Steady, David, we do not want any accidents.”
He slowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Now,” the colonel said before turning his gaze back to you. “David will climb up and help you onto the ladder, and we shall climb down simultaneously.”
“Sir, I do not wish to be rude, but this is not necessary. I have—”
“Nearly died before, yes, I do not wish to procure a heart attack before I can see you in white, dear.” He spoke softly, but there was a command to his tone that yet again thrilled you somehow.
Blinking away the tint of attraction for a second, you wondered how to say what needed to be said without overstepping — no matter his intentions for you. “I merely mean it would be safer if Mr David remains on the ladder; him climbing up and disturbing the snow is a hazard to not only me and you but all those people down there,” you said, pointing downward with the colonel following your gaze just as David arrived at the top of the ladder. “Besides, I’ve spent most of my life atop roofs. Climbing on and off them included, sir. I do not wish for you to judge my capability from one single mishap…” I may be a servant, a low-standing person within society, but I do not wish for my knowledge or capabilities in my profession or judgement to be questioned by someone such as you. Especially not if what you are offering is a true offer of marriage…
Colonel Brandon softened, his eye still as warm and enthralling as before, while his hair flicked about his face in the slight wind, sending the thinnest top layer of snow into a dance across the roof before falling off its edge, not unlike a crystal waterfall. The view truly was stunning from the roof, a winter wonderland if ever there was one, with rays of sunshine lighting it up in spear-like rays with glistening snow at their ends. Yet, the view which held you captivated, was him as he smiled in earnest and agreed to your assessment of the dangers.
“Clear below!” he called. “We are coming down!” The crowd scattered at his command; the depth of his voice travelled far and wide, while it vibrated through your very soul, it seemed. A colonel indeed…
“Where do you want me, sir?” David asked, standing on the left ladder.
“I shall climb below Miss Y/l/n, and you shall climb next to her.”
You’ll be below me? You will see right up my— Oh, lord, what do I do?
“Miss? Can you climb over?” he asked, interrupting your thoughts as your cheeks and neck began to burn.
For a moment, the world seemed to stand still. “Will you avert your gaze, sir?” you asked, suddenly losing the strength of your voice as uninvited thoughts of those large hands grabbing at your waist, your thighs, your hips, took hold despite the inappropriate moment.
“You shall climb between me and the ladder, where you are safe, dear.”
“What?” You gaped. “No, sir, that’s the opposite of safe.”
“I do not wish to see you free-fall. I shall watch you walking in a winter wonderland towards me, dressed in white and looking only at me with those eyes that call for my soul and that voice of yours that feels like home will word your acceptance of me as your husband. So, you shall be between me and the ladder, where I can keep you safe, as will forever be my duty if you accept me.”
On the one hand, you felt powerless as a servant to correct the sweet, tender, poetically inclined man, and on the other, you knew you would be jeopardising both your lives if you allowed this foolishness to go on. But the world was not for women or servants; it was for powerful men to have their wishes fulfilled.
“Tell me,” he urged in a softened voice as you watched him wearily, wanting and not wanting to do as he commanded.
“It is not my place to speak up further,” you whispered, your stomach tightening.
“I bear witness to your anguish in this moment. I am not unyielding or all-knowing. Tell me, my dear.”
Sighing, you explained the risks of him climbing with you, of the risks with the ladder tipping, your dress catching, your balance being compromised, as well as his focus. You told him in a quick manner of the dangers he would be forcing upon both of you if he did not yield in his desire to climb in such a manner. You were polite about it, and gentle, as another man listened just next to the both of you. But you were still honest and assertive, as best you dared.
“I see,” the colonel said in a murmur, glancing down toward the ground where only one man held each ladder. “Very well. David, climb down and hold Miss Y/n’s ladder securely.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you shall climb next to me, where I can reach you,” he continued while hooking your gaze fully.
“Please,” he added. The depth of those eyes felt like bells were let loose within your chest with rapid chiming, like ringing sleigh bells spreading joy and captivating one’s focus.
“I’ll climb next to you, sir.”
He nodded. “Eyes away,” he called loudly, another command. “We’re coming down,” he continued after checking that the men did not look up as you flung your legs over and began the utterly slow descent. He kept reminding you to be careful with the sweetest, most flustered deep voice of worry. His gentle worry was heavenly.
Once you were both safely on the ground, he ordered the ladders to be taken away and the crowd to disperse — all while you stood with your shoulders stiffening and creeping toward your shoulders. Your chest turned ever tighter as servants slowly moved away and you dared not look up at the man who might have spoken words of greatest consequence that he did not mean while so high off the ground…
TO BE CONTINUED
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
A/N: Well, alright, this… Hmm… This didn’t turn out at all as I had imagined, but let’s go with it! 😂👌
Continuation of: (T1) Carol of the Fates, (T2) Fairy Dance
A/N: IT'S TURPIN TIME BABES! HAPPY MIDWAY DAY! We're at the halfway point of Rickmas2025 and I am beyond excited to share this part of Turpin's serial for the year - we get allllllll the emotions and IIIIIIIH I hope you'll love this longer part!! 😘✨
Colonel Moore remained by your side throughout the day after a long night, during which the fractured pieces of broken hopes and dreams had kept you tossing and turning with little rest to be found. The colonel chatted happily, always the talkative and inviting man. Many had sought his hand in marriage, and a mere few months ago, a woman had managed to capture his attention. A widower, with three daughters, whom he had taken in as his own despite their older ages and the loud protests of his family.
You looked up at the man as he walked next to you along the snow-covered gravel path leading from the forest in the north toward your aunt’s home. The sun peeked through the heavy clouds for a moment, and the smiling man kept talking of potential men who could have captured your heart as the cottage came into view. You hadn’t the courage to ask him to stop, despite the pain slicing within you at each man mentioned that only reminded you of how unattainable Judge Turpin was — none of the men mentioned came close to his standing, his conduct, his place in the world. He is not even an option in outlandishly frivolous jester, in suggestions meant to be taken in the greatest humour…
“…but of course, there is dear old Bartimus Cornwell. Perhaps that old crook has captured your attention?” he said with mischief in his eyes and a humorous sound to his voice, making it all too obvious he, once more, jested about the old banker with love only for hard currency.
You chuckled quietly at the absurdity. “Colonel, you’re not being fair,” you said as he laughed loudly and freely. “Toying with me in such a manner, you indecent man,” you continued in an attempt to jest through the hurt.
At times, you wished to be more free-spirited, to be a bit open and take more space in the world, but it was not meant to be so. If I had been louder, more visible, would it have given me the opportunity to— No… do not go there, as it is silly, no matter my personality. I am no match for him.
“Miss (Y/n)? All well?” You nodded with a soft smile as he peered at you with his words pausing. “Well, I shall make it my mission to hear you laugh once more before I shall away.”
“You’re leaving already, sir?” He nodded with the ever-fixed smile he seemed to be accustomed to wearing. “My bride awaits in London, and from there we shall away to Cambridge after the new year arrives.”
“Cambridge?” You both stopped walking, facing each other as you held your hands clasped before you, looking up at the colonel. “That is a long journey, sir. I shall miss your company. We have seen little of you these past years.”
“Dear Miss (Y/n), ever so kind and gentle in your requests. I shall miss the entirety of your family, perhaps not so much that ever-nosey sister of yours—” he winked cheekily “—but I shall always remember our times fondly, as how I used to spin you about when you were but a child. How you’ve grown…”
You looked at each other for a moment, the memory of him hoisting you high by your waist, only to spin you as if on a joyous ride, was a fond one for you as well. It had been many years, and you were no longer a lithe little girl to be flung here and there so easily. “For old time’s sake,” Colonel Moore chuckled, and before you had time to react, he had grasped your waist, wrapped in layers upon layers of fabric, and lifted you with a jolt only to spin you around in circles.
You laughed in a giggle, your hands landing atop his narrow shoulders with your gloves and his thick coat separating the two of you.
“Louder, miss,” he beckoned as your feet nearly spun straight out and the world flung in a haze around you of whites and greys.
He laughed, and you gave off a giggling squeal as his fingers pressed on ticklish spots along your lower ribs.
“Colonel!” you called out in a quite loud voice, for being you, buried in giggles and a fondness only childhood memories could produce. “We shall fall!” you continued as the spinning grew rapid and you both moved over the road in the throes of it.
⩤• TURPIN •⩥
Snow sprayed under the horse’s hooves as the sky darkened, threatening to release a fresh wave of snow as the afternoon came. The cottage appeared on his right side, and he slid the horse to a harsh halt. A glorious sound rang through the air when he made to dismount. His head jerked to the side, and the wind tossed the loose strands of his hair not held by the tophat.
His heart close to halted in its rushed stampede from the hard riding as your smiling face captured him in flicks of time. You were being spun in the air by another man, looking up at you with a blinding smile and fondness. “Wisp,” Richard snarled in a harsh exhale, the depth of his voice mingling with the sudden squeal you let out.
His breath faltered, his aching muscles stiffened, and there was not enough snow during a hundred winters to compete with the chill stiffening his fingers around the reins as that possessive wrath only you could produce grasped his aching limbs.
“Colonel!” you called out, and never had he heard your voice so loud or clear. “We shall fall!”
The man spun you faster, and Richard’s molars ground harshly while he threw himself off the horse with a quick swing of his leg before his feet hit the ground with a thud. Remove your filthy paws of wickedness from her. He marched forward, each step a battle not to run, to not give in to a chase of the demure creature he witnessed in the throes of giggles and smiles for the first time in history.
Richard’s jaw clenched anew. He stopped as the two of you spun in revolting closeness. “Release her,” he demanded, the depth of his voice carrying it far despite the low tone.
“Colonel!” you shrieked as the man locked eyes with Richard for a second and lost his damn senses, stumbling and losing his hold of the most precious being in the whole of the wretched world.
You fell with a gasp. Richard’s heart spiked. He shot forward, reaching out rapidly.
“Offh—” You exhaled at the impact as he grabbed you, pulling you close with unmasked force.
His eyes locked with yours as you half lay in his arms with one of your gentle hands just barely pressed against his thundering chest. Your lips were slightly parted, hard breaths slipped past, which he could not escape noticing. You were the perfect weight in his arms, the perfect shape for them to hold, and your alarmed eyes halted any capability of movement when his insides hardened by restraint — the very same restraint he had tasked himself to exert each day since the first he held your gaze for that one too long moment.
You gulped, removing your hand from his chest in haste and fisting it against your own in that soft manner of yours. How he wondered if those hands would be as soft if placed upon his burning, naked flesh in another setting.
“My-, my Lord,” you whispered, breath stuttering and eyes lowering despite his errant wish for them to forever hold his gaze unwaveringly — without fear.
“Miss (Y/l/n),” he drawled through nearly closed lips, feeling you tense in his arms as he began to straighten the two of you. He held no desire to release you, no wish to allow the world to encroach upon your body with an ice storm of air filling the space between his and your body. Yet, once he was certain you stood steadily upon the snow-covered little road, he coerced his muscles to yield in their strained stiffness and release you.
He watched you, from perfectly held shoulders in their subdued eloquence to clutched hands tightly bound with locked fingers clad in leather gloves before you, and there was not a sight of the ever-changing world capable of outshining the beauty he witnessed in that moment. He was certain of that. No amount of future change or glorious history would ever be in competition for his gaze, and that made life unbearable at times — even one such as him, who was cold at heart, sought beauty in the world, and you had stolen the few glories he had thought himself to be the witness of previously by comparison.
Three crunching steps filled the air. “I believe introductions are in order,” the man said, speaking in a stiff yet warm tone Richard had no wish to ever hear again. You touched her so freely.
“Oh—” you looked back at the man “—yes, of course, Colonel,” you said, and his spine stiffened at the way you looked up at the man, not far from his age, yet there were no similarities in appearance. No matter your heart’s desire, little wisp, I will not yield in this endeavour of mine. You shall be mine. I shall shield you from the wicked ways of the world… and the men within it… with myself between you and all of it. I will teach you, little wisp.
“Judge Turpin—” you began, but had no time to say anything further.
The colonel stiffened visibly, clicking his heels together and bowing his head. “Judge Turpin,” he echoed. “No introduction necessary, I am aware of your legendary court,” he continued with a colder voice, infected by the very noise of fear-laced respect Richard was all too accustomed to now. You never speak with such a sound in your voice. His eyes remained locked on you as you looked back at him, those eyes of seductive submission and quiet beauty brutalised his insides with warmth.
Once more, your eyes held his for a moment too long. “Judge Turpin, s-sir, this is Colonel—”
“Moore,” he said lowly. “I am aware of this man.” His jaw clenched, remembering the very reason you had fled London and what the man had caused you to feel — and yet, I find you in his arms, smiling, giggling, laughing…
“I am honoured,” he interrupted, and Richard’s gaze slowly moved to the man standing tall a step behind you as he raised his head the little amount needed from your eye level, to the colonel’s, while he at all times peered down.
Silence stretched for a moment as Richard kept his anger from uprooting him. “You ought… not, be...” The darkness slithering up through his throat, making the words harsh beyond necessary as Colonel Moore paled, was not held back. “You take such liberties, Colonel.” Such… unwelcome, despicable, liberties… His mouth thinned to a mere line, and there was no want as deep in that moment as the one to move you physically behind him and sever all possibilities of the lousy colonel viewing you. You were to be for his eyes, and his eyes only. Wisp of mine. Mine, and mine alone. I shall see to that.
⩤• YOU •⩥
The world stood still. Your blood roared in your ears as your heart danced and crumbled at the very same time. You were but a step from the man you had fled London to escape, but a little tiny step from the man who had you in such a vice grip there was no telling if your soul would ever be for another, a mere step from the man you would have given all to be held by — now that his arms had held you tightly, even if only in an attempt to save you from falling, you knew there were no other arms you would ever be prevailed upon to be held by. There was none other. Only him. Only the man who glared with steel for eyes and spoke with the might of a king seeking to lay his desire and wrath upon the world without a care for another.
“Liberties? My Lord, I would do no such thing,” the colonel said, but you did not look away from Judge Turpin — who’s glare was now directed at the other man present.
“Are you not, do tell, to be wed this very spring, Colonel?” Judge Turpin intoned with severity, and it scratched exquisitely at the back of your head in a manner it ought not.
"Certainly, my Lord. I am to marry the most wonderful woman I have ever—”
“Silence.” The word was brutal. “You dare speak of another in such a manner before Miss (Y/n)?”
Your eyes moved between the two men as your heart tore in two — one part of it overjoyed with the underlying message of such words being that of care for you, and the other completely shattered at the truth of it never being so. My silly heart, why were you so foolish as to fall for such a man…
“Miss (Y/n)?” Colonel Moore asked, breaking the silence. “Are you—” The colonel turned silent, his sentence interrupted.
“You, Colonel,” Judge Turpin began while you staved off your tears, “are a wretched man. A smear upon the world. Men such as yourself, wicked and tainted with deceit, blemish this world. Colonel.”
“Judge Turpin,” Moore said, his voice low and restrained, but you did not miss the vibration of fear underneath it, you knew the colonel too well. “What have I done to cause such animosity, sir?” he continued as you prayed for the earth to swallow you whole, to bury your pain and want in the dirt beneath the ice and snow where it would cause no more harm to your heart or soul.
The judge took half a step forward, making him stand right by your side, giving you his profile, and with the mere tilting of your head, you could see his features set in restrained anger. He was powerful, harsh, gloriously so — a stark contrast to your countenance, and it only made the ache penetrate you further. You ought to have stood up for the colonel, ought to have stopped the exchange of words, ought to have spoken up or stepped forth, yet you did none of it. You hadn’t the courage or the right of mind to think of it in that painful moment, bringing forth all the years of torment certain distance and heartbreak created.
“You dare look upon her, when creating such a state as this?” Judge Turpin snarled, and it broke the trance his profile had you in while his hand moved outward to indicate your stiffened body and now trembling shoulders. Confusion swept through you, and then a pain so vile and cruel took over — he does not even know it is him… I have so little worth, he does not even consider that he created… Of course not. Of course not. Of course… not… And none other had ever seen it either, so why, by heaven and earth, had you still had a final shard of miserable hope he was aware of it?
Looking to your right, you saw the colonel stare at you. His eyes sought and appeared to find what they hunted for. A breath lodged in your throat, dread crept from your toes to the tips of your ears — freezing your body but not your pounding heart. “Do not, colonel, please, do not,” you whispered as all colour drained from his face, and he took half a step back as if utterly shocked. Revolted, even.
“So this is your heart’s foolish desire?” the colonel asked you directly, disbelief and breathlessness to his voice. “Miss (Y/n), I never could have imagined… I named so many, yet this is— I am at a loss, miss…” His voice no longer held such a friendly tone, a drip of disgust lingered within it even as his eyes glanced at the man your heart so erratically longed for, and it appeared the colonel knew you too well in turn, too. Please, do not speak it out loud; do not further my torment with acknowledgement. I can still hide from it before him.
The judge let out a hissed breath. “You lay such blame upon her?” he said callously, as if the colonel himself were at fault for the sickness within your heart’s depths that no cure would ever be found for. You knew that now, with the unobtainable man standing tall and rigid before you.
“I lay no blame upon her, sir.” He lowered his head. “I feel only sorrow, for Miss (Y/n), and fright. A delicate, and demure woman such as her… to think…” He shook his head in disbelief so grim you had never thought the colonel able to display.
“Colonel, please,” you said softly, nearly suffocating on the ever-growing lump in your throat with the burn of unshed tears stinging behind your eyes. “A marriage is to ensue; I am aware of my doom. I am a coward,” you said gently, a small smile of misery stretching your lips. “I fled London to escape, and yet, my doom seems to have followed me.” Why are you even here? Your eyes flickered to the judge, who still glared at Colonel Moore without sparing you a single glance. I am not worthy, and I am too aware of it for my heart to behave so errantly…
“You deserve more,” Colonel Moore said quietly, that fright and sorrow so evident when you knew his voice in detail.
“Yet I am less,” you replied, quickly wiping away the tear which fought itself free. “I shall not take liberties of a confession where there is no leniency for such a declaration, Colonel. I know my station.” You fought your body’s wish to bend, to fall to your knees and cradle your hands toward your chest to protect the sensitive heart hidden behind your ribs. But it would not have yielded any relief or protection.
“Your station…” Colonel Moore said with a dry breath as you lowered your gaze to the snow. “Always so demure, so quiet, so unassuming and soft, Miss (Y/n). I could not have guessed had we had an endless amount of time for it.”
You drew a shaken breath. “Thus proving my foolishness, Colonel.”
“Enough.” Judge Turpin stepped forth, grabbing your upper arm with his left hand before pushing you behind his back, making you gasp at the intensity shooting through you upon the decisive contact. “You speak… as if you hold no blame,” he continued in a voice so cold it made you shiver, and his hand stiffened where it still held your arm — your skin burned beneath the layers of fabric while a plea to feel those large hands without any barrier ravaged your insides without your allowance.
“Me? I hold no blame in this, Judge Turpin,” Colonel Moore said, taking a quick step back. “I would not be so calloused as to break a gentle heart such as hers so coldly.”
“Liar.”
You bit down on your lip, feeling the ruthless strength of the judge through the unyielding grip he now possessed of your arm, and there was no escaping the view of him a mere inch from his broad back, dressed in the darkest of black only deepened by the now falling snow landing and entwining with the fibres of the fabric. The power of his hold clashed with the softness of your own stance, even when stiffened by heartbreak, you trembled with yearning so deep it had your arm hanging in his grip.
You could not focus on the words being spoken between the men when he touched you. The swell of warmth from his moving of your body — as if placing you behind him would protect you from some unseen harm — fought the agony of the closeness he had placed you within. You stood, by his choice, within his personal space where you had seen but one other person be allowed. Do not think of her, the perfection of her on his arm, do not think of it.
“I do not possess the power or equal standing to speak my mind or accuse so freely, Your Lordship,” Colonel Moore said stiffly as tension seemed to taint the very air. “I am not the one responsible for her doom, sir. I would not wish her fate upon any man or woman, to have a heart possessed by a man such as you, it is a sentence as cruel as those you are infamous for.” His words turned into a ringing in your ears as the truth was revealed.
The world stood still. Judge Turpin’s grip turned bruising before loosening to the near loss of it. Your mind screamed for an end to your torment far louder than the thudding steps of Colonel Moore leaving, blocking the sound of everything but your rampaging pulse.
“Me?” he said so quietly that, had it not been for the immense depth of his brutal voice, it would have been an impossibility for the word to be heard. “Me?” His hand slid down your arm until it was lost and hung by his side while you barely remained standing. The ground swayed beneath your numbing feet.
“End this suffering, please,” you whispered, your voice clogged by an unspoken cry situated so deep within your chest that there was no chance of it gaining breath.
Continuation of: (H1) Wizards in Winter, (H2) Russian Dance
A/N: LET’S GO! Had to continue the Crazy-Hans-Ride right away 😂👏 Seriously, I’m having a blast writing his story this year, he’s always so much fun and his stories and the FMC (be it Y/n or and OC) is always such a treat each and every year 😅👌
Tags/TW’s: ❤Nicknames❤, Budding Relationship, Declarations of Want, Kissing, Falling For The Bad Guy (LIGHT Be Gentle For Her/Be Bad For Him vibes with humour and a crash-out 👀)
Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name | Y/l/n - Your last name
Word Count: 1.4k
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
You groaned, rubbing at your temple. “Bloody hell,” you muttered as you sat up. “What the actual fuck?” you continued as you rubbed and groaned.
“Süße.”
You jerked, your head lifting, and reality danced in like an intrusive carol when the handsome German robber smiled charmingly at you. “You.”
He chuckled. “Yes, me, Süße. Here,” he said, holding out a candy cane for you, but your eyes swept up and behind him as he sat in the open door of the van you remembered having jumped into.
“Where are we?” Your gaze flew over the billowing landscape drenched in sparkling snow beyond. “This isn’t—”
“No, it isn’t. We are hours from—”
“What the hell did I do?!” you shrieked, rising so fast your head hit the van’s roof and you winced a curse. “I robbed a bank. I robbed the bank!” you groan-screamed while leaning forward, rubbing at your head while red, yellow, pink and green dots flitted past your vision before orange and purple made them fade out to nothing. “I robbed a bloody bank! The bank I work at! Bloody hell…”
Panic surged as you stumble-jumped out of the van. Drawing deep breaths, you tried to shake your head to make it make sense, and then his steady hand took hold of yours with a warmth so arresting it had your breath stuttering for a second as you jerked and looked at him.
“Süße, tapfere kleine Süße,” he said in that deep drawl, and you found yourself squeezing his glove-clad hand. “You are a brave one—” he chuckled while reaching up to close your open mouth for you “—and I shall keep you, like a friend for the holiday. A friend who likes to play.” His voice was such a deep purr, it sent shivers down your spine.
“A friend? That doesn’t quite sound like what I had in mind…” you whispered, smiling shyly yet boldly at the gorgeous man.
He chuckled. “Is that so?”
You nodded slowly.
“Well, then perhaps we should clarify that the type of friend I have in mind, would be the kind with benefits, as it’s so lightly called.”
All of it was bizarre — obviously — but your body still tingled, your mind still blurred and a certain mischievous streak of fun wickedness surged in you at his closeness. Something about the man speaking with such a charming smile, such an enthralling accent, and such an inviting gorgeousness with that secret hint of being bad… it had you hooked.
He held up the candy cane again. “We’ll eat all the candy canes.” He smiled and handed it over to you. “We’ll have some fun, Süße. Take a trip down Candy Cane Lane with me?”
You snorted a laugh, warmed and intrigued in a stupidly comical way. “I’ll be a friend who loves to play, and eat all the candy canes you offer. But only if you make sure I’ll have enough candy canes for a lifetime.”
“A lifetime, hm?” he asked while snaking an arm around your waist before pulling you close. “Your teeth will deteriorate.”
You burst out laughing. “Rot. My teeth will rot,” you chuckled while reaching up to lay your arms around his shoulders. “What name shall I make the dentist send the bill to?”
“Gruber, Süße. Hans Gruber.”
“Hans…” You tasted the name, liking it instantly as it suited him somehow perfectly.
Hans purred a chuckle. “Who will the bill be from?” His eyes flitted down to your parted lips. “I shall make you visit the dentist often to keep those pretty teeth."
“That is the weirdest declaration… erh, compliment, I’ve ever heard.” You laughed and felt a strange sort of liberation unfurl within your gut. “But it’s Y/n Y/l/n. But I prefer whatever it is you’re calling me already.”
“Süße?” he asked, arching a brow while smirking. “It means cutie. For you are. Quite the cutie.”
“Cutie? Hm, alright, handsome.”
“Oh? Handsome, hm?”
You nodded, grabbing the lapels of his coat. “Handsome as hell,” you declared.
The cold wind of December swept by your legs. “I might really be under some winter wizard’s spell, because I just robbed a bank for you and am now on the run from the law. I’ve doomed myself forever, and it’s all your fault, Mr Handsome-German-Robber.”
“Not your average day, I presume?”
“Ha! Definitely not.”
“Could it become it?”
“An average day to rob a bank?” Your eyes bulged for a second before you blinked rapidly at Hans — who seemed absolutely serious. “Why not? Everything is possible.”
“True, Christmas is the time of miracles, and it would truly be one if the one who arrested me so instantly, is now arrested by me as harshly.”
“Arrested? Pun intended or..?” He smirked as you chuckled at him. “I think I hit my head— HEY! Who hit me over the head?!” you barked while drawing your brows together as the memory surged.
Snow crunched, and you both turned to find a tall, broad-shouldered, huge blonde man standing by the front of the van. Hans chuckled dryly, holding out his hand openly toward the man. “That would be Karl. He’s not the smartest, but he’s strong and usually follows instructions well.”
“Why’d he hit me over the head?”
“Precaution. Knocking people out is the standard when transporting. He meant no offence, Süße.” Hans stepped closer, Karl glared without really glaring at all at you — he seemed a bit off, really.
“I’d like to hit him over the head, smash a gingerbread house over that blonde hair,” you grumbled, still feeling the pulsing in your temple.
You sighed after a moment, Karl didn’t appear to understand what you were saying. “But I bet it wouldn’t phase him.”
“Probably not, Süße. You are free to do it, though. If it makes you feel better.”
“Nah, he looks like he doesn’t know any better.” How rude of me! The bloody people at the bank have infected me with rudeness. Oh— “Is that an automatic?” You pointed toward the large weapon hanging off the man’s shoulder, visible as the wind picked up and flapped his long coat out of the way.
“Semi. Not afraid?” Hans asked, his accent thickening as he looked down at you with a certain sparkle in his grey eyes.
You tilted your head, pondering for a moment as you’d never seen any weapon up close until that very day. “I might have a concussion,” you declared with a laugh — but that wasn’t it at all. It just felt like you were free and living all of a sudden, as if robbing the bank and crashing out so irrefutably had you forced to just go with whatever was happening. Kinda freeing, kinda insane, I might have completely lost my senses but by the spirit of Christmas, I feel so bloody free.
Hans grabbed your waist anew, pushing a candy cane into your mouth so it hung out like an unlit smoke. “We’ll eat candy canes on our way to Switzerland, perhaps rob a bank or two?”
“Sw-its-aland?” you asked with the candy cane in your mouth.
He smiled, leaning you backwards while getting so close his breath fanned over your face. “Süße, you’ll come with me around the whole world.” Your eyes widened at that, a warmth tingled within you, and his thin lips planted the smallest of teasing kisses atop the tip of your cold nose.
“The whole world, tapfere kleine Süße.”
You yanked out the candy cane with one hand while the other grabbed at his neck, holding on to keep your weight up as he nearly dipped you. “Meaning?”
“Brave little cutie, more or less,” he said gently, a smile so charmingly disarming sent in your direction.
“I might be going insane, but perhaps I can be that…” you whispered, leaning up slightly. “And if I can’t—”
“There’s no can’t’s,” Hans interrupted quietly, his face a mere finger’s width from yours. “Everything is possible, Süße.”
“Like taking a trip down Candy Cane Lane with a thief who might fall in love with a bank clerk turned robber?” Your eyes fluttered between his and those thin lips framed by such a lush beard; you swore to yourself you'd drag your fingers through it sooner rather than later.
“Präzise,” he purred deeply, and then his lips were pressed against yours. A flurry of warmth and sparkles shot through your limbs, and the cold wind of December, prancing like a proud reindeer all around you, didn’t stand a chance at chilling you when he made you burst with warmth as he deepened the kiss with a groaned hum of want.
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: IIIIIH! They're so stinkin' cuuuute! We gotta have one more part to this - feels like we can't let them go here? Like, we need a little more, right? 👀👉👈
Prompt 10: Russian Dance; The Nutcracker - Tchaikovsky (H2)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Hans Gruber x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader
Continuation of: (H1) Wizards in Winter
A/N: Alright, this thing is still just a “I want to have unbridled fun writing so don’t think too hard, just go with it” fic - ‘kay, adore youuuu! Have fun 😂👏
Tags/TW’s: Instant Infatuation, Breaking/Running From The Law, Super Mild Violence, Nicknames, Cute Near-Fluff Amidst Chaos, Voice Appreciation tbh 👀
Word Count: 1k
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Your legs barely held you up as you flung your coat on, simultaneously half-running in a strange, tangling walk on wobbly legs toward the door leading out of the bank at the back of the building. You had two security doors to cross before the outer door opened, and the icy air of December hit you in the face. It jerked you out of some of the muddying adrenaline, fuelling fear and anxiety alike as your heart galloped.
Dragging a deep breath, a rush unlike any other consumed you. “I just robbed a bloody bank, for a stranger who—”
“Süße,” came the drawled rumble of that very stranger. “No time to throw away, come.” He grabbed your hand and jerked you into motion as he passed while talking without stopping for even half a step.
“Where are—” Alarms began to blare from within the bank. “Oh shit.”
“Beeil dich. There’s no time,” he snapped, tugging on your arm once more as you both set off in a quick stride.
“We should run,” you managed to push out, looking over your shoulder toward the bank. Your heart nearly choked you by sitting poundingly in your throat where it had no business being.
“No, no running, it draws attention, makes us memorable. Walk quick, come—” he wrapped your arm around his “—we shall walk quickly, and talk about dinner.”
“Dinner?”
“Yes, like couples do.”
“Couples?”
Mr Robber halted for half a step, muttering something in German, and then kept walking just as quickly. “Pretend, Süße,” he clarified. “Pretend we are a couple just walking along.”
Oh, right, of course! Wait, where are we going? “Where are we going for dinner, then?” you asked, stumbling along the snow-covered cobblestones of the alley passage in your indoor work shoes while trying to catch your breath and calm your heart. You couldn’t, of course.
“How about Suffolk?” he began, his voice unbelievably steady and charming.
“Suffolk? Suffolk?” you asked, disbelief dripping from your voice in turn.
“Perhaps you wish to be snatched away to Rome, instead?” He smirked at you as you passed a larger street and kept going down another alleyway.
“Snatched— You mean swept away? Wait, Rome?” Your brain couldn’t compute what the bloody hell was going on in such a rapid motion of events.
“No?” He chuckled, seeming so bloody calm while running away from doing a damn robbery. “How about France? Perhaps the Riviera is more to your taste?” he continued without seeming phased at all.
You baulked at him, managing to keep your legs moving as the man seemed to be having quite fun — at your expense. But, despite the bizarre situation, his looks and that voice of his only made you tingle more. You were acting like some schoolgirl being blinded by hormones, but in reality, you had just had a crash-out and robbed a bank in broad daylight with a German stranger.
“Süße—” he snagged your attention instantly “—you are quite the curiosity.” He said as you kept staring up at him, being guided by his arm when you weren’t looking where you were going. “I have yet to decide if you are to be kept or not, but I am sure you can be of use—” Sirens filled the air. You both stopped, hearing them come closer from the echo down the alley, as if this was one of those scenes in a romcom drama when the stakes rise, and there was just this strange sensation of reality not really being real in that moment.
Then the sirens blasted louder. “That’s not good,” you whispered, reality making a comeback along with black dots dancing along your vision with a fresh surge of panic. You couldn’t quite feel your feet, but your heart had itself set upon compensating for that with its own exaggerated pounding.
“Verdammt!”
“Can we run for it?” you asked, feeling that mix of fear and adrenaline battle with the irrational need to remain with the dangerous stranger you felt inexplicably drawn to. Perhaps I’ve just lost my damn mind completely? I can’t be that hungry, surely?
He looked at you, baffled it seemed, before he smirked and the sirens grew louder. “Together?"
You nodded, grabbing his glove-clad hand by moving your hand down along his steady forearm.
“Ah, you are a wonder.” He squeezed your hand, and you nearly fell apart under his charming eyes as those white teeth glinted when he smiled. “Run, tapfere kleine Süße.”
You had no idea what he’d said at the end, but whatever it was, it sounded as if he purred the words, and that was really all your brain could latch onto at that moment as you remained dazed and fixated on those grey eyes of his. “Run,” he said anew, and you did.
You ran with your hands interlocked, snow sprayed behind you with each step as you kicked it up, and for some reason, it felt like you were in a movie. Reality became distant as you ran and jumped, as the sirens hunted you and snow crunched loudly, and the most handsome man you had ever seen held your hand so firmly that there was no chance of you slipping out of his grip.
You ran faster, the surroundings became a blur, and the German kept you on your feet. “Jump!” he called as a snow mound stood in your way of the next road, and — much like in the Russian dance in The Nutcracker — you leapt into the air with a thrill.
“Bloody hell!” You nearly toppled.
He grabbed you. “Get in,” he said as he righted you, and a white van stood with an open door across from you. You barrelled inside, feeling the strangest of smiles stretch your lips as you turned around to check on Hans, but a pain so sharp it stole your breath and vision erupted across your temple. You crashed to the van’s floor with only the whoosh of a breath before there was nothing.
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: Well, that took a turn - part two of this crazy story and it’s your head being bashed rather than gnarly old Mrs Crow’s in the first part 😂 Oh my gosh, this one is so much fun to write and with the music it’s just such an experience 😂👏
Prompt 9: Fireside - John Mark Nelson, Tancred, Jenny Owen Nelson (S2)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Young & Adult Snape x Young & Adult!Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader & Third, Snape
Setting/History: You suffered amnesia when you were in an accident in December of 1977. You lost your loving parents as your flying carriage got trapped in a snowstorm and plummeted into a mountainside in northern Sweden. It took a year to find out who you were, but you never regained your memories of that day or what you had lived through before that. Only the faint memory of red snow flashed in your mind from time to time with a trailing horror so devastating it tormented you despite the lack of understanding of why. Now it’s 1999, one year after the war, and you have finally returned to your roots — even if you have no memory of them.
Continuation of: (S1) White Winter Hymnal
A/N: Seriously, why couldn’t I just stop at 700 words today?! I am so beyond stressed, so so so tired, but this story is gripping me so hard, I hope I can get two more parts of this during Rickmas2025 - maybe even three more parts. It feels like an eternity since I returned to writing for our dear dungeon bat who basically started it all - sorry, Nottingham was my Rickman introduction but Snape was the one who threw me head-first into obsession. Anyway, I hope you’ll enjoy this part that’s mostly from Snape’s POV 👀❤
Tags/TW’s: Snape Lives, Post-War AU, Hidden Longing, Mutual Love, Lost Love, Amnesia from Adolescent Trauma, Fainting, Moving an Unconscious Person Without Permission, Painful Memories
Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name
Word Count: 1.5k
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⩤• SEVERUS •⩥
Every day, he returned to Diagon Alley, hoping to see you again — to dare approach and ask the burning question of why. He was not a coward, nor was he frightened by much; however, the torment growing in the place of that suppressed part he’d held your disappearance in for twenty-two years was as terrifying as it was painful. Those days of losing the last light, bit by bit, every day losing light as you had embodied it in his life when there had been only darkness every which way he’d turned — save from you...
He stood a step within the archway to Knockturn Alley, the gloom swaddled him as the late afternoon took the dying light with it. Lanterns and candles lit Diagon Alley before him as snow fell soft and bright, covering the cobblestone while he stood so utterly still. The dark, narrow alleyway behind him held little of his attention when the stretching shopping street before him had a decent amount of people walking up and down — just not the only person he sought. There is no use standing here…
“Perri! Seriously?”
Severus’s breath stuttered.
“What? We could put them outside your door! It’ll look good.”
His head turned slowly, eyes searching, and his heart oh-so-gently stuttered within his chest — equally in disbelief.
“I already have huge, real trees, I don’t need fake ones along with them,” you said with a travelling laugh while tugging on the other woman dressed in all red and gold. “Come on, I need something warm to drink. This chill is biting.”
Air seemed to evade him as his chest tightened, the phantom of pain in his throat and neck snagging his voice as his gaze found you moving down the street in that overly large coat once more. Your brilliant smile intact, radiating with warmth he barely remembered the feel of. His heart stuttered harder, his breath faltered uncharacteristically as he dragged a wholly desperate breath through his nose; all while remaining so utterly still as you drew ever closer. Your eyes were unfailing in their perusal of the decorated windows, showcasing all manner of goods he cared little about, only for your eyes to return to the woman beside you.
His lips parted, the cold air chilling to inhale. “Y/n.” One word, one beautifully haunting name he never thought he’d ever say ever again, yet now, the warped remnants of his deep voice rasped it darkly. A murmur atop the chilly wind.
⩤• YOU •⩥
It floated on the wind, caressing your ears so gently you almost missed it — your heart didn’t, though. For a second, your chest tightened, and your heart drummed in a manner you felt oddly familiar with. The rhythm of a winter song had your insides stiffening with a strange remembrance of sorts, something conversant yet overwhelming.
Perri grabbed you. “What’s wrong?”
Leaning on her, staying upright as the weight of loss so heavily pushed on your chest, you looked around through the softly falling snow. “I heard a sound, or something, someone said something. A-, a sound.”
“A sound? What sound?” Perri asked, but you couldn’t answer her.
Your breath fogged before you; the hazy memory of a tall shadow amidst hazy snow blurred your vision. “Footprints… There were footprints left along the frozen lane,” you whispered as your gaze swept all around, twining your vision into a blur. “It slid to a stop, and there were footprints, hoof prints,” you whispered as a warmth crept in, like being at a fireside during a cosy evening — it didn’t burn, didn’t mark, and it didn’t feel frightening.
Neighing horses, flapping wings, tapping hooves, someone calling to find them after the holidays. Someone…behind me. You spun, seeking but not finding anyone down the long street with happy shoppers. No… Not behind me, yes, behind me, but someone I…I left behind. Someone left…
You grabbed at your coat, above your drumming heart, while turning so many laps Perri lost her grip on your arm. I looked back, there was someone left behind, but I wasn’t leaving them… you kept spinning on the spot, seeking, scouring the gently moving crowd of co-existing magicians. Tall ones, smiling wizards, little children running between cloaked bodies, rushing witches, your eyes sought none of them. The green cloaks, the brown hats, the lack of shadows similar to—
Your breath stuttered, hitching in a slow rasp. Black hair framing pale skin, thin lips set in stiffness, royal nose with a reddened hue from prickling cold, and… “Onyx eyes.” S-Severus? The world tilted.
“Y/N!” Perri screamed, and the black shadow you shouldn’t have known the name of surged forward as your gaze flickered into a darkness so overpowering you never felt the harshness of the ground below.
⩤• SEVERUS •⩥
The tip of his wand flicked toward you as he moved forward — half running, half using unsupported flight — and your body halted a mere second before the snow-covered ground would have greeted you painfully. “Y/n,” he murmured, stopping two steps from your unconscious body as the woman in red and gold kneeled in the snow.
The magicians parted, gasps surged through them as Severus stepped closer with his wand still aimed in your direction.
“Mr S-Snape,” stuttered the woman beside you. “What-, what are you doing?” she continued with the distinct sound of fear squelching about in her thickening voice.
“She would have come to harm,” he said roughly, his voice low as he raised your body.
“P-put her down!” the woman squealed erratically as he began to move through the crowd with your levitated body right before him; you glided as gently as an angel atop a cloud in his magic.
“No. I will not let her out of my sight.”
“This is k-kidnapping!”
He arched a brow at the hysterical woman. “You are free to follow,” he said coldly as she reached for your hand, yet she couldn’t break through the invisible charm he’d wrapped all around you, safeguarding the most precious thing in the world until he would undo it in the safety of his home. “Take hold—” he stiffly bent an elbow outwards “—or you will not remain by her side.”
The woman didn’t hesitate, and that allowed Severus to feel a modicum of acceptance of the woman’s touch as she obviously cared for you fiercely enough to go where he went — no questions asked, no doubt displayed as he glanced down. “Hold your breath.”
“What?” she asked with brows drawn, and the darkness swept in before the ground crackled open to swallow all three.
Severus focused on bringing you wholly and fully to his home, the woman gripping his elbow with biting nails was of little consequence.
“This is danger—” Her words turned to a breathless woosh, Diagon Alley turned to blinding light before it cracked in two, and his living room grew out of the shadows as his eyes remained glued to your softly resting face — from perfect lips slightly parted to closed eyes with fanned lashes he wished to stroke with the very tip of his finger to see your eyes flutter open and hook with him.
Instead of any folly stillness, he moved you toward the couch while the other woman drew ragged breaths with her hands on her knees. “That was…awful… By Merlin…” she said, heaving air far too loudly.
“Hm.” Severus lowered you, adjusting the throw pillow by hand before breaking the levitation spell. “She did not feel anything,” he declared as your eyes twitched under their lids.
G-good, that was horrible, I feel like I’m going to lose my spine or something.”
“You have no idea,” he said, feeling the splintering pain in his back and neck as he’d lifted his spells enough to let all three in unharmed while simultaneously circumventing the disabling spells to keep you within his shielding magic.
The woman moved forward on stringy-looking legs, shaken and unsteady, as he lifted the protective spell a second after she reached toward your hand. Severus sat down in his wing-backed chair, watching you with barely a blink allowed as the woman sank to the floor with her hand gripping yours gently.
“She’ll be fine, right?”
“Certainly.”
“Then I can kill you for kidnapping my best friend.”
Severus tilted his head at the dry threat. “I intend to ask her a question, and then, you are free to try…”
The woman huffed, pouting while passing carollers went from door to door, but wholly neglected to knock or pause by his. They sang of joy and warmth, something the people within the surrounding homes had little knowledge about, most of all he, perhaps… My warmth lay there, missing for twenty-two years… He watched her with utter restraint while the woman fell asleep on the floor, gripping your hand as webs of ice across the window pane grew thicker during the night’s coldness. He kept the flames in the old hearth alive, offering you the perfect amount of warmth by the fireside, he hoped.
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: It’s just growing, and this wasn’t the plan at all as you already know, but this is what I love about Rickmas - it flows freely, you’re all inspiring me to write more as you interact with me, and the stories are just coming to live of their own accord. I adore it, even when it stresses me out xD
Prompt 8: ugly xmas sweater party - girlhouse (Si1)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Sinclair Bryant x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader
Setting: It’s 1995, (10 years post-cannon, 9 years post-divorce in this story from The-Yucky-One-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-By-Anything-But-Slander-Nicks) and you met Sinclair last year, instantly taking a liking to him. The past year, he’d bloomed into the talkative chap he used to be, even if you had no clue about his past beyond him being divorced and closed off before.
A/N: Oh my gosh, I am stressing. I’ve just finished writing this and THIS WAS NOT HOW IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE?! Like, this prompt was supposed to be cute a fluffy but then I put the song on repeat for a little while and… well, this thing came crawling through my fingertips. Merry Rickmas, let’s sort this out with another prompt later on… HEA for all stories, remember? 😅👍 (Also, I really hate not being one day ahead. Writing the fic the day of is so damn stressful - and I didn’t even manage to keep it short…)
Tags/TW’s: Established Dating Couple, Couples Fight, Abandoned At A Christmas Party, Breakup Looming, Unjust Anger/Snapping, Quiet Crying, Complete Disgust at and Slander of Incest, Spiralling Thoughts
Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name | Y/N/L - Your Last Name
Word Count: 2.3k
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Utterly covered in tinsel, getting nowhere, you stood with mouth agape while a stickiness crawled across your overheated skin. The ugly Christmas sweater itched and blinked, your skin misted in the warm room, and there was a spinning thought not leaving you alone. You’d thought the carols would drown it out at some point, but it just kept on spinning. Had you said something so utterly wrong it was worth fighting about with Sinclair, the sweetest man you’d ever been with? I don’t get it, seriously? How the fuck could you be so angry about my brother coming to visit for the holiday?
Wandering over to the bar of the tacky office party with twinkling Christmas lights all around mixing with flashes from cameras that went off now and then; snapping pictures of people with eyes closed more often than not as it was past midnight and the alcohol had been freely distributed. You swiped a glass of the lukewarm champagne and downed it with a swift tilting of your head as the narrow glass rested against your lip. You sat it down a bit too harshly. “That’s it, I’m out of here, fuck this.”
Reaching over the bar, you yanked up the phone and lifted the receiver to be connected to the front desk — a bright female voice answered, asking how she could help.
“Yeah, hi, can I get a close-by hotel connected?”
“Yes, ma’am. Do you have a specific wish?” Covering your other ear to drown out the carols and loud people, you leaned over the bar with the phone pressed harder against your ear. “Not too fancy or expensive, thanks. I’ll be down in a couple of minutes, put it in my name, Y/n Y/l/n,” you said, and as soon as the woman had confirmed she’d heard you, you put the phone back and headed for the coat room.
⩤•⫘•⩥
Walking down an avenue under the lights strung between the buildings, you got a flashback to Halloween, when it had all been so perfectly wonderful. Sinclair had been way too good at being Ted Bundy, I was Dennis the Menace, but still, you out-menaced me with your inside jokes and all the tidbits of information on everything from hallows to ghouls, from the psychiatry behind the infatuation of the forbidden to the construction of the bloody candles back in the— What was it, seventeenth century? Fifteenth? Doesn’t matter...
Even if you’d felt as if you were getting nowhere in terms of moving the relationship forward, you’d still felt so utterly cherished and wanted as he’d given you most of his attention and spent time with you as often as possible. Between work for both of you and the distance from his home in Marlow to yours in Harlow, on Tumbler Road, it had been a challenge to find time outside of the summer vacation weeks when you both were available, energetic, and able to spend more than just dinner together.
Walking along, following the directions from the receptionist, your thoughts just kept spinning. You never asked me to stay over… You’ve stayed at my place so many times, but you never asked me to… “It doesn’t matter now, we got into a fight because something got into him, and he ran away after just telling me to fuck off and be with my brother? Like?” You shivered, dragging a deep breath to try and quench the unease in your chest with cold air.
“And if he means it like that, then fucking eww all the damn way to the North Pole.” You shivered, disgust slipping up your spine at the mere thought of someone even thinking something like that was an option. “Like, what the bloody hell? We’ve not met up for six months, obviously I want him to come visit, but why would anyone insinuate something so revolting. I mean, I have no idea what his girlfriend sees in him, but it’s—” You nearly gagged thinking of anyone being with your brother. He was your brother, the guy who’d bullied you with his trucks when you wanted to play fairy kingdom, the guy who had zits popping by the dinner table when he was a teenager and then decided to be a fucking prick about your looks when you were a teenager. Eww all the fucking way.
Walking past a couple, you stepped to the side, muttering to yourself as you stomped along. “What on earth is so bloody wrong with wanting to hang out with one's sibling as adults, though? Like? And to even in completely muted thoughts go to think about anything other than siblings— No, stop, don’t fucking think about what’s going on in Sinclair’s pretty but at the moment disgusting head, obviously I don’t know him at all since he’d behave like this. Maybe he’s been just pretending all along? This sweet act might just be— Don’t.” You had no desire to think about it, but it still slithered about as there was truly so much about the man you’d fallen in love with over the past year that you had no idea about. Sinclair talked, so much, but it was facts and history of the world rather than things about him. Seriously, thinking about it had you wondering how much you even knew about the man.
You arrived at the hotel just fifteen minutes of walking from the enormous office building Sinclair had unceremoniously left you in, with no more than that look of utter disgust covering his usually damningly handsome features and the cursing out you couldn’t for the life of you figure out without being somewhat grossed out and horrified. You were getting colder by the minute despite the many layers of clothes and the sudden warmth of the lobby where you were greeted joyfully and sorted out with the reserved room before the clerk sent you off down the narrow hallway toward the elevators framed by thin garlands.
The hotel was no five-star resort, but for a night of sleep and a shower it would do just fine. It was too far to head home alone, I mean, we were supposed to remain together. This is bullshit. Sliding the key into the door and twisting it, a stiff breath that could easily switch to a sob — if you only allowed it — lingered in the back of your throat as you stepped inside and closed the door.
Kicking off your shoes after hanging up your coat, you pulled the stupid sweater over your head and tossed it on the floor in pure protest. It landed perfectly flatly, glaring up at you with its twinkling lights stitched in and the latter half of the message A Jolly Good Christmas Fellows, And Happy New Year Old Deers stitched in glitter yarn of gold with several bearded deer in a row below. The lights being their noses lit up most of the dreary beige room in too cheerful colours.
Tears stung your eyes as a dry chuckle slipped out after a moment. “I spent a month finding these, and adding the fucking lights… Shit, I’m so stupid for thinking the rich stock analyst with the sweetest— Doesn’t matter, I was obviously wrong about him and he’s bloody daft, out of his mind completely. Does he have a sister? Has he had thoughts about— Eww, don’t even go there.” Those words hurt your heart far more than you cared to admit, you did not want the man you thought to be so gentle and sweet with his infectious smile and constant chatting as of late to be so gross. So, you stripped out of everything and stepped into the shower — scalding your skin within a minute — as you washed away the stench of sweat and sickly mixture of perfumes that clung to you from the party.
⩤•⫘•⩥
Disturbingly loud ringing assaulted your ears, ripping away the sweet dream instantly turning to a hazy memory before melting away like ice in glaring sunshine. It kept ringing as you flapped about in bed, shoving at the tightly wrapped covers and ensnaring sheets. The cool plastic of the receiver nudged your stretching fingers, and you grabbed as it assaulted your hearing one last time before being pulled up and toward your ear.
Groaning, you remained in bed, cocooned by all the fabric meant for two people to share. “Mh’ello?”
“Darling?”
You smiled at his voice, questioning and seeking through the phone. “Sinclair? Morning, luv.”
A chuckle so soft yet stiff filtered through the phone. “Still luv? It wasn’t pretty how I reacted last night and departed rather abruptly...”
“Huh?” you blinked, sensing all the differences of the current bed holding you hostage in tangled sheets to the one you yourself owned with only the one cover, the one pillow, the one little teddy you always hid when Sinclair came over.
Sitting up in a rush, your fingers gripped the phone harder. “The fuck’s wrong with you? Hm?!”
“Ah, there it is… Quite angry with me, are we?”
Your jaw clenched as you held back from slamming the phone down. “Quite. I’d say justifiably so.”
“Indeed, yes, I— There…are things I’ve not told you, darling. I didn’t think it would ever matter.”
You rubbed at your forehead, feeling torn and cold at his sad little voice. “Should have seen it coming…”
“What? Sorry, darling, I couldn’t hear that—”
“It’s nothing…” But you couldn’t stop the tears from slinking down your cheeks.
A long silence ensued, however odd that phenomenon was while in a conversation with Sinclair, and you simply sat in the too soft bed with the stiff phone pressed against your ear as you made bloody sure your breathing remained steady and calm. Your heart ached, wanting to talk it all out and understand why he’d done what he did — what you’d done to warrant the anger and treatment he’d thrown at you seemingly out of nowhere with such disgusting insinuations it turned your stomach for so many reasons. Seriously, I should have seen it coming that he can’t be this brilliant bloke of constant smiles and sweetness. Every damn man I date end up being wrong for me, in whatever way the universe seems to decide on. I thought we were— You sighed, stopping yourself.
“Darling—” there were sounds of movement on the other end “—think I can see you again? Provincial hotels can be very depressing, so perhaps somewhere else? Here? With lunch?” You looked around the room, and he was quite right. The drab beige and grey of it all, with polished metal and cold shades of blue mixed in, it was quite depressing even as daylight filtered in from the grey sky above.
You drew your knees up. “Sure, Claire…” I do want to see you, and hear from you what the hell that shit was, and how you could just bloody leave me without a hint of fucking care…
“I’ll order a taxi for you,” Sinclair said with a strange thickness to his voice that already sounded a bit off through the phone. “It’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“I can take the train and buss—”
“There’s some pretty interesting things going on in London lately, there’s so much cocaine being taken—”
“Claire, what the hell are you on about?”
“Let me get you here safely, darling. I know you usually take the train and bus, let me for this one time make sure you get here. Taxis are useful in that way, makes things more efficient, you know. After all, that’s why they became a thing as they evolved from London’s Hackney Carriages back in the sixteen-hundreds—” the sound of running water mixed with his words “—and then we got the Hansom cabs in the early eighteen-hundreds. Quite fascinating subject really—” the crunching of munching on cookies came and then turned his deep voice a bit muffled “—when there are so many aspects of it. Like the meters being named after the Greek word metron, meaning measure and it’s quite the easy use of language there, but still it had to be done—”
You sighed, for once not feeling at all like listening to him going off on a historical tangent of facts and information he kept stored in that marvellous brain of his. “I’ll get dressed,” you simply said, interrupting him quite quietly, yet his voice died as abruptly as if it were wrapped in a bow one suddenly tightened the strings of with an unyielding jerk.
“I’ll be waiting…” His voice softened and lowered, a certain worry lingering in it. “See you soon, then?”
You swiped away the tears with your thumb. “Mh… Buh-bye.”
“Bye, dar—” You ended the call as he spoke by letting the phone fall down harshly.
“I guess, we’re getting nowhere, and it’s time to hear what the bloody hell is wrong and try not to be left out in the snow with no more than a broken heart in my hands in time for the holidays. Again. Seriously, we got into a fight at the ugly Christmas sweater party, and now I’ll take a taxi to my next breakup with the one I thought would be everything forever and I’ve never even stayed at his house...”
You flopped down on the bed. “Here I thought I’d found the sweetest man, with the most adoring quirks, and he just snaps and then finds out where I’ve been staying? And calls? He must have called so many places. And he wants to make absolutely fucking sure I arrive at his place, that I’ve never been allowed to stay over at, as if he’s hiding something horrible, no matter what, too? Seriously, these are bloody murder-level red flags… Fantastic. Merry fucking Christmas to me…” I’m even rambling as he does now… I’m so fucked. This will hit like a damn train going off track and I’ll either get murdered in some secret room or I’ll end up with a pint of ice cream and never-ending tears…
TO BE CONTINUED
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
A/N: Seriously, this didn’t turn out AT ALL how I’d planned or imagined - I thought I’d make Sinclair’s story this cute little one-shot thing with fluffy smut but apparently not 😭
Prompt 7: Fairy Dance - Matthew St. Laurent, Fired Earth Music (T2)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Judge Turpin x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader & Third, Turpin
Setting: London & Fareham
Continuation of: (T1) Carol of the Fates
A/N: Turpin time again! WHOOP WHOOP! And Happy 1 week of Rickmas 2025! Day seven already? Gosh, I gotta get a move-on with the writing - seriously, I’m STRESSING, ‘kay? Yeah, I do this to myself every. damn. year. and never learn it seems.
Anyway! Here we go, part 2 of the Turpin serial and we’re going for an absolute ride - especially in terms of beliefs and emotions, so buckle up babe, this is a longer part! 🐎🛷 (was I up until 2am? yes... Am I formatting and posting during my morning coffee? yes... I'll need a nap later but also need to write tomorrows fic xD)
The spool of thread spun in his hand, rolled and stroked by his rough fingers. The little creature who dropped it had not left his mind for the past three days. He thought of you more often than he cared to admit. Little wisp… where are you hiding? The thought was rhetorical, of course. Richard knew far too well where you resided, with your Earl of a father and the many marriages announced in the paper — all holding your surname but never your given one — these past three years. Four in total, accounting for all the Earl’s children, save one.
“Richard!” called Petunia in that grating voice he so detested. “Tea is to be had!” she continued, and the thought of sitting down for another tea with his cousin had his hand clenching around the spool of silken thread. Petunia was akin to him, similar in fashion and thought, yet far apart in other aspects. She was wilfully demanding where he was calculatingly methodical. She spoke of romance and grand gestures of great expense, where he saw only marked flesh and reddening knees on satin pillows by his polished boot.
One thing, a minuscule one, had latched itself to the membranes of his mind, though. She spoke of his need for a wife — not for the same reasons as the ones that had remained with him, though — and it had been many nights he had sought a broken comfort in the imagines of you by his side. His little wisp, on your knees, on his arm, by his side, in his bed, tangled in his sheets, or bent over his desk most gloriously. Always, unfailingly so, with those eyes of yours holding his gaze for moments slightly too long, yet never was there to be any fear shimmering in them. No matter the dream, no matter the twisted ruin he wished to lavish on you, there was never fear in his image of you so delicately balanced on the tip of his finger, under his touch, within his grasp.
He wasted no breath on calling out as he dressed in his outdoor garments in dark red and black, with his tophat sat firmly on his head, as he opened the door and marched toward Earl (Y/l/n) house, your house.
Richard was a man of reason, a man of logic, a man of restraint and power, yet still he tricked himself into believing the spool of thread in his satin-lined pocket was the only reason for his sudden outing. There was no twisted endeavour of sinking his respected talons in you, surely not. Yet he marched with longer strides as the thought of seeing you in your own environment, within your safe walls of normalcy and comfort, slowly encroached on all other thoughts. He could not deny that as his pace picked up and the spool of thread offered the first and, thus far, only acceptable reason for him to call upon you privately. I shall return what is rightfully hers. No more. Little wisp, you are far too delicate… Still, I will call upon you, tempting myself to madness once more, yet God has seen fit to put you in my path… repeatedly.
He knocked harshly as he had marched up the five stone steps to the smaller townhouse nestled tightly with others of the same drab exterior, the same size and look. Yes, all things about your home were the same as any other on the street — yet still, he found it to be different.
The door opened, and a young maid stood with an agreeable smile, which faltered the second her eyes landed upon him, and her head lowered just after. “Judge Turpin, my Lord,” she said in a shallow breath, as if her throat had caught a lump of distress — not unlikely.
"I will see the young Miss (Y/l/n).” He did not dawdle or make a request.
“The young miss— Oh, Judge Turpin, that is not possible,” the maid stammered, her hands trembling before her where she held them in front of her thinner dress. “I shall fetch Earl (Y/l/n), Judge Turpin, sir.” She scurried off before the words had fully left her mouth, and he was left to stand on the doorstep. Imbecile behaviour. Leaving a man such as I upon the doorstep? Unthinkable. His mouth thinned, his straight back hardened, and a harshness far more noticeable crept along his features as they tensed.
Rushed steps sounded from within the house as he looked inside through the open door, letting the cold air infiltrate the space.
“Judge Turpin!” came the loud call of the earl as he walked along the short hall. “My Lord, what offers us this great pleasure and honour?” the man continued with a cowered, nearly choked voice — with widened eyes showing the reflection of fear his voice had barely managed to shield.
“I am calling upon your daughter.” Richard did not let the harshness subside, nor did he allow the intention of his words to be construed into a request.
The earl stopped short. “My sweet (Y/n)? My Lord, that is impossible, sir. I am terribly sorry, but—”
“You dare deny, me?” Richard spoke harshly; his steely gaze hooked the man fully as the earl gulped and paled. “Bring her forth, Earl.”
The earl and the maid glanced at each other quickly. “My sweet daughter is not here, my Lord. She left in all haste but three days ago.”
He arched a brow. “In all haste?”
“Y-yes, my Lord. She was quite distressed. I fear she is long gone.”
Distressed? My subdued little wisp of the greatest countenance? “To where?”
“Hampshire, sir. I do not dare state a time for her return, my Lord.”
“Where in Hampshire?”
Earl (Y/l/n) tensed further, a seemingly impossible thing. “F-Fareham, sir. To my sister’s humble home. She seeks sanctuary for a broken heart among the—”
Richard’s arm surged forward, taking hold of the cravat around the man’s throat a second before ripping him forward, closing the distance as the man’s eyes widened with terror under his glare. “Who. hurt. her?” he snarled, the words barely audible as rage coiled in his blood.
The man gulped. “I do not know, sir. She… my sweet daughter would not speak his name. She said it had been three years, and she hadn’t a chance with the respectable man. She proclaimed herself foolish, her heart worse so, and refused to sully my view of her with the man’s name. That is all she spoke, sir. I would not force it out of her.”
“Three years?”
“Y-yes, sir.”
“Respectable man?” Richard’s hand hardened further as his muscles locked up.
“Yes, sir. Most— Most respectable, according to her. Out of… reach, sir. She is but the youngest daughter of an earl, so the man must—” he struggled for a breath “—be highly placed… within s-society.” The earl drew another harsh breath, nearly wheezing as the cravat tightened around his throat.
A moment passed with Richard and your father locked in their position. Richard’s brain strained with a cascade of memories as he sought any hints of who the wretched man could be. She belongs to me. None other. There shall be no other. None shall distress my little wisp, make her flee her home, make her suffer for three— “Three years…” he murmured under his breath as the grip of the earl’s cravat loosened and the man stumbled backwards, rubbing at his freed throat. “A respectable man, out of her reach, who suddenly is to be married…” he continued as your face filled his head.
Every longer gaze he’d felt, every second he had admired you from afar in secret, and every time he had greeted you when attending the same events of higher society, without so much as a touch ever occurring between him and you. He was mesmerised by you, as if you had performed a fairy dance, wanting and yearning, yet never had he felt the desperation to take what he wanted so deeply before. Now, another man had claimed his wisp’s heart and driven you away. He would not stand for it.
“My dear (Y/n)…” the earl began as Richard’s rage and possessive nature grew to a storm of bound wrath. “She is my jewel, a most sweet and demure girl, not a fancy or a flirt. I have never seen her in distress, sir. And speaking of it here, with you, Judge Turpin, I must confess myself uncomfortable, sir.”
Richard knew the man could not dismiss him, he would not be dismissed — not even from another’s property. “You shall procure me the address of—”
“Father!” came a warm female voice. “Colonel Moore has written to us!” it continued from another room within the house, annoyingly flimsy in tone.
They all quieted as steps echoed from within the house. “Oh, wonderful news, Father! The dear Colonel will arrive at Aunt Mary’s home late afternoon, the day after tomorrow! What a pleasant detour before he arrives here as planned. That will surely make her happy—” the steps grew louder as your sister entered the hallway with the letter fixed in her gaze “—she so adores Colonel Moore, Fa—” Her sentence was cut as she raised her gaze.
Richard glared at her, his harsh face tightened as he contained the need to bark at the young woman whose husband now joined up behind her, both finding themselves in his steely glare.
“J-Judge Turpin,” they echoed as she curtsied and he bowed deeply.
“Who is Colonel Moore?” he asked in a mix of a drawl and a snarl between nearly closed lips.
“A family friend, sir,” said the earl carefully. “He has been a companion most welcome for many years. Quite the esteemed gentleman, and a good fortune with proper family ties, sir. He visited more frequently before he became engaged; he is to marry this spring,” he continued with a respectful lowering of his head.
Richard’s chest tightened, his pulse roared, and the idiocy of the family before him, not understanding this Colonel Moore was obviously the reason you were so distraught, darkened his gaze. The chill of the December air that had been flowing into the house through the open door held little to the coldness he was consumed by in that moment. You, his little wisp of dreams and haunting yearnings, were soon to be faced with the very man who had claimed your heart and then crushed it. Wisp of mine… Yes. Mine.
“Judge Turpin?” asked your father, his voice unsure as he took half a step back and bumped into the quivering maid.
Richard’s eyes snapped to him. “You simpletons.” Callousness dripped from his voice as he gripped the spool of thread in his pocket. “Three years. Esteemed gentleman. Out of her reach. To. be. married.” He contained his wrath with no more than a clawed grasp. Your own family had not noticed your pain, your wish or desire, and he knew well enough you would never raise that melodious voice of yours so subdued and softly spoken to reveal your torment. He did not know enough of you or all he wished to know, but he knew you sufficiently to understand that.
He turned to glare at the empty road before his eyes turned upwards, toward the darkening sky. His mouth turned into a mere line. There is indeed a higher power on my side, bringing me a just cause to call upon her in her hour of need. “I shall take you, and shield you from the evils of the world, little wisp,” he declared under his breath, not loud enough for another soul to hear but for the universe to know.
Your father spluttered. “Surely, you cannot mean my dear girl has had desires for Colonel Moore, sir? He is nearly your age, sir. Not as esteemed, but far above her humble standing in high society, despite my title, my Lord,” he said, seemingly shamed by the very words coming from his mouth as Richard spun on his heel to face the man once more.
“A heart holds no restrictions of society or propriety,” Richard drawled harshly, turning to leave. “A match such as that, surely, would please you, Earl.”
“Y-yes, sir. No, sir. I mean— Yes, I wish the best for all my children, but one must be reasonable, my Lord,” your father called after Richard as he marched out of the open gates. “And my dear girl would not be parted from me if not for a proper marriage, sir. A proper marriage, with a man who would care for her gentle soul and demure nature, my Lord!” he continued calling out as Richard had begun a rapid march toward his house, fuming and raging on the inside as the world within his vision narrowed to the path before him. You care enough for your daughter to wish her well, yet you do not care enough to remove her from torment. I shall. Without hesitation.
Within minutes, he had returned home, gathered a satchel and exchanged his outer garments for ones meant for riding in colder temperatures. Petunia asked questions he paid no mind to, the housekeeper said not a word as he barked orders at her to ready his horse — swiftly. It was all a rush, a quick succession of events, and then he galloped off down the slippery cobblestone street with darkness creeping in over the December sky. Little wisp, he thought while urging the horse on. I shall retrieve you, and damn you to a life by my side. For he was a possessive man, and you had become the object of his desire, which he had fought so vigorously — to hell with propriety and gentlemanly conduct. You are mine, (Y/n). No Colonel, Earl, or rule shall save you from your fate. You are noticed, little wisp, and now… you shall only be noticed… as mine.
The horse neighed as the city turned to snow-covered fields. An eternity of English country lay between him and his deepest want — but there would be no amount of it enough to deter him. The spool of thread now lay in his breast pocket, pressing against his middle ribs, and there it would remain until the moment he could return it to you and, in the process, take those soft-looking hands in his. Forever. No amount of pretty women could ever tempt him, no silhouette of curves was ever perfect enough to be kept, no flower-picking girl was ever magical enough in the wonder of early summer sunshine — yet you had captivated him so, with a mere curtsey and look. He rode the horse harder into the night as your quiet existence suffocated his thoughts so cruelly perfectly with your soft countenance in the deepest of contrast to his own.
⩤• YOU •⩥
For the first time in five days, you woke up decently rested and comfortable. Four nights had been spent in inns and other lodgings while travelling the eighty-five miles needed by carriage to arrive at your Aunt’s in Fareham, Hampshire. It was a beautiful house, on the smaller side compared to what you were used to, but wonderful.
Walking up to the window, while fastening your robe, you peered out at the wonderland of snow as dawn spread its light over the meadows and forests beyond. Being on the outskirts of town, with plenty of farmland belonging to your aunt and uncle, the views were arresting and smile-inducing. If only for a short moment, before life returned as sleep left you completely, and the reason for your rapt departure from the dark and cramped London rose from its slumber.
You sank into the chair by the little vanity, its built-in mirror reflected the tiredness and pain right back at you. There was no escape. Your heart twisted and throbbed behind your ribs as the mirror seemed to contort itself to flash the image of the man your heart so foolishly desired, with the woman so perfectly matched to him on his arm. You averted your gaze, feeling the hotness of tears threatening behind your stinging eyes. “Forget it. Cast him from your mind and heart, right this instant.” But you had told yourself so before, many times. It made no difference.
Dressed comfortably, in a narrower but still warm dress, you left the guest room and moved down the slim stairs of creaking wood. Finding your aunt already whisking away in the kitchen, you entered quietly.
“Oh, Y/n, goodness, you’re as quiet as a mouse, my dear,” she said with a warm smile. “Come, come, let us sort some breakfast for you.”
“Thank you, Aunt Mary.”
She patted your shoulder as you sat. “You are more than welcome here, my dear. You seem in desperate need of a reprieve. Look at the state of your gentle face. Oh, my sweet child, whatever have they been putting you through, hm?” She tilted your head from one side to the other, peering at you with the warmth of a mother and the honesty of a friend.
You did adore your aunt and uncle, but the journey was long, and the times you managed to spend with them were far apart. It had been nearly two years since your last visit, and it hurt a bit within your chest now that you had returned and saw the changes in their ageing faces and bodies — their life was much more of a burden than that of your father’s.
“I am well, Aunt Mary,” you said gently. “I am treated well by Father and the others.” “Then explain the state of you, child. Your father merely mentioned you would be coming in haste, no word of a reason when it is Christmas time and the roads are in horrible condition with the snow and ice.” She shook her head, placing her hands on her hips. “Come on, tell me what has happened.”
You lowered your gaze to the empty plate before you. “I… fell in love. Or, perhaps love is not the right word for it. Perhaps, infatuation would be more suitable. Or, even, obsession…”
“But my dear, that is wonderful news. Who is the incredibly lucky fellow who’s captured—”
You looked up, the sting returning to your eyes. “He is far beyond my demure reach, a most respected and, in most senses of the word, untouchable gentleman of the highest standing.” I haven’t the faintest of chances, and I was aware of it from the start. It is hopeless…
Aunt Mary stared at you, her head tilted forward as if peering from under her brows, and her mouth thinned while puckering slightly — obviously displeased by your words. “My dear, you are a fine catch. Any fellow should be happy to garner such a rare thing as your affection. Is he not all there in the head?” she asked, softening and warming with some layer of pity.
“Oh, no, no, Aunt Mary. He is quite smart, quite calculating, I believe, and most certainly of high calibre in terms of academics. He holds quite a position, and is highly esteemed in society. Feared, even, to some degree... But I do not hold such feelings about him.”
“Oh, then by the heavens, what is holding you parted from him? He sounds quite astonishing.”
“Yes… and I am not.” Your words were whispered, heat crept along your neck and warmed the tips of your ears, just as whatever your aunt had on the stove bubbled over and she gushed while rushing over — effectively ending the conversation.
⩤•⫘•⩥
The house was cold, despite the roaring fire in the main living area and several candles scattered about the rooms that were in frequent use; you were bitterly cold. Perhaps, possibly, it was more something to be owed to your insides rather than the chilly temperature of the room in the cottage-like house. Still, you huddled up under a blanket with your large dress, adding further warmth to your legs.
A rapped knocking came from the door. Your aunt looked up from her embroidery. “Who could that be at this hour?” she asked none in particular as she rose and abandoned the needle. Your eyes remained fixed on the spools of thread, reminding you so rudely of why you were sitting in your aunt’s cosy house, with an ache in your chest no amount of rubbing could alleviate.
You had not burdened your aunt or uncle further with the matter, of course. You had helped dress the house in garlands, had stocked firewood despite your uncle’s protests of the heavy weight of carrying it from the outer barn, and you had cooked while smiling softly — as you most often did. Your aunt’s words of the country air doing you good still echoed in your head, where they clashed with the torrent of suffocated hurt and broken dreams — no matter how hopeless they had been from the start, they had been whole.
“(Y/n)! Look who’s here for a visit!” called Aunt Mary from the hallway, and you rose, folding the blanket swiftly before moving toward the door.
“Coming, Aunt Mary,” you called quietly while walking on, only to inhale sharply at the sight of Colonel Moore relinquishing his thick coat to the coat hanger. “Colonel!” you said with a gentle smile, now a bit wider and more genuine.
He clicked his heels with a warm grin and bowed with a hint of amusement. “My Lady, the one and only Miss (Y/n), I was unaware of your staying here. I’m pleasantly surprised, my dear.”
“Oh, sir, you’re too kind.” You laughed a bit under your breath, covering your mouth with your hand. “What brings you here at this hour?”
Aunt Mary urged Colonel Moore to step further into the cottage while you waited for him to answer.
“I was on business in Somerset,” he said. “I am to return to London for further delegation, but of course I must pay a visit on the way, I would not be a gentleman otherwise, don’t you agree, miss (Y/n)?” he said as you all moved toward the dining area.
You walked off toward the kitchen to start the kettle while answering. “Quite right, sir. What good fortune we did not miss each other’s paths, I only just arrived last night.”
“Oh, yes, why are you here, miss? Ought you not to be with your father for Christmas?”
Warmth crept up your throat, shame warmed your blood, as you had been weak and fled the place so detrimental to your heart. “I was in need of a reprieve from the dark city, sir. I shall remain here until summer returns, helping my dear aunt and uncle as best I can.”
“What a kind soul you are, miss. I have never been so at ease as I am in your company, Miss (Y/n).”
“Oh, Colonel, I’m worthy of no such high regard in your eyes. I am no more kind than any other.”
Colonel Moore leaned back in his chair, smiling warmly, with the dark but greying curls around his quite conventionally attractive face bouncing. “Such a sentiment is exactly why you are more kind than most. And soft, demure, you are quite the little mouse, miss. You shall make for a great wife to a lucky fellow one day, I dare say.”
Your heart stuttered, and your hand twisted the knitted oven mitt in your hand where you stood by the heating kettle atop the wood-burning stove. “Colonel,” you said quietly, averting your gaze and turning while pretending to tend to the kettle. “I do not believe I shall ever marry, I have no such wish.”
“Oh, come now, (Y/n),” your aunt piped up. “You have such wishes and desires, but they are merely placed where they cannot be granted, according to you. Oh, our little mouse is such a bashful little woman with no power to her, Colonel. Won’t you speak some sense of her more than perfectly lovely person, so she may gather the courage to speak of who this mystery man of astounding and respectable placing is, hm?” Aunt Mary said with a chipper tone and inquisitive eyes, from what you could tell as you glanced at her over your stiff shoulder.
“I know my place and worth in society, Aunt Mary…”
Colonel Moore slapped his thighs. “Then you must know that any man would be lucky to place a ring upon your finger and hold your quiet but deep affections,” he said with a too loud and happy voice that contrasted so greatly with the heavy pain within you.
You turned after a moment. “He is to be married, it is too late,” you said quietly, lifting the kettle off the stove. “Even if that were not the case, such a man would not spare me a glance. He has not all these years. It is merely my foolish heart needing to overcome…” You turned quiet and focused on pouring the hot water in the teacups, speaking of your feelings felt too private, and they were not meant for others to hear, when they were never meant to become something more than an errant dream without the slightest bit of hope attached.
TO BE CONTINUED
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
A/N: Oh my word… I CAN’T WAIT FOR THIS TO PLAY OUT! Honestly, I’m giddy with excitement over these two and how they are going to make this work - like, we’re in a world of chaos here between the misinformed rumours, the false beliefs, the misinterpeted information and now we have so many ppl involved AND HE’S ON HIS WAY THERE!? LIKE?! GAAAAAH.
Erh, well, as you can tell, I’m loving these two and, erm, I hope you are invested in this story as well? 👀
Prompt 6: As the Right Bell Sounds - GRANT, Esther(B2)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader & Third, Brandon
Setting: Delaford
Continuation of: (B1) A Christmas Wish
A/N: IIIIH, happy Saturday!!! We’re continuing Brandon’s story today, and it’s a bit of a whirlwind of a fic we got - honestly, I’m a bit everywhere in my head atm so it’s truly an up-and-down-and-all-around kind of vibe for today’s part of Brandon’s story but I kinda love the messiness of it. Feelings are messy, why shouldn’t the story be? 🙈👌
Tags/TW’s: Melancholy, Sorrow of the Heart, Wishful Thinking, Longing, Mutual Hidden Pining, Heights, Reckless Behaviour, Societal Differences, The Sensation Of Losing Something Before Even Having It, Identity Revelation, Previous Family Member’s Death Mentioned, Brandon Commandingly Caring
Word Count: 2.8k
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
⩤• BRANDON •⩥
“Master, what a dreary state I find you in.” Mrs Bart placed the tea upon the table as he turned in her direction. “You have not been yourself since your return, Master. Is there something amiss with your home, sir?”
Christopher moved away from the large window, taking a cup of tea in his hand but not seating himself. “No, Mrs Bart. You keep the house in excellent condition.” Yet I house this childish thought, wish, but a broken bell never—
“Permit me to speak, Master?”
He nodded after taking a sip of tea, quieting his thoughts.
“You appear melancholic?”
A beat of a breath passed. “No, Mrs Bart.” Looking out the window once more, feeling that sense of wrongfulness that had been lodged within his chest ever since you had close to retreated in a dash from him four days ago. “I fear I had my wish come true, and it appears to have caused further anguish rather than joy.”
The old woman sighed, shaking her head by the sound of it. She had been with the family for decades; even saw him grow up as a young lad. “It does not do to wish upon stars and whatnot,” she huffed. “Life must be lived by force, sir. You of all ought to know that,” she continued, and he arched a brow at the old woman for being perhaps slightly too forward in her wording. She only tutted at him, taking the tray of tea with her as she turned and left with a far too visible shake of her bonnet-adorned head.
Christopher returned to staring out the window, his expression sunken and his chest heavy. There was nothing wrong with his home. It was merely the fact that nothing quite felt like home like how speaking with you had done. The manner his chest warmed, how your sweet eyes and gentle but quite flustered manners had something within his chest turn restless with a yearning for your touch. It was not a new sensation; he had experienced similar warmth and want with another woman many years ago — he never thought there was ever a chance for a second love to enter his life, though.
⩤• YOU •⩥
The paper read Delaford Estate; Col. Brandon, and you had hoped it would have been a smaller estate with fewer floors and smaller windows that Mrs Middleton had lent you out for, but, as you arrived by carriage mid-day, you could see the enormity of the estate. The sun stood high, but the heavy clouds stole most of the brightness which otherwise would have made all the snow shimmer and sparkle sharply. “At least Mrs Middleton is keeping me on through the winter. Lending me to her friends is a kind gesture, too…” How it felt being lent hither and tither, well, you did your best not to think of it.
The carriage halted at the back of the building. You clambered out, sinking mid-calf into the snow. “Thanks, Hank,” you called lightly to the coachman, who smiled warmly at you. “See you in three days!” you called louder as he pulled away, heading further along the country for a fabric pick-up before he’d return for you on the way home.
“Take care!” He pulled around the corner, and you turned as well, heading toward one of the servant entrances with your dress and underskirt hiked up from the snow; a wet hem was not on your list of wants when entering the estate for the first time. First impressions matter.
⩤•⫘•⩥
Mrs Bart had shown you the ways around the servant side of the estate in less than an hour. She was an efficient woman, but you were also quite used to going from estate to estate, and learn the lay of them quickly to do your work as well as possible. Every opportunity was one to hold on to, no matter what work you were hired for, it could lead to a fixed contract if you did well enough — and, perhaps, had a bit of luck on your side as well.
“Now, Miss, you shall not disturb the master.” You nodded at Mrs Bart’s strict words. “I shall leave you to your work, then. We are all available, should you require help.”
“Oh, no, Mrs Bart, I am quite good at performing my work single-handedly without any interruptions to the ordinary staff’s routines. If I am in the way, please, do inform me and I shall adapt to your needs swiftly.”
Mrs Bart raised her brows, seeming satisfied with your words as she tightly and shortly smiled. “That is all well and good, miss. I shall see to my duties now.”
Mrs Bart left you in the staffing area, the room with ladders and brooms adjacent to the barn, to be exact. You wasted no time. You had less than three days to complete the work Mrs Middleton had lent you to Colonel Brandon to do, and you had been thoroughly informed of the man’s current grave manner as well as his enjoyment of solitude — but, Mrs Jennings, who had been visiting the Middletone family for the past week, had also informed you that he was a gentle fellow at heart who treated staff well (which had eased your mind, travelling to an unknown estate).
You drew a steadying breath. Climbing on ladders was not something you enjoyed, but at least there was no wind or snow in the air to make your work harder that day. You put a rough brush in your apron’s large pocket before you moved the large wooden ladder to the door. You pushed it open with your foot and managed to manoeuvre yourself outside with the ladder without hitting anything.
Trudging across the inner walkway from the stable area of the beautiful estate, you couldn't help but once more think of the stranger who had saved you all those days ago. There had been many visitors the first week of December at Barton Park; there was nothing unusual about that, but you could not remember all the names and faces you had seen glimpses of. I would have remembered seeing him more than that time… My heart starts racing as if set into a gallop each time the mere thought of him appears… Now was no exception.
The ladder’s ends sank into the snow, and you jumped on the lowest step of it a few times to make sure it was secure. The lack of wind was truly a blessing, and it helped against the December chill as well when the air was still and gentle. “Up we go, then.” You began to climb without another word on the matter.
You were quite strong, both in legs and arms, from the physical labour you did day in and day out, but climbing ladders was still hard work — partly because your muscles stiffened from the height after you had fallen off and nearly died had it not been for the saviour with warm eyes and the most handsome face you’d ever laid eyes upon. That voice… To hear poetry in it would be… wonderful. Such whimsical dreams and wishes you house, Y/n. Come off it, focus on the climb and not that glorious man reading in that wonderful voice.
“What in the world—”
You could have sworn you heard it carry through the chilly air that very moment. I’m not in the spirit of folly or hope. But the crunch of snow from running steps had you looking down a mere second before you felt the entire ladder jerk beneath you, dragging a gasp from your tightened throat, and your grip hardened to stay balanced.
“Get down, at once!” came that special voice, so heavy and satiated with depth it made you shiver.
“Wait-, what?” Glancing down, you were quite sure you’d lost your senses, because, right down there in the glistening snow, he stood. The man who had saved your life and simultaneously made your heart into a broken bell you’d feared would never toll, for it would only chime for him.
“Miss!” he called harshly, not looking up (and you were grateful for his decency as he would have been privy to a view up your heavy skirts). “Come down, now,” he continued, and the ladder’s wood creaked as your hands tightened further from the sudden cording of your core and warming of your insides at seeing the mysterious saviour once more. Is he visiting the Colonel as well? You began climbing down despite suddenly feeling quite unsteady with wobbly knees and a racing pulse echoing in your ears.
The man stepped to the side as you reached the section he held. He kept one hand on the ladder as you slowly climbed down the final five steps before landing in the snow with a crunch as your chest pounded and your cheeks heated.
“Miss, what on earth are you—” he began as you turned toward him and he blinked “—it’s you…” his voice sounded nearly choked at the end, a deep drone of a rumble that hardly made it to your ear as it deepened so roughly, as if exhaled rather than spoken.
“S-sir,” you whispered and, as the right bell sounds perfect in the right company, so did your heart sing when he watched you with such warm eyes at odds with the grave expression his face seemed to wear without effort.
Silence landed while your skin appeared to turn restless for his touch, something that you still did not know beyond being caught mid-fall, had your skin tingling with a want you had no right to feel. I am of poverty and servitude; this man is far beyond a working woman’s reach. Your face fell, and your back stiffened. To stand in silence in such a manner with the man, it would not do.
You drew a tight breath, attempting to unclog your throat. “Are you visiting Colonel Brandon, sir?” Your words were spoken quietly.
“Why are you on a ladder? You nearly died of a fall the first time—”
“I spend most of my life climbing ladders, leaning out of windows, scampering across roofs and near edges. My father was a chimney sweeper,” you interrupted, hating the honest words spilling out of your mouth — a mouth you usually kept so tightly closed about your private affairs yet he softened and opened you up so incredibly with his presence. Your practised voice of servitude and the accompanying stiff countenance simply flew away.
The grand man stood tall, his back incredibly straight and his posture rigid yet not dismissive. You could not help but admire him — this man was different from others, you were certain of it.
“A woman should not climb roofs, Miss.” His voice was gentle, even if the words were unyielding in their statement. “You ought to keep those feet firmly on solid ground, where you will come to no harm.”
You tilted your head slightly. “Sir, we have different views of safety, I believe, due to our differences in life.” Your cheeks burned as his eyes peered down at you. “I-, I-, I merely mean, you are a man, an affluent man, of high society, and life is different, yes, different for you, sir. I mean no disrespect to your worldly view or knowledge, sir,” you blabbered rapidly while lowering your gaze to the polished boots he wore as your stomach tightened with a warmth so bubbly yet tight it felt equal parts exciting and terrifying.
Silence stretched for a moment. Then his stance softened as his foot twisted ever so slightly in the crunching snow. “You speak as if you yourself have worldly knowledge, Miss.”
Your eyes widened. “Oh, sir, no, forgive me for giving a false impression. I’m a mere sweeper’s daughter. My worldly knowledge is beyond lacking, much like my station in society, sir.” No bell of the ball, but I can still sit in the tower and watch the world below and pretend it is alright… A small pain in your heart reminded you of the childish wish to melt in this grand man’s hands at night, a wish you had held every night since he saved your life by taking hold of your falling body and capturing your heart at the same time.
“Master,” came Mrs Bart’s rapped voice, and you tensed, wondering if the colonel had arrived home despite you not hearing any sleigh or horse approach during the low conversation with your saviour.
“Yes, Mrs Bart?”
Your head jerked up, the man before you still holding you in his gaze as your eyes widened. “You— You’re Colonel Brandon?” you asked, exhaling the words with another twisting of your heart.
“Is the servant causing you trouble, Master?” Mrs Bart asked from the stairs a few steps away, while you continued to stare — you had known the man was of wealth, but the Colonel Brandon? The gap between you both grew from staggering to impossible as your heart became that broken bell that would never toll in the end.
“E-Excuse me, Colonel Brandon,” you whispered, stuttering and bowing at the same time in a rush.
“Miss, why are you— Miss!” he exclaimed as you turned and simultaneously climbed the ladder in such a rush it was beyond dangerous — not to mention rude and disobedient.
“Miss! Return down at once!”
But you could not. “I apologise, sir, I must clear the overhang, it is a danger to you and the staff, Colonel,” you said through the clog in your throat as you passed the halfway mark of the ladder.
It jerked, and he shouted. “Get down at once!” You could feel the vibration of his grip on the ladder, but you couldn’t follow his command.
Your heart stuttered as the childish Christmas wish turned into another agony in your life, just as you gripped the gutter and began to climb from the ladder to the roof, through snow so deep it was nearly impossible to get up safely.
“Christ,” he said four floors down. “Miss! Stay there!” he called out with a palpable worry within that deep voice as you looked over your shoulder the second you were on the roof fully, sitting in snow so deep you did not even sink to the tiles.
“No! Don’t!” you shouted, reaching for the ladder’s tips as the colonel began climbing toward you. “Stay down there, sir! I’m alright! I do this all winter, sir!”
He kept climbing. “If I so must fetch you by force, you will come down on safe ground,” he said under his breath, stepping far too quickly up the ladder. “I will not have you come to harm before my restless heart finds answers,” he kept on, nearly whispering, while you held on to the ladder’s tips as it shook with his rapid ascent.
“Sir, please, return to the ground! This is dangerous for you!” Your heart hammered, bile rose in your throat as his boots seemed to glide atop the frosty wood. “Go down, you fool!” you cried out, pushing down snow as you scrambled to grip the ladder better while a whole slew of servants spilt out of the estate and toward the ladder, where Mrs Bart appeared white as a ghost all the way down. The height turned your stomach as Colonel Brandon finally stopped when a good dusting of snow hit him; it shimmied its way between his neck and coat despite the hat.
Your breath fogged out of you. “Please, go down, sir. This is dangerous, you can fall,” you said, staring at the snowy brim of his hat.
“As can you,” he replied, looking up and stealing your breath with the warming want you imagined seeing in his eyes — surely, it could not be real?
“I am accustomed to this; it’s my life. Your life is on the ground, or on ships, in trenches and galloping over fields. I know roofs and servant quarters, Colonel.”
“You fell. You would be dead had I not stood right there.” There was only fear in his voice — no anger.
“Y-yes, but that was an accident.” I made a small mistake…
“Come down.”
“Sir, I have a job to do—” This is ridiculous, we cannot have this conversation here, now “—please, do not rob me of my livelihood. I will starve, sir.”
He blinked. As if his world tilted and fell off its axis for a moment, his foggy breath seemed to stutter out of him.
“Your livelihood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is a death sentence.”
“Yes, sir…” His eyes widened at your words, and your heart hurt so fiercely at the admission as the memory of your father falling helplessly to his death off a Lord’s estate not unlike Colonel Brandon’s had tears blurring your vision.
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: Oh my gosh, we really are leaving at a crucial moment?! I have zero idea of what prompt will be the continuation of this so I’m as much hanging off my seat as you are - we’re six days into Rickmas2025 and I hope you’re enjoying the madness of this year’s writing 😂👏
I really did hope I'd be able to write a bit more when I released the prompt list, but it is what it is, and now I get to experience this journey simultaneously as you 😂
Prompt 5: Wizards in Winter (Instrumental) - Trans-Siberian Orchestra (H1)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Hans Gruber x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader
A/N: Alright, this thing is a literal “I just want to have fun writing this, don’t think too hard, just go with it” fic - alright? 'Right 😘👌
Tags/TW’s: Bank Robbery, Nicknames, Mutual Instant Infatuation, Falling For The Villain, Charming Hans, Minor Violence (kinda justified/satisfying 👀)
Word Count: 1.7k
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You were on sour and whiny customer number sixteen for the day. The bank always saw a rush at holiday times, but you hadn’t been prepared for the absolute gall of the people coming in. You’d had two normal customers, and the rest had been all rude, shouty, and bloody annoying beyond belief. As if you weren’t a human they should treat with some form of damn decency.
You’d had it up to your throat with the miserable people having more money in their accounts than you’d ever hope to scrounge up in a damn lifetime of hard work. The richer, the nastier. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with people who have so much money they could bathe in it if they wanted to switch water to cash in the tub…
You sighed, grappling with the last of your patience and sanity while being on an empty stomach. “Yes, I understand, Mrs Crow, but it will take until Monday for the bank transfer to go through.” Your words did little to deter the old woman from sneering and laying into you once more, not that she could physically reach you unless she climbed the counter and managed to break the glass.
“My Johnny needs his Christmas money!” she barked, banging her cane down atop the tiled floor. “You will send the money to him right away!”
You discreetly rolled back your stiffening shoulders with a deep breath through your nose. “Yes, I will do that, Mrs Crow—” so help me, I will cram it down your wrinkly throat and ship you along with it “—and every bit of it will arrive by transfer on Monday, the weekend makes—”
She pointed a gnarly, blemished finger at you. “I will call my Johnny and make sure. You people, never doing what you should and never thinking about the customers’ best interests!” she barked so loud you were sure the people passing beyond the glass doors and windows displaying teh world outdoors could hear every word.
You were reaching your limit of people-handling, of life-handling, of bloody sanity and restraint. While Mrs Crow barked and hissed about how poor your service was, how bad a banker you were (not that you actually were a banker, you were just a temporary clerk handling transfers day in and day out) and as she kept berating you on account of work as well as personal matters — like the very cute sweater you wore apparently being highly inappropriate banker attire — your jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.
A leather-clad hand landed harshly on the old lady’s shoulder, and you looked up while she jolted and did the same with her fur-lined hat becoming askew at the steep angle. A breath lodged in your throat at the handsome, bearded, well-dressed man standing there. From his red tie and black winter coat to the gold and grey hair atop his head, he was mesmerising. It took a second too long to see the pistol pressed against Mrs Crow’s temple when the man smiled so arrestingly, and your brain fumbled in pure appreciation of the pure handsomeness.
Wait-, pistol?! Your heart kicked into overdrive while the world seemed to be tuned out as you — as stealthily as you could — reached toward the little panic button under your desk without taking your eyes off the pistol.
“Ah-ah,” said the man, clicking his tongue in a manner that sent a trail of goosebumps down your tingling spine. “You wouldn’t want this to become a mess, would you, Süße?” His voice was accented to perfection, and so deep.
Swallowing, you shook your head slowly.
“Braves Mädchen,” he said darkly, with that arresting smile flashing white teeth framed by that lush-looking beard, and you couldn’t say why, but that made something tingle far too deep within you. “Now, we will be quiet and calm as mice, and you, Süße, will charitably empty Mrs Crow’s bank account for me.”
The old lady spluttered, but you saw the large hand squeeze her shoulder, perhaps those leather-clad fingers would break her frail old bones like gingerbread cookies between teeth. The man leaned a bit down, closer to the old woman’s ear, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “It is the least you can do, Mrs Crow, after how you’ve treated this pretty woman. No?” he asked, looking down at the woman for a second, but it wasn’t truly a question, and you were certain you were having a stroke of some sort as it warmed you when he glanced your way with a captivating charm to his grey eyes.
The pistol pushed a bit harder against the paling woman as he straightened again.
“D-don’t harm her,” you said, even if you honestly weren’t sure you actually cared. “I’ll sort the money for you, it’ll just take a moment, sir,” you continued while the bank kept going about business as usual beyond your little counter at the furthest right of the vast space that suddenly felt even bigger when adrenaline had you focusing so fiercely on the closest area.
The man nodded after a second that felt far too long. “Take your time—” he chuckled “—it’s not as if I am in a haste.”
You blinked, caught by the strange expression. “A hurry?” Who cares? He’s pointing a pistol at the woman and is robbing us, for goodness’ sake.
“Yes, correct, Süße.” He leaned a bit over Mrs Crow, eyes holding yours so utterly steadily despite the tense situation. “You are quite the sweet thing,” he nearly cooed in your favour — who knew being complimented by the most handsome man you’d ever seen up close, while jacked-up on adrenaline, could have you feel warmer than the sun in a second flat. But Mrs Crow huffed, going against the man’s words with just a breath, and his smirked smile faltered, his eyes hardened as he stiffened. You felt your own face fall before your features hardened in turn.
Tearing your eyes from the robber, you glared at the old woman. “You fucking bitch,” you snarled, feeling all the pent-up rage of the holiday rush, of the past year, of the endless array of bullshit you’d had to endure from life, but even more so from other people. “You know what, Mr Robber? Have it all. I don’t bloody care. I’ve had to deal with mean, rude, horrible people rich beyond necessary for a year now. I’m dehumanised every damn day, and I don’t even earn enough to sustain myself while working full-time, and I’ve fucking had it. Where the bloody hell do you want the money transferred to?” you seethed, glaring at the old woman — now with her mouth plopped wide open — before you looked up at the handsome man twisting you up in the midst of the adrenaline.
He smiled, or it was more of a smirk, but still somehow a smile. “Süße, you are a curiosity.”
You waved your fingers about dismissively before reaching toward the keyboard. “Where to?”
He rattled off a number with a Swiss code to it.
“Alright, give me a minute, Mr Robber.”
He chuckled, tilting his head again and making your insides quiver. “Certainly, Süße.”
“Now wait a minute here—” The man’s hand squeezed the old woman’s shoulder instantly “—ow!” “Be quiet,” he snarled, pressing the gun harder against her, and Mrs Crow shook in the uncomfortable wooden chair, seeming to get the severity of the situation.
You glanced at her. “Don’t worry, Mrs Crow, Johnny has his Christmas money already.” You smiled sweetly, but a rage burned inside you simultaneously. “That was so important you had to be horrible about it.”
“Karma, you call it, no?” asked the robber as your hands began to shake with reality slowly catching up with every press of a key — you nodded, though.
You tapped into Mr McCormag’s account as well, sending more than half of the wicked, rich old sod’s money to the Swiss account. The man had been in just before lunch and had been so demanding that he’d made you miss it while damn near making you cry over a mistake he’d made with his stocks and international transfers. “That’ll teach you,” you muttered under your breath.
“Süße?” asked Mr Too Gorgeous Robber.
“Congratulations, Mr Robber. You are sixteen million pounds richer.” You smiled widely and looked up.
The man smirked with a sparkle in his eyes, tilting his head while leaning harder against Mrs Crow as she blubbered a loud breath. “Well, aren’t you a wonder, Süße. A true little magician.”
You huffed a strange laugh, strangled with adrenaline, nervous fear, and a sudden realisation of what you had just bloody done for the incredibly gorgeous man putting a damn spell on you.
“Perhaps the wizards in winter snow of secrecy will wave their wands and spell me out of this mess, too.”
“Would you like that, Süße?” he asked, a drawl and purr all in one that had your knees trembling despite being seated. “For someone to snatch you away like a thief in the night?”
Time seemed to stand still for a moment. Your breathing had ramped up, your heart raced, and the buzz of the bank was encroaching on the adrenaline-forced silence of utter focus. Had you not always dreamt of some handsome man whisking you away? Who doesn’t want to be whisked away?
“Süße?” The word was roughly sweet and tickled your ears in his deep voice.
“Yes,” you whispered, laying your curled-up hands in your lap as they trembled.
“Well then, shall we?”
You blinked. Looking up at him just a second before his wicked smirk turned to a stiff line across his face, and he whipped Mrs Crow at the temple with the pistol. She slumped in the chair, you jerked back, and he straightened. I— Oh, bloody hell, what am I doing?!
“Süße—” you looked up from the slumped woman “—calmly walk outside.”
“C-calmly. Yes. Yes. I can do that.” Right? I can stand. I can stand and walk outside without passing out. But your hand scrunched the sweater against your chest, pressing numbly where your heart was going bonkers.
“I will come to you at the staff entrance.” You nodded at his steady voice and eyes. “So calmly stand and simply walk out.”
“I can do that.”
“Yes, you can, my Braves Mädchen.” The way he spoke, and the way his eyes seemed to devour you simultaneously, had you tingling all over again, but it felt strange when you also trembled and the floor seemed to sway under your feet — as if standing in a flying sleigh.
I just robbed a bank, didn’t I?
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: Well, that took a turn - but who wouldn’t wanna rob a bank with Hans as he steals you away like a sweet little bonus? 😉
"next time, log in faster with fingerprint/face/iris recognition!" how about i keep typing my password like i have for the past 25 years and you fuck off
Prompt 6: As the Right Bell Sounds - GRANT, Esther(B2)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader & Third, Brandon
Setting: Delaford
Continuation of: (B1) A Christmas Wish
A/N: IIIIH, happy Saturday!!! We’re continuing Brandon’s story today, and it’s a bit of a whirlwind of a fic we got - honestly, I’m a bit everywhere in my head atm so it’s truly an up-and-down-and-all-around kind of vibe for today’s part of Brandon’s story but I kinda love the messiness of it. Feelings are messy, why shouldn’t the story be? 🙈👌
Tags/TW’s: Melancholy, Sorrow of the Heart, Wishful Thinking, Longing, Mutual Hidden Pining, Heights, Reckless Behaviour, Societal Differences, The Sensation Of Losing Something Before Even Having It, Identity Revelation, Previous Family Member’s Death Mentioned, Brandon Commandingly Caring
Word Count: 2.8k
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⩤• BRANDON •⩥
“Master, what a dreary state I find you in.” Mrs Bart placed the tea upon the table as he turned in her direction. “You have not been yourself since your return, Master. Is there something amiss with your home, sir?”
Christopher moved away from the large window, taking a cup of tea in his hand but not seating himself. “No, Mrs Bart. You keep the house in excellent condition.” Yet I house this childish thought, wish, but a broken bell never—
“Permit me to speak, Master?”
He nodded after taking a sip of tea, quieting his thoughts.
“You appear melancholic?”
A beat of a breath passed. “No, Mrs Bart.” Looking out the window once more, feeling that sense of wrongfulness that had been lodged within his chest ever since you had close to retreated in a dash from him four days ago. “I fear I had my wish come true, and it appears to have caused further anguish rather than joy.”
The old woman sighed, shaking her head by the sound of it. She had been with the family for decades; even saw him grow up as a young lad. “It does not do to wish upon stars and whatnot,” she huffed. “Life must be lived by force, sir. You of all ought to know that,” she continued, and he arched a brow at the old woman for being perhaps slightly too forward in her wording. She only tutted at him, taking the tray of tea with her as she turned and left with a far too visible shake of her bonnet-adorned head.
Christopher returned to staring out the window, his expression sunken and his chest heavy. There was nothing wrong with his home. It was merely the fact that nothing quite felt like home like how speaking with you had done. The manner his chest warmed, how your sweet eyes and gentle but quite flustered manners had something within his chest turn restless with a yearning for your touch. It was not a new sensation; he had experienced similar warmth and want with another woman many years ago — he never thought there was ever a chance for a second love to enter his life, though.
⩤• YOU •⩥
The paper read Delaford Estate; Col. Brandon, and you had hoped it would have been a smaller estate with fewer floors and smaller windows that Mrs Middleton had lent you out for, but, as you arrived by carriage mid-day, you could see the enormity of the estate. The sun stood high, but the heavy clouds stole most of the brightness which otherwise would have made all the snow shimmer and sparkle sharply. “At least Mrs Middleton is keeping me on through the winter. Lending me to her friends is a kind gesture, too…” How it felt being lent hither and tither, well, you did your best not to think of it.
The carriage halted at the back of the building. You clambered out, sinking mid-calf into the snow. “Thanks, Hank,” you called lightly to the coachman, who smiled warmly at you. “See you in three days!” you called louder as he pulled away, heading further along the country for a fabric pick-up before he’d return for you on the way home.
“Take care!” He pulled around the corner, and you turned as well, heading toward one of the servant entrances with your dress and underskirt hiked up from the snow; a wet hem was not on your list of wants when entering the estate for the first time. First impressions matter.
⩤•⫘•⩥
Mrs Bart had shown you the ways around the servant side of the estate in less than an hour. She was an efficient woman, but you were also quite used to going from estate to estate, and learn the lay of them quickly to do your work as well as possible. Every opportunity was one to hold on to, no matter what work you were hired for, it could lead to a fixed contract if you did well enough — and, perhaps, had a bit of luck on your side as well.
“Now, Miss, you shall not disturb the master.” You nodded at Mrs Bart’s strict words. “I shall leave you to your work, then. We are all available, should you require help.”
“Oh, no, Mrs Bart, I am quite good at performing my work single-handedly without any interruptions to the ordinary staff’s routines. If I am in the way, please, do inform me and I shall adapt to your needs swiftly.”
Mrs Bart raised her brows, seeming satisfied with your words as she tightly and shortly smiled. “That is all well and good, miss. I shall see to my duties now.”
Mrs Bart left you in the staffing area, the room with ladders and brooms adjacent to the barn, to be exact. You wasted no time. You had less than three days to complete the work Mrs Middleton had lent you to Colonel Brandon to do, and you had been thoroughly informed of the man’s current grave manner as well as his enjoyment of solitude — but, Mrs Jennings, who had been visiting the Middletone family for the past week, had also informed you that he was a gentle fellow at heart who treated staff well (which had eased your mind, travelling to an unknown estate).
You drew a steadying breath. Climbing on ladders was not something you enjoyed, but at least there was no wind or snow in the air to make your work harder that day. You put a rough brush in your apron’s large pocket before you moved the large wooden ladder to the door. You pushed it open with your foot and managed to manoeuvre yourself outside with the ladder without hitting anything.
Trudging across the inner walkway from the stable area of the beautiful estate, you couldn't help but once more think of the stranger who had saved you all those days ago. There had been many visitors the first week of December at Barton Park; there was nothing unusual about that, but you could not remember all the names and faces you had seen glimpses of. I would have remembered seeing him more than that time… My heart starts racing as if set into a gallop each time the mere thought of him appears… Now was no exception.
The ladder’s ends sank into the snow, and you jumped on the lowest step of it a few times to make sure it was secure. The lack of wind was truly a blessing, and it helped against the December chill as well when the air was still and gentle. “Up we go, then.” You began to climb without another word on the matter.
You were quite strong, both in legs and arms, from the physical labour you did day in and day out, but climbing ladders was still hard work — partly because your muscles stiffened from the height after you had fallen off and nearly died had it not been for the saviour with warm eyes and the most handsome face you’d ever laid eyes upon. That voice… To hear poetry in it would be… wonderful. Such whimsical dreams and wishes you house, Y/n. Come off it, focus on the climb and not that glorious man reading in that wonderful voice.
“What in the world—”
You could have sworn you heard it carry through the chilly air that very moment. I’m not in the spirit of folly or hope. But the crunch of snow from running steps had you looking down a mere second before you felt the entire ladder jerk beneath you, dragging a gasp from your tightened throat, and your grip hardened to stay balanced.
“Get down, at once!” came that special voice, so heavy and satiated with depth it made you shiver.
“Wait-, what?” Glancing down, you were quite sure you’d lost your senses, because, right down there in the glistening snow, he stood. The man who had saved your life and simultaneously made your heart into a broken bell you’d feared would never toll, for it would only chime for him.
“Miss!” he called harshly, not looking up (and you were grateful for his decency as he would have been privy to a view up your heavy skirts). “Come down, now,” he continued, and the ladder’s wood creaked as your hands tightened further from the sudden cording of your core and warming of your insides at seeing the mysterious saviour once more. Is he visiting the Colonel as well? You began climbing down despite suddenly feeling quite unsteady with wobbly knees and a racing pulse echoing in your ears.
The man stepped to the side as you reached the section he held. He kept one hand on the ladder as you slowly climbed down the final five steps before landing in the snow with a crunch as your chest pounded and your cheeks heated.
“Miss, what on earth are you—” he began as you turned toward him and he blinked “—it’s you…” his voice sounded nearly choked at the end, a deep drone of a rumble that hardly made it to your ear as it deepened so roughly, as if exhaled rather than spoken.
“S-sir,” you whispered and, as the right bell sounds perfect in the right company, so did your heart sing when he watched you with such warm eyes at odds with the grave expression his face seemed to wear without effort.
Silence landed while your skin appeared to turn restless for his touch, something that you still did not know beyond being caught mid-fall, had your skin tingling with a want you had no right to feel. I am of poverty and servitude; this man is far beyond a working woman’s reach. Your face fell, and your back stiffened. To stand in silence in such a manner with the man, it would not do.
You drew a tight breath, attempting to unclog your throat. “Are you visiting Colonel Brandon, sir?” Your words were spoken quietly.
“Why are you on a ladder? You nearly died of a fall the first time—”
“I spend most of my life climbing ladders, leaning out of windows, scampering across roofs and near edges. My father was a chimney sweeper,” you interrupted, hating the honest words spilling out of your mouth — a mouth you usually kept so tightly closed about your private affairs yet he softened and opened you up so incredibly with his presence. Your practised voice of servitude and the accompanying stiff countenance simply flew away.
The grand man stood tall, his back incredibly straight and his posture rigid yet not dismissive. You could not help but admire him — this man was different from others, you were certain of it.
“A woman should not climb roofs, Miss.” His voice was gentle, even if the words were unyielding in their statement. “You ought to keep those feet firmly on solid ground, where you will come to no harm.”
You tilted your head slightly. “Sir, we have different views of safety, I believe, due to our differences in life.” Your cheeks burned as his eyes peered down at you. “I-, I-, I merely mean, you are a man, an affluent man, of high society, and life is different, yes, different for you, sir. I mean no disrespect to your worldly view or knowledge, sir,” you blabbered rapidly while lowering your gaze to the polished boots he wore as your stomach tightened with a warmth so bubbly yet tight it felt equal parts exciting and terrifying.
Silence stretched for a moment. Then his stance softened as his foot twisted ever so slightly in the crunching snow. “You speak as if you yourself have worldly knowledge, Miss.”
Your eyes widened. “Oh, sir, no, forgive me for giving a false impression. I’m a mere sweeper’s daughter. My worldly knowledge is beyond lacking, much like my station in society, sir.” No bell of the ball, but I can still sit in the tower and watch the world below and pretend it is alright… A small pain in your heart reminded you of the childish wish to melt in this grand man’s hands at night, a wish you had held every night since he saved your life by taking hold of your falling body and capturing your heart at the same time.
“Master,” came Mrs Bart’s rapped voice, and you tensed, wondering if the colonel had arrived home despite you not hearing any sleigh or horse approach during the low conversation with your saviour.
“Yes, Mrs Bart?”
Your head jerked up, the man before you still holding you in his gaze as your eyes widened. “You— You’re Colonel Brandon?” you asked, exhaling the words with another twisting of your heart.
“Is the servant causing you trouble, Master?” Mrs Bart asked from the stairs a few steps away, while you continued to stare — you had known the man was of wealth, but the Colonel Brandon? The gap between you both grew from staggering to impossible as your heart became that broken bell that would never toll in the end.
“E-Excuse me, Colonel Brandon,” you whispered, stuttering and bowing at the same time in a rush.
“Miss, why are you— Miss!” he exclaimed as you turned and simultaneously climbed the ladder in such a rush it was beyond dangerous — not to mention rude and disobedient.
“Miss! Return down at once!”
But you could not. “I apologise, sir, I must clear the overhang, it is a danger to you and the staff, Colonel,” you said through the clog in your throat as you passed the halfway mark of the ladder.
It jerked, and he shouted. “Get down at once!” You could feel the vibration of his grip on the ladder, but you couldn’t follow his command.
Your heart stuttered as the childish Christmas wish turned into another agony in your life, just as you gripped the gutter and began to climb from the ladder to the roof, through snow so deep it was nearly impossible to get up safely.
“Christ,” he said four floors down. “Miss! Stay there!” he called out with a palpable worry within that deep voice as you looked over your shoulder the second you were on the roof fully, sitting in snow so deep you did not even sink to the tiles.
“No! Don’t!” you shouted, reaching for the ladder’s tips as the colonel began climbing toward you. “Stay down there, sir! I’m alright! I do this all winter, sir!”
He kept climbing. “If I so must fetch you by force, you will come down on safe ground,” he said under his breath, stepping far too quickly up the ladder. “I will not have you come to harm before my restless heart finds answers,” he kept on, nearly whispering, while you held on to the ladder’s tips as it shook with his rapid ascent.
“Sir, please, return to the ground! This is dangerous for you!” Your heart hammered, bile rose in your throat as his boots seemed to glide atop the frosty wood. “Go down, you fool!” you cried out, pushing down snow as you scrambled to grip the ladder better while a whole slew of servants spilt out of the estate and toward the ladder, where Mrs Bart appeared white as a ghost all the way down. The height turned your stomach as Colonel Brandon finally stopped when a good dusting of snow hit him; it shimmied its way between his neck and coat despite the hat.
Your breath fogged out of you. “Please, go down, sir. This is dangerous, you can fall,” you said, staring at the snowy brim of his hat.
“As can you,” he replied, looking up and stealing your breath with the warming want you imagined seeing in his eyes — surely, it could not be real?
“I am accustomed to this; it’s my life. Your life is on the ground, or on ships, in trenches and galloping over fields. I know roofs and servant quarters, Colonel.”
“You fell. You would be dead had I not stood right there.” There was only fear in his voice — no anger.
“Y-yes, but that was an accident.” I made a small mistake…
“Come down.”
“Sir, I have a job to do—” This is ridiculous, we cannot have this conversation here, now “—please, do not rob me of my livelihood. I will starve, sir.”
He blinked. As if his world tilted and fell off its axis for a moment, his foggy breath seemed to stutter out of him.
“Your livelihood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is a death sentence.”
“Yes, sir…” His eyes widened at your words, and your heart hurt so fiercely at the admission as the memory of your father falling helplessly to his death off a Lord’s estate not unlike Colonel Brandon’s had tears blurring your vision.
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: Oh my gosh, we really are leaving at a crucial moment?! I have zero idea of what prompt will be the continuation of this so I’m as much hanging off my seat as you are - we’re six days into Rickmas2025 and I hope you’re enjoying the madness of this year’s writing 😂👏
I really did hope I'd be able to write a bit more when I released the prompt list, but it is what it is, and now I get to experience this journey simultaneously as you 😂
Prompt 5: Wizards in Winter (Instrumental) - Trans-Siberian Orchestra (H1)
Song link: Spotify & YouTube
Pairing: Hans Gruber x Fem!Reader
POV: Second, Reader
A/N: Alright, this thing is a literal “I just want to have fun writing this, don’t think too hard, just go with it” fic - alright? 'Right 😘👌
Tags/TW’s: Bank Robbery, Nicknames, Mutual Instant Infatuation, Falling For The Villain, Charming Hans, Minor Violence (kinda justified/satisfying 👀)
Word Count: 1.7k
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
You were on sour and whiny customer number sixteen for the day. The bank always saw a rush at holiday times, but you hadn’t been prepared for the absolute gall of the people coming in. You’d had two normal customers, and the rest had been all rude, shouty, and bloody annoying beyond belief. As if you weren’t a human they should treat with some form of damn decency.
You’d had it up to your throat with the miserable people having more money in their accounts than you’d ever hope to scrounge up in a damn lifetime of hard work. The richer, the nastier. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with people who have so much money they could bathe in it if they wanted to switch water to cash in the tub…
You sighed, grappling with the last of your patience and sanity while being on an empty stomach. “Yes, I understand, Mrs Crow, but it will take until Monday for the bank transfer to go through.” Your words did little to deter the old woman from sneering and laying into you once more, not that she could physically reach you unless she climbed the counter and managed to break the glass.
“My Johnny needs his Christmas money!” she barked, banging her cane down atop the tiled floor. “You will send the money to him right away!”
You discreetly rolled back your stiffening shoulders with a deep breath through your nose. “Yes, I will do that, Mrs Crow—” so help me, I will cram it down your wrinkly throat and ship you along with it “—and every bit of it will arrive by transfer on Monday, the weekend makes—”
She pointed a gnarly, blemished finger at you. “I will call my Johnny and make sure. You people, never doing what you should and never thinking about the customers’ best interests!” she barked so loud you were sure the people passing beyond the glass doors and windows displaying teh world outdoors could hear every word.
You were reaching your limit of people-handling, of life-handling, of bloody sanity and restraint. While Mrs Crow barked and hissed about how poor your service was, how bad a banker you were (not that you actually were a banker, you were just a temporary clerk handling transfers day in and day out) and as she kept berating you on account of work as well as personal matters — like the very cute sweater you wore apparently being highly inappropriate banker attire — your jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.
A leather-clad hand landed harshly on the old lady’s shoulder, and you looked up while she jolted and did the same with her fur-lined hat becoming askew at the steep angle. A breath lodged in your throat at the handsome, bearded, well-dressed man standing there. From his red tie and black winter coat to the gold and grey hair atop his head, he was mesmerising. It took a second too long to see the pistol pressed against Mrs Crow’s temple when the man smiled so arrestingly, and your brain fumbled in pure appreciation of the pure handsomeness.
Wait-, pistol?! Your heart kicked into overdrive while the world seemed to be tuned out as you — as stealthily as you could — reached toward the little panic button under your desk without taking your eyes off the pistol.
“Ah-ah,” said the man, clicking his tongue in a manner that sent a trail of goosebumps down your tingling spine. “You wouldn’t want this to become a mess, would you, Süße?” His voice was accented to perfection, and so deep.
Swallowing, you shook your head slowly.
“Braves Mädchen,” he said darkly, with that arresting smile flashing white teeth framed by that lush-looking beard, and you couldn’t say why, but that made something tingle far too deep within you. “Now, we will be quiet and calm as mice, and you, Süße, will charitably empty Mrs Crow’s bank account for me.”
The old lady spluttered, but you saw the large hand squeeze her shoulder, perhaps those leather-clad fingers would break her frail old bones like gingerbread cookies between teeth. The man leaned a bit down, closer to the old woman’s ear, but his eyes didn’t leave yours. “It is the least you can do, Mrs Crow, after how you’ve treated this pretty woman. No?” he asked, looking down at the woman for a second, but it wasn’t truly a question, and you were certain you were having a stroke of some sort as it warmed you when he glanced your way with a captivating charm to his grey eyes.
The pistol pushed a bit harder against the paling woman as he straightened again.
“D-don’t harm her,” you said, even if you honestly weren’t sure you actually cared. “I’ll sort the money for you, it’ll just take a moment, sir,” you continued while the bank kept going about business as usual beyond your little counter at the furthest right of the vast space that suddenly felt even bigger when adrenaline had you focusing so fiercely on the closest area.
The man nodded after a second that felt far too long. “Take your time—” he chuckled “—it’s not as if I am in a haste.”
You blinked, caught by the strange expression. “A hurry?” Who cares? He’s pointing a pistol at the woman and is robbing us, for goodness’ sake.
“Yes, correct, Süße.” He leaned a bit over Mrs Crow, eyes holding yours so utterly steadily despite the tense situation. “You are quite the sweet thing,” he nearly cooed in your favour — who knew being complimented by the most handsome man you’d ever seen up close, while jacked-up on adrenaline, could have you feel warmer than the sun in a second flat. But Mrs Crow huffed, going against the man’s words with just a breath, and his smirked smile faltered, his eyes hardened as he stiffened. You felt your own face fall before your features hardened in turn.
Tearing your eyes from the robber, you glared at the old woman. “You fucking bitch,” you snarled, feeling all the pent-up rage of the holiday rush, of the past year, of the endless array of bullshit you’d had to endure from life, but even more so from other people. “You know what, Mr Robber? Have it all. I don’t bloody care. I’ve had to deal with mean, rude, horrible people rich beyond necessary for a year now. I’m dehumanised every damn day, and I don’t even earn enough to sustain myself while working full-time, and I’ve fucking had it. Where the bloody hell do you want the money transferred to?” you seethed, glaring at the old woman — now with her mouth plopped wide open — before you looked up at the handsome man twisting you up in the midst of the adrenaline.
He smiled, or it was more of a smirk, but still somehow a smile. “Süße, you are a curiosity.”
You waved your fingers about dismissively before reaching toward the keyboard. “Where to?”
He rattled off a number with a Swiss code to it.
“Alright, give me a minute, Mr Robber.”
He chuckled, tilting his head again and making your insides quiver. “Certainly, Süße.”
“Now wait a minute here—” The man’s hand squeezed the old woman’s shoulder instantly “—ow!” “Be quiet,” he snarled, pressing the gun harder against her, and Mrs Crow shook in the uncomfortable wooden chair, seeming to get the severity of the situation.
You glanced at her. “Don’t worry, Mrs Crow, Johnny has his Christmas money already.” You smiled sweetly, but a rage burned inside you simultaneously. “That was so important you had to be horrible about it.”
“Karma, you call it, no?” asked the robber as your hands began to shake with reality slowly catching up with every press of a key — you nodded, though.
You tapped into Mr McCormag’s account as well, sending more than half of the wicked, rich old sod’s money to the Swiss account. The man had been in just before lunch and had been so demanding that he’d made you miss it while damn near making you cry over a mistake he’d made with his stocks and international transfers. “That’ll teach you,” you muttered under your breath.
“Süße?” asked Mr Too Gorgeous Robber.
“Congratulations, Mr Robber. You are sixteen million pounds richer.” You smiled widely and looked up.
The man smirked with a sparkle in his eyes, tilting his head while leaning harder against Mrs Crow as she blubbered a loud breath. “Well, aren’t you a wonder, Süße. A true little magician.”
You huffed a strange laugh, strangled with adrenaline, nervous fear, and a sudden realisation of what you had just bloody done for the incredibly gorgeous man putting a damn spell on you.
“Perhaps the wizards in winter snow of secrecy will wave their wands and spell me out of this mess, too.”
“Would you like that, Süße?” he asked, a drawl and purr all in one that had your knees trembling despite being seated. “For someone to snatch you away like a thief in the night?”
Time seemed to stand still for a moment. Your breathing had ramped up, your heart raced, and the buzz of the bank was encroaching on the adrenaline-forced silence of utter focus. Had you not always dreamt of some handsome man whisking you away? Who doesn’t want to be whisked away?
“Süße?” The word was roughly sweet and tickled your ears in his deep voice.
“Yes,” you whispered, laying your curled-up hands in your lap as they trembled.
“Well then, shall we?”
You blinked. Looking up at him just a second before his wicked smirk turned to a stiff line across his face, and he whipped Mrs Crow at the temple with the pistol. She slumped in the chair, you jerked back, and he straightened. I— Oh, bloody hell, what am I doing?!
“Süße—” you looked up from the slumped woman “—calmly walk outside.”
“C-calmly. Yes. Yes. I can do that.” Right? I can stand. I can stand and walk outside without passing out. But your hand scrunched the sweater against your chest, pressing numbly where your heart was going bonkers.
“I will come to you at the staff entrance.” You nodded at his steady voice and eyes. “So calmly stand and simply walk out.”
“I can do that.”
“Yes, you can, my Braves Mädchen.” The way he spoke, and the way his eyes seemed to devour you simultaneously, had you tingling all over again, but it felt strange when you also trembled and the floor seemed to sway under your feet — as if standing in a flying sleigh.
I just robbed a bank, didn’t I?
TO BE CONTINUED
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A/N: Well, that took a turn - but who wouldn’t wanna rob a bank with Hans as he steals you away like a sweet little bonus? 😉
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