A/N: I would like to apologize for the delay. Sowwy. It was Sev’s birthday and I have to celebrate it.
A/N+: and, yes! You’re not the only person who thinks Tywin is OOC. BECAUSE HE REALLY IS! But I do still believe that he is very capable of being a softie despite his cruelness. He is definitely saving it just for you.
A/N++: This fic is somehow a glimpse of the Tywin series I’m currently working on right now. You guys enjoy it.
Pairing: Tywin Lannister x Baratheon!Reader
Warning: Smut but not hardcore (I would if I could guys. I simply do not know how to write yet.).
Word count: 2,550 words
The Lord of Casterly Rock found himself roaming around the castle of Red Keep. He couldn't sleep just like the many nights he could not grasp the slumber he was searching for. Despite the heavy loads of works he had done for the day. Despite the frustrations, he did not want to acquire from his children down to his grandchild of a king. He could not sleep.
Ever since you have arrived from Storm's End upon the request of his execrable grandson, the King, to attend his wedding with Lady Margery, he could not sleep like before because of you. You were constantly appearing in his mind every time he closes his eyes. He could not eradicate your face in his already bustling mind. The face he found himself enamored. Your giggles that bright and sweet legato in melody to his ears. Your smile could melt his stone-cold heart. You always find your way to mess him even in his subconsciousness.
You were the third among the Baratheon siblings. The only daughter of Lord Steffon and Lady Cassana. That makes you the Lady aunt of the King. You have long dark brown locks like every other Baratheons but your eyes.
As Lord Tywin passes the familiar corridors, his feet find their way to your chambers. He halted his pace for he found it suspicious to not have a knight guarding your chamber doors. He took a wary and calculated step towards your room. He slowly opened them and entered. He found his way to your bed where he saw the outline of your body covered with the linen.
He was supposed to be leaving the room the moment he saw you in your peaceful slumber, but, no. He somehow felt the need for confirmation that it was you who sounds peaceful on the bed.
He reached for the covers but the second he knew; he was already pinned down on the bed with a knife on his throat. To say that the old lion was stunned was an understatement. But, as soon as the shock had come the fast it also vanished. He immediately collected himself. He somehow found the answer to his previous query.
There you were on top of him. Leaning down to him with a knife pressed on his throat. Eyes filled with rage and fury, for there was someone who dared to enter your chambers without permission.
Noses were millimeters apart. You were looking in each other's eyes. Both lost on the storm of raging emotions.
He was having mixed emotions at that moment. You have dared to put a knife on his lordship's throat. Any man, let alone a woman, would be immediately dragged in the gutter with their body skinned by himself. He had never let anyone be on top of him. He was always on the top. His domineering attitude kicks in. He does not let anyone question his authority. Anyone who dares was utterly fooling. But, at the same time, he somehow felt aroused. The way you pinned him down the bed, with your left hand holding both of his hands above his head, and the other pressing a knife on his throat.
It felt strange to him but he kind of liked it. The way your breast heaved with heavy breaths for you flipped and pinned him down with all you might. He may be old but damn he was heavy and strong just like your brothers were.
You were no stranger with swords just like your two great warriors of brothers. Albeit Stannis was quite not fond of the idea of you holding a sword, he could not resist those beautiful and enchanting doe eyes of yours when you put the act and batt your lashes to him. Both Robert and Stannis find time just to teach you along with Renly. They were proud of how you progressed with your skills.
If Robert was alive and had witnessed this rarest occasion, he would be happy. A happy old drunk. More than happy to see his father-in-law pinned down by his little sister. He'd die happily and peacefully.
"Is it part of the security to check upon the chambers of your guest in the middle of the night, my lord hand?" You slowly released him from your grip, leaning away from his face.
"Is this how the Lady of Storm's End treats her host, having one's throat with her knife?" He prompted his elbow, tilting his head challenging her.
"No, not really, my lord. Only to those who sneaked into my chambers in the middle of the night."
He chuckled at this and you cocked an eyebrow.
"I might have done the same thing." The lord immediately sat up, having you gasped at the sudden action.
You held on to his shoulder, settling yourself on his lap. Finding a more comfortable position to straddle him. He held you on your waist to keep you in place.
"Are you not supposed to be fast asleep now, my lord?" You cupped his cheek. He leaned into your touch.
"I could ask the same thing to you, my lady." You giggled at his response.
You looked into his eyes. Those steely green eyes that always made you drawn to him. Those cold and icy eyes soften and warm when he was with you. You pressed your forehead against his. Having him close with you, always made you feel safe. You both stayed in that position for quite some time. Finding comfort in peace that crept in the room.
"You are not supposed to be here. Someone might—"
He cut you off with a kiss. He placed his right hand on your neck. His thumb caressing your jaw.
"Tywin, my love, I'm serious." You mumbled on his lips as you parted.
Tywin secretly loves it when you call him his love. It has been years since he had heard those two words, almost strange to his vocabulary. It gives him equally pleasant and painful emotions upon hearing it.
"I could not. Not when you are in an arm's reach." He kissed you anew.
You have met Tywin years ago. At first, he was stone cold and distant to you. He found you annoying for being loud like your eldest brother. Well, you cannot blame him. Baratheons were indeed loud, except, Stannis. Despite the differences, Tywin had somehow fallen for you. He found your company annoyingly soothing. Not, that he will admit it openly. Hence, why he only shows his affection to you through his extremely luxurious gifts.
No one knows of your secret relationship. Not even, Tyrion, who was your lover's youngest child and your dearest and closest friend. And you did not dare to tell any of your brothers, especially, Robert. He would have raised his bannermen against Tywin. His temper always gets him.
You did not protest for you felt the same as he was. You pulled him closer as he pulled you into his chest. The proximity you have was not enough for you. You deepened the kiss as you subconsciously move your hips at an agonizingly slow pace that made him groan in your kiss.
He bit your lips instead of licking them. He does not need to ask for permission. He knows that you knew. And he knew that you loved being dominated by him, as he was you to him.
Your tongues danced in perfect synchronization. He slowly laid you down on the bed. His hands took the pleasure of wandering your body like a traveler on a quest. Memorizing the curves, he perfectly knew all those years ago, yet he could not get enough of it.
You both reached the limit of air your lungs could hold. He then trailed kisses on your cheek, jaw, and down to your neck.
You let a moan slip in your mouth when Tywin found your sweet spot. He let his hand wander down below your thighs.
You draw another moan when he slipped his finger in your folds.
"Not so eager, are we not?" You only moaned at his words. He slipped his middle and ring finger in whilst rubbing the thumb in that bundle of nerves, he loves to suck.
Lord Tywin Lannister could be so cocky when he had you this wet with his light feathering touches. Touches that surely drive you insanely mad when he feels like torturing you. And tonight, was no different. He was acting like a cocky arsehole when he felt you clenched on his fingers.
He let you touch the knob of the door that would lead you to a complete euphoric bliss but immediately pulled you back and did not let you step on the threshold by retrieving his fingers inside you.
You were blabbering curses and unintelligible words to him despite having been out of breath.
"Now, now, it is unladylike of you to mutter such profanity, my lady," he mocked and a visible smirk was plastered on his aging but handsome features that you loved so dearly.
"And it is ungentlemanly of you to deny a lady of highest born a pleasure, my lord." You scoffed at him. His cockiness only grew knowing he had frustrated you.
You love this playful and cockiness of Tywin but not in bed. Reminding you were did Jaime got his cockiness. You always loathed it. He would let you have a taste of bliss but will not let you have it fully yet. Not until his ego was overflowed and satisfied.
Now, your mind was running miles contemplating a plan of vengeance as you tried to sit up. Tywin was quick to stop you and laid you back.
"How am I supposed to undress and give you a show, my lord, if you will keep me pinned down?" You batted your lashes to him, mustering all your innocence to the surface.
"Is that so?" He tilted his head. Somehow leaning away to let you stand, "And not some scheme of revenge that that pretty head of yours is bustling right now?"
"No. Absolutely not, my lord." You feigned a shock that made him laugh.
Tywin rarely laughs. A genuine laugh nor smile. As his sister Genna said, it was only Lady Joanna whom he granted his most genuine self. The thought made you downhearted. Reminding yourself of your stature to him.
The shift of air made the old lion frown as he saw you lost your cheekiness and set your eyes down. You were playing with your hands.
He stood and reached for you. He was not expecting your reaction. You were tensed. You were feeling uncomfortable feelings of uncertainty in your relationship with him. You most certainly knew that you loved him so ardently, but what about him? Were you just one of those women whom he took pleasure to somehow ease the pain he had from the past by losing his most beloved?
He placed his index finger below your chin to make him able to see you. But you had your eyes shut. You do not wish for him to see you were troubled. Tywin could always tell when you were. He could read you like an open book.
"Pray to tell me what is it you are thinking?"
You scrunched your brows and nose, with your eyes shut, contemplating whether to tell him or not.
Tywin found it adorable when you do that. You never cease to amaze him with your antics and foolish stunts, knowing you only do it to rile him up and have him at where you want him to be. That irritates him but also loves it.
You bit your lip and vigorously shook your head.
"And why is that?" You shrugged but he held you closer and hugged you. He cradled you in his warm embrace.
He had never done this to anybody. Not even to his children. Probably to his late wife. Definitely to his late wife. But, to you? You were taken aback by his impulsiveness. Because there was no way on earth, the Lord who many men feared would do this. Would hug you, his mere lover. But you still held on to it.
And it was the last straw. It made you cry an ocean on his chest.
Tywin held you with firmness but also with tenderness.
"What bothers you, dearest?" he asked anew.
You love it when he calls you dearest along with his other pet names for you. It never fails to make you flattered, having butterflies in your stomach. You only nuzzled your face to his chest and hold on to him.
Tywin let you take your time. He was impatient, yes. But, will surely extend it for you.
You broke the hush silence that crept in the room, "What am I t... hmph?" you mumbled and the rest of your words were muffled by you pressing yourself to his chest more.
"Hmmm, do you think I was able to catch it?" He hummed and leaned back a little so that he could see your face.
"No." You shook your head. You took your time before looking him in the eye, "What am I to you, Tywin?"
Tywin knew you would ask that question. He knew it was only a matter of time for you to ask it. After all, those years of having you in secret made him care for you, the need to protect you, long for you, and love you. He loved you.
"You, my love, are my beacon in the darkest seas. You light my way and re-ignited the fire that was extinguished for a long time. You are my northern star. You are my weakness as my strength. You are my life. I love you," he said those words with pure adoration and love to you.
Your eyes were welling with tears because he was declaring his love to you. The assurance you have been asking yourself when you too were together, now has finally happened. You were relieved.
"And I love you too, my dearest Tywin." You jumped on him, making him stumble on the bed.
You were now on top of him again, giggling as you peppered him with kisses everywhere on his face but his lips.
He took the time admiring your beauteous face. Feeling the softness of your skin in contrast with his rough and calloused hand from the wars he had fought. He was admiring how the moonlight kissed you and made your skin glow like a goddess. He smiled before leaning on your face.
“Would you do me the honor of becoming the Lady of Casterly Rock? My wife? Lady Y/N of House Baratheon,” he said. Noses touching each other.
“Yes, I would be delighted, my lord.” You closed the gap between the two of you. You two kissed anew, filled with passionate love and longing.
Although Tywin was not used to this kind of affection, he would get the hang of it. If it meant for you to be this joyous. And his heart swells with pure joy to see you happy because of him.
He has finally let love touch his cruel heart. He let you cradle his stone-cold heart with the warmth of your love. He was now letting himself be happy with you.
so, this is what heartbreak feels like? i wasn't expecting he would be there. i was even truly happy and literally didn't know what to do, as usual. i was trying to have a conversation... trying not to make it awkward 'cuz i'm literally the epitome of it. i do not even know how to continue writing what happened. I'M LITERALLY CRYING BECAUSE MY HEART WAS WRENCHED BY WHAT I READ. and i feel sorry. it was his first time seeing Hamilton, and i might have ruined his experience. he just wanted to enjoy and i feel like i fucked it up by singing along. it was also my first time seeing it on the big screen. i was just listening to it before and my excitement got the best of me, ruining it for him.
i should've known but my mind was too clouded to even realized it. i'm sorry. i truly am.
the power you had over me is quite impactful. you could make me feel elated to pained in just few words. i am truly sorry.
A/N: the sudden realization that this match makes Roose Bolton Cat's son-in-law is wild to me...like, you know she HATED this match but knew it had to happen.
Pairing: Roose Bolton x Y/N Stark.
He was a stranger to you...though you hadn't expected much more of your husband, had you? As the eldest daughter of a lord, you'd always known that your marriage would be a match for the house, not for you. Certainly, Father would have seen to it that you were treated well and, at the very least, you would have met him a few weeks before the wedding.
But Father was gone.
Dead. Murdered by that bastard king. And your twin brother was fighting in his name, waging a war, wolves clashing against lions. And the marriage your father would have carefully planned had come so quickly, House Bolton wanting only one thing in exchange for their support.
"Me?" you asked your mother softly. "Lord Bolton wants to marry me?"
"Why not, dear? You are beautiful, the Rose of the North. And he's a lonely man without an heir. His firstborn Domeric died years ago and his only other child, a bastard, has recently died himself."
You'd met him once, a year ago. It was only a brief meeting in the garden when he'd come to do business with your father...you thought of it now, flashes of it coming to your mind. You'd been playing with your little siblings, Arya and Rickon and Bran (your favorite), deciding to amuse yourselves with a game of hide-and-seek in the garden, laughter spilling through the air. Even in the summer, the air had been cold and sweet, summer snow just starting to fall. Turning the corner quickly, you'd run right into his arms, Roose steadying you against his chest.
"Oh! Oh, Lord Bolton, I beg your pardon, I-"
"All is well, my lady."
And that had been it. You hadn't seen anymore of him beyond brief glances and then he'd left. Perhaps you'd sat there too quietly for too long, your mother coming to sit beside you as she took your hand.
"Y/N...I know he's older then you. Much older. And perhaps you had hopes of someone younger and more handsome, as every girl does. I did myself. And I was disappointed with your father at first but, oh, my dear, we were so happy. And we were happy because we allowed ourselves to be, we came to know one another and love one another so deeply. I'm of the opinion that most couple could do the same, if only they tried to. You're not so upset, are you, dearest?"
"No, no, I...would it help him, Mother?" you asked. "Would it help Robb if I married Roose?"
"It would."
"I want to be of help. But I'm no warrior, I cannot pick up a sword or lead an army in his name. But I can do this for him and I will. I'll do it for Robb."
But that still led to the problem: Roose Bolton was a stranger to you.
All you knew of him was that he was the Lord of Dreadfort, childless, and little else, not even the most basic of things. Nothing at all and anyone you asked couldn't answer your questions. Which was perhaps what had led you to sending him a note, asking him to meet you in the gardens. You were to be married in three days, the very thought sending your heard wild in your chest, married! To Roose Bolton! To be his wife and the lady of Dreadfort! What would your father have said?
Oh, but that wouldn't matter now.
Father was gone, Robb was here and he needed you to do this. So you wore your white gown, the plainer one as you were saving the pretty one for a special occasion, and your gray cloak with fur trim, fur gloves upon your hands and silver braided into your long hair.
Snow started to fall softly from the sky as you paced in the garden, Eirlys, your direwolf, waiting at your side.
"Y/N..."
He had a nice voice at least, you thought. Cold but deep, something of darkest velvet. Turning to meet his gaze, those pale eyes watched you carefully. Not because he was nervous, no, simply unsure, for you were as much as a stranger to him as he was to you.
"Thank you for meeting me, Lord Bolton."
"We're to be married soon enough. Roose will do."
"Roose," you repeated warmly.
"Why is it you wished to see me?"
"I wanted to know you better. You are and I are strangers to one another, I know nothing of you. But I'd like to know you, Roose, at least a little more before we marry. We can figure out the rest as we go along. So I thought we could enjoy a walk in the gardens and just...talk."
"Here? Perhaps the castle would be more comfortable for you, certainly, less cold."
"I'm a Stark," you laughed. "I like the cold! The gardens are my favorite place and...and I'll be leaving them soon. And this is where we met after all."
At that, a bare smiled graced his face, a surprisingly handsome and wry grin. You wondered if he might have a dry sort of humor about him.
"I recall it well, Y/N."
He took your arm in his and led the way, Eirlys following along loyally.
"What is it you wish to know?"
"Little things, I suppose. Like your hobbies. How do you like to spend your time?"
"I enjoy riding. My lands have many trails and treks and, even after all of these years, I've yet to explore them all. I also enjoy music, though I don't play much any more."
"What did you play?"
"The cello, when I was a lad. Mostly these days, I employ musicians to entertain me. But most of all, I read."
"You do?"
Your delight in that was clear to see, as you were the bookworm in your family. Always in the library, always reading and writing and learning whatever you could.
"It's my chief hobby, I make time to read daily and always before I retire for the night."
"As do I. Father used to come in and scold me rather sweetly for staying up to late."
Something told you that you would be the sweet one for the children you'd have...Roose seemed the sort that was stern with his children, loving in his own way perhaps. But all the sweetness would belong to you. And you were fine with that. You'd always been sweet enough anyway, your father had said, like sugar snow.
"You'll be pleased to know that Dreadfort has an extensive library. I've spent much of my time as lord expanding the collection. The shelves are open to you at any time."
"Are there gardens at Dreadfort? Roses?"
"There are gardens but not as fine as these, I must admit. I have never noticed if there were roses but there will be if you are fond of them."
"Oh, I am, they're my favorites. Especially red and white."
Roose glances at your white gown, the red of his cloak brushing against it, another bare smile gracing his face.
"Are you often busy at Dreadfort?"
"I am. I take my business as a lord seriously, I detest lords that loaf about and drink, wasting time and money. A lord must attend his duties first and foremost. A peaceful land, a quiet people. But there is enough for you to amuse yourself with and I would not neglect you badly."
"What is there to do there?"
"The library, as I mentioned. There are music rooms, grounds and gardens to wander, the observatory."
"Do you like the stars, Roose?"
"I do," he said, smiling again. He always seemed to smile when you said his name. "I am fond of the darkness."
Dreadfort did not sound so bad.
There were gardens and books and stars, all of the things that you liked. You could read and wander and try to grow your roses when Roose was busy and your duties as Lady Bolton were done for the day. And there would be children soon enough to keep your attention, filling the empty spaces left behind by your siblings.
"I wonder..."
"About what?"
"I know we're not yet married and this might seen strange to ask, but...what do you think of Rose? For a daughter, I mean. It's my favorite flower and is one letter off from your name."
"Rose Bolton," he repeated. "I rather like it. And Damian for our eldest boy."
"Osric for our second boy."
"Would three children please my lady wife?"
"It would..." you replied carefully. "I'd be happy enough but I would like a few more. I'm used to a big family after all."
Somehow, you'd done a loop through the garden and appeared at the entrance again. The snow was coming down heavily now, tangled in your hair as you looked up at Roose.
"Have my answers pleased you, Y/N?"
"They have, Roose."
At that, he walked you into the castle and took his leave, watching him go as he did. He was not, you thought, an ugly man. You found him rather handsome. And you did like his answers, realizing that you and Roose had a few things in common, at the very least. That night, as you sat with your mother by the fire, sewing together, she casually mentioned your walk with Lord Bolton.
"I was surprised that he asked it of you."
"Oh, I asked him, Mother. I wanted to get to know my husband a little bit more."
"And?"
"And...I like him. I think he might like me a little, at the very least, he doesn't dislike me or he doesn't seem to. Roose is a hard man to read."
Perhaps you'd get better at reading him, as your mother had read your father so easily.
For now, he was still something of a mystery to you. And perhaps he knew that, your betrothed wishing to make himself more clear in your eyes. Because a knock came upon the door and a servant, on of House Bolton's, was let in at your mother's call, carrying a black case with him.
"A gift for you, from Lord Bolton," he explained. "It was meant to be a wedding gift but he thought you might like it early."
Inside was a choker and matching drop earrings, made up of silver and pretty little pearls and bloody rubies. At once you thought of sugar and blood and of roses, snow white and rose red, smiling as the gems caught the light.
"Oh, Mother, isn't it pretty?"
"A lovely gift indeed...Lord Bolton is full of surprises."
"I'll wear my white gown for the wedding," you decided. "The pretty one. And red and white roses in my hair to match the jewelry. It would all look so lovely when I remove my maiden cloak and wear Roose's colors, won't it?"
You did not notice the strange look upon your mother's face as she agreed that, yes, it would be lovely. Perfectly lovely. You were far too busy thinking of roses and books and starlight. Nor did you tell her about the note hidden in the jewelry case, slipping it into your diary that night as you wrote of Roose once more, no longer a stranger to you.
After the murder of his daughter, Norman Nordstrom lived in a world full of silence. The only noise that came from his house for a long time was the occasional sound of his dog barking when someone was at the door. That all changed when you came into his life. Your presence breathed so much life into the home. Music always seemed to flow throughout the space; accompanied by your soft voice that he came to love.
No longer was he claimed by the past through his loneliness. Anytime his mood would grow dark you would be there to keep him grounded. Your gentle touch and words always hit the right buttons. You were the only person Norman could stand to be around. (Although, he loved your companionship more than he would admit.)
Summary: After years of avoiding marriage, Anthony suddenly sets his sights on you—not for love, but because you’re “the perfect viscountess.” You refuse to be a mere duty, but his determination (and lingering stares) make it hard to resist.
Pairing: Reader/Anthony Bridgerton
London’s social season had never felt so stifling. The air was thick with expectations, whispers of matches being made, and the suffocating knowledge that soon, someone’s future would be decided in the flick of a dance, the weight of a glance.
But you had never imagined your future would be bound to Anthony Bridgerton.
“You are the perfect Viscountess,” he had declared, voice as clipped as if he were discussing estate matters rather than proposing marriage.
You had laughed—actually laughed—because surely he was joking.
He had not been.
“You are intelligent, poised, and well-bred. More than that, you possess a practical mind and a steady temperament. I believe we would suit.”
Suit. As though you were a fine pair of riding boots or an investment property.
“Lord Bridgerton,” you had said, folding your hands as if to keep them from trembling, “I will not marry for convenience. Nor will I be another of your responsibilities.”
That should have been the end of it. And yet, ever since that day, you had felt his presence wherever you went.
The lingering glances across the ballroom. The tension in the air when he found you at the modiste’s, a sharp gaze assessing you as if he would be the one wearing your gown. The way he always seemed to position himself near you, whether at a dinner party or an afternoon promenade.
It was infuriating.
It was intoxicating.
Tonight was no different. The Danbury ball was in full swing, and yet, you could feel him before you even turned.
Anthony stood across the room, gaze unwavering, mouth set in something dangerously close to a smirk.
“You know,” your friend murmured, watching the exchange with interest, “a man does not look at a woman like that if he feels nothing for her.”
You scoffed. “A man like that looks at a woman when he wants to win.”
And Anthony Bridgerton always won.
It had become a game—one of resistance on your part and sheer, unrelenting pursuit on his.
You stepped onto the dance floor, intent on putting space between you. But as if drawn by an unseen force, he was there, extending a gloved hand.
“Dance with me.” His voice was low, edged with something that sent a shiver down your spine.
“I am engaged for this set,” you replied, even as the words felt false.
His lips twitched. “A shame. But I find myself undeterred.”
Later that evening, you escaped to the terrace, gulping in the cool air. You needed distance, space—anything to clear your mind of the way Anthony had looked at you during the waltz.
But you were not alone.
“I see I am not the only one in need of respite,” came his voice from the shadows.
You turned, heart stammering against your will. “Is the great Viscount Bridgerton hiding?”
His chuckle was low. “Merely strategizing.”
You swallowed. “Your tactics are wasted on me, my lord.”
A step closer. “I think not.”
Your breath caught as he reached for your hand, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. It was improper. Too intimate. And yet, you did not pull away.
“I know you find this marriage absurd,” he murmured. “That you believe I am acting out of duty.”
“Am I wrong?”
A muscle in his jaw tightened. “You are wrong if you think I do not see you.”
Your pulse pounded. “And what do you see?”
His hand tightened around yours. “A woman who challenges me. Who does not simper or cower. Who makes me want—” He cut off, jaw clenched.
But you heard it.
Want.
The air between you grew thick, charged with something unspoken.
“I will not marry a man who sees me as an obligation,” you whispered.
Anthony exhaled, gaze dark and searching. “Then perhaps,” he said, voice rough, “it is time I prove I do not.”
Can I request Demiurge, Sebas, and Albedo (Overlord) with a Supreme Being reader that's fallen asleep on their lap?
Falling Asleep on Their Laps | Yandere Overlord
As the Flower of Nazarick all the power you have, it has no limits as someone who doesn’t need the rules to thrive it also means you don’t have a real gauge for your energy. Considered more of a divine trainee of a Supreme Being all of Nazarick take it upon themselves to help you in whatever way they can. Especially since Ainz himself prioritizes you so does all of Nazarick and everyone in this world that is graced by your presence. So when you begin to drift to sleep they’ll gladly be your pillow after all what better purpose could they serve to you than the Flower of Nazarick:
Demiurge
“You can count on me, (Y/n).”
With a tail dangerously itching to wag
he watches as your eyes get heavy and your speech slurs dribble into the soft breaths of a sleeping supreme being
Because of Ainz’s trust in him, he has been tasked with helping you hone your power
Specifically holding back
But since you’re so unfamiliar with combat and your limits you were bound to tire yourself out
What was supposed to be a break turns into a full-blown nap
One that Demiurg will protect with his life
He’s frankly going to behead whoever enters without it being a guardian or Ainz
Even the Pleiades aren’t safe
Ainz forbid Yuri or Solution come to retrieve you gathering that you are sleepy by now
They’ll either have to dodge or endure the force of Demiurge’s tail that meticulously strikes for their mere interruption
This is his time with you
Training or not
He resists the urge to caress your face but he’s not Albedo…
He can resist
“I devoted myself to your rest (Y/n)-sama. I couldn’t bear to disrupt your rejuvenation.”
Sebas Tian
“My Flower…please rest.”
Too many times does he see the unhardened heart you have in contrast to Ainz so it seems
So Innocent
So untainted he sees why the world they’re in adores the very ground you hover over
You’re perfect
And he honestly considers himself almost unworthy to have you rest on him
His legs may get tired or even be weighed down by the weight of your head but he would have never given this up
“I’m unworthy but I am your tool oh Flower of Nazarick. Rest easy.”
Albedo
‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA~ My supreme being is sleeping!~'
She refuses to disturb your slumber with words she might want to say
But that doesn’t stop her other bodily functions
Her wings will flap excitedly
Her face will be overtaken by her smile
And her body’s temperature will rise exponentially
She’ll naturally try to use as much of her body as possibly
Slowly sliding her now ungloved hands on your face
Your nose
Your lips
This is just perfect!!!!
Her Ainz-sama doesn’t sleep so she never gets this opportunity
But with you, she can almost feel everything
If you’re not a light sleeper it's best to assume she’s exploring you and committing your measurements to memory
If she’s feeling particularly confident she might just take you to her bedroom
Or even better in Ainz’s unused room
sniffing your head as she imagines Ainz being with you both
“My Flower~! My (Y/n)~! Ah~! Your slumber is an immaculate gift for me to overindulge!”
Warnings: smut, pinv sex, fingering, reference to pregnancy and childbirth, brief reference to death during childbirth, reference to prostitution, implied arranged marriage, breeding kink, body image issues, implied innocence kink, older man/younger woman.
Italics indicate flashback
Gif creds to owner
After nine long months of pregnancy and two gruelling days of labour, Tywin Lannister finally had the son he craved. Little Darrick was perfect in every way. At almost four months, he guzzled his milk the way King Robert his guzzled his wine; he roared like a lion when something was amiss, fat angry tears pouring down his reddened little face until his mother or father consoled him; his hair thickened and lightened every day, though he showed no trace of Lannister emerald eyes (much you your elation; he already looked so much like Tywin so it was nice to see a shred of yourself in your son’s face).
The birth of your son only strengthened Tywin’s… affection towards you. It was not love- not yet at least- but his respect and fondness certainly grew. During the home stretch of your labour he had barged into the birthing room after overhearing an outspoken courtier’s gossip.
Your labour had dragged on and almost two whole days had passed since you first started having pains. While you had started in relatively high spirits, as progress began to falter almost to a halt and ‘one more push’ became an empty promise, your resolve almost completely shattered.
What had started as determined groans and howls of pain turned into whimpers, and then sobs as you begged the maester to just, please, get it out of you.
It seemed Tywin hadn’t unclenched his jaw for days, and while he wanted to remain just a room away in his office should he be called into the room, the Seven Kingdoms would not stop for any infant, not even the son of the Hand.
He had been walking back from an audience with disgruntled artisans from the city when he overheard some courtiers.
“… glad she’s shut up with the screaming, could hardly sleep a wink last night…”
“… should just cut her open, drag the babe out and have done with it… wouldn’t be the first Lannister woman to die in childbed…”
“… he’ll want another off her, just in case… especially if she gives him a girl…”
Tywin’s nostrils flared with rage, and while he would have so dearly loved to confront the gossiping courtiers, he marched to the tower of the hand, entering your chamber to the shock of your midwives and maester.
“Milord! Women’s work is still happening! The baby ain’t here yet,” scolded Jeyne. She was the eldest of the flock midwives attending you and the most experienced too, and had been crucial in supporting you.
Tywin held up his hand, and jeyne pursed her lips, knowing she could not argue. “Fine. But you’re not to interfere down here, milord. We’re nearly there,”
“You said that- ah- last night,” you said weakly, your voice shaky. Tywin sighed softly and knelt at your side, pushing your hair away from your face. It was a surprisingly tender gesture, one that he had done when you consummated your marriage. “‘M sorry, m-my lord,” you whispered, unable to stop the tears from slipping down your already damp cheeks.
“You needn’t be,” he said lowly, speaking so only you could hear. “You are doing well, just a little longer,”
Although the midwives and maester had repeated the same words over and over again over the last day, Tywin’s firm, authoritative voice reassured you, renewing your determination.
Tywin’s eyes flicked sideways to you. It was the first public event you had attended since giving birth, and he had kept a close eye on you all day. He’d even insisted on your retiring to bed for several hours in between the joust and the feast (“fine, I’ll rest. But only because I didn’t want to watch the archery anyway,”).
If you were tired, it did not show. You looked radiant, smiling serenely as you clapped for the dancing. You had changed into a gown of soft pink brocade, and while he always preferred to have you on his arm in matching Lannister red, he had to admit that the muted pink suited you beautifully, and provided a fresh and youthful contrast to his daughter’s sour, almost vulgar even by his standards, display of power.
“If you continue to glance at me so, you will miss the dancing, husband,” you said out of the corner of your mouth, bemused at the almost uncharacteristic attentiveness of the Old Lion.
“Then I shall miss the dancing,” he said lowly, though he kept his eyes dutifully on the entertainments. “Are you sure you will not sit?”
You rolled your eyes, turning to face him fully. “No,” you said with exasperation. “I am well rested, I promise you, My Lord,” your lips quirked into a smirk. “I may even join in with the dancing,” you added.
Tywins jaw clenched as he looked down at his mischievous young wife. Your pregnancy and subsequent birthing of a viable heir for him had consolidated your power in court- and your worth in the marriage. “Then you shall dance only with me,” he said. “I will not have you jostled so,”
And so the Lord Paramount of the West took his wife by the hand and led her to the dance floor, lest she be manhandled by less careful members of court.
Grinning, you held onto his hand, beginning the steps that you had known since childhood. “I so love it when you give in to my whims, Lord Lannister,” you murmured, laughing lightly at his grumble of agreement. He supposed he owed you a fair bit, now that you had given him his heir.
“You are as stubborn as a mule when you want to be, wife,” he muttered, pulling you closer to his body by the waist as a drunken jester weaved through the crowd, his motley cap jingling. But despite his complaints, Tywin permitted you two more dances, before you retreated from the crowd- the bawdy songs had began, and he would not have his wife passed about like the maidens in the songs.
Instead of sitting back down, Tywin took you before the king, bowing and excusing the two of you. “We must retire for the night, your Grace. Lady Lannister is very tired,” he said shortly, bowing once more as the king waved you away.
You followed him, your face indignant, but you did not dare question him until you were out of earshot of any high lords. “I most certainly am not tired, My Lord,” you said, running a little to keep up with his long strides. “I do not need to be bundled off to bed like a child- again,”
Tywin ignored your complaints, only speaking once you arrived at the entrance to the Tower- and even then he only spoke to the guard at the door. “No one is to enter this tower until tomorrow,” he said lowly, before all but frog-marching you through the door and up the winding stairs.
“My lord?” You asked cautiously when you arrived at his chambers. “Have I displeased you?”
Tywin turned around to face you. “No, wife,” he murmured, stepping closer to you so that you had to look up at him. “You have not displeased me… exasperated, perhaps, but not displeased,” you smiled slightly, opening your mouth to speak, but Tywin cupped your head with both of his hands, his thumbs stroking your jaw. “I intend to bed you tonight, My Lady,” he said, voice gravelly. Your face heated, but you nodded slowly. “Your body should be ready to take me once more,” he continued. “That is if you are agreeable?” He added, raising a brow. He had laid out from the beginning that while he expected you to do your duty and provide him with a son, he would not have you in his bed unwilling.
Nodding slowly, eyes wide as you stared up at him, you let out a shaky breath. "I… yes. Please," you murmured your consent, following him out of the solar to his adjoining bedchamber, where the hearth was crackling and the luxurious bedsheets were already turned down. Tywin poured out a cup of wine, offering you it, nodding when you smiled at the vintage before finishing the cup for you.
“Do you think it will hurt?” You murmured out of the blue, taking your jewellery off and setting it on his dresser.
“It may be a little uncomfortable, perhaps. Not as painful as childbirth, I’m sure, nor breaking your maidenhead,” your eyes widened at his words and he smirked. He so loved to see you flustered. “Such an innocent, wife,” he said, stepping closer to you and undoing the pins in your hair. He nodded his approval when you unwound the braids, shaking out your hair.
“It has been a while…” you considered, looking up at him in the mirror as he stepped behind you, beginning to unlace your gown.
“It has,” he said in agreement.
“Will you be gentle with me?” You whispered, eyes widening as his hand slipped up your front, over your breasts, lightly squeezing your throat before he tilted your head to the side.
“Absolutely not,” he growled into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his teeth grazing there as your gown fell stiffly to the floor.
You made to turn to begin undressing him, but he lightly batted your hands away, continuing to strip you of your stays and chemise until you were bare before him.
Eyes downcast, you made to wrap your arms around yourself; your pregnancy had left it’s mark on your body, your belly soft and marked with stretch marks, your breasts hanging heavier than they had when you first married. Tywin held your hands by your sides briefly, before his large hands claimed your hips, his thumbs massaging the softness of your belly. “I want another babe in your belly before year’s end,” he said lowly, making you shiver. “I want to watch you swell again with another of my heirs,”
“Yes, my lord,” you breathed, your breath hitching as he gripped your hips tighter, drawing your naked body to his, your skin hot against the cool metalwork of his belt and buttons. Slowly, he began to walk you backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed, and he helped you up onto the mattress, his eyes blazing with lust. His green-gold eyes pierced you as he removed his chain of linked golden hands, his doublet, his boots and trousers too. Your eyes flicked down briefly as you admired your husband’s build; despite his age, Tywin was fit and strong, and your glance did not go unnoticed by him.
Tywin got up onto the bed, looking down at you as he came up between your legs, which fell apart willingly to allocate his breadth, to which he hummed with approval, his hands dragging up your thighs. You sighed softly as your body refamiliarised itself with the weight atop it, offering him a soft, shy smile. He returned it with a rare quirk of his lips, before his fingers teased closer to your exposed core, shushing you gently when you gasped. Whimpering, you arched your back as he dipped his fingers into your waiting wetness, body tense. “Are you in pain, wife?” He said lowly, his movements stilling.
“No…” you whispered, pushing your hips up to his hand as if to reassure him.
He nodded, looking down at you as his fingers worked you open for the first time in months, though he did not seem out of practice in the slightest. He watched intently as your face contorted, brow furrowing and mouth falling open, and your body twisted while you clenched around his fingers. When he felt the erotic spasming of your inner walls, he nodded and hummed with satisfaction, before withdrawing his fingers. You watched in awe as he used your release coating his fingers and dripping onto his palm to slick up his cock.
“You look as though you belong in a pleasure house in Lys, spread out like that,” he said, his voice gravelly with desire. And he had a point; your breasts rose and fell with shaky, heavy breaths; your eyes were now dark with lust, brow furrowed and lips plump as you stared down at him, propped up on the pillows with your hair splayed out.
“Are you calling me a whore, My Lord?” You questioned, pushing yourself up on your elbows.
“No,” he said, guiding his cock to you. “But if you were a whore, you would be mine alone,”
He grunted, pushing into your tightness. With a cry, you tossed your head back, your nails clawing into the Lion of Lannister’s muscled back and arms as you adjusted to his invasion. You hissed out a curse between your teeth, gasping as he stilled, smirking down at you. “Such deplorable language,” he said, and you could only whimper in response, gritting your teeth and scratching at his back. Despite his promise to not be gentle with you, he held you tight to his body by your thigh, massaging the quivering limb with his hand as you adjusted to the suffocating tightness of your union. With a needy whine, you rolled your hips experimentally, grinding your clit against his pubis. The resulting tightening of your channel had him hissing in pleasure, and with a low groan he began to move with slow deep thrusts that had your head spinning.
One hand still gripping his bicep like a vice, you trailed your other hand over his shoulder anchoring yourself as you made feeble attempts to meet his movements. Grunting, Tywin grasped onto your hips, before moving his grip to your thighs, holding them apart as he began to fuck you harder, faster. You cried out at the shift in pace, arching your back as Lord Tywin took his pleasure (though he gave just as much as he took). He let out a groan of pleasure as his own thighs trembled and his hips stuttered, and he emptied his seed into you.
Moaning lowly, you fell back into the pillows, panting. You felt the bed dip then settle as he withdrew from you and stood, and your eyes slipped shut as you heard him rustling about the room, the door slamming shut. You frowned. He must have dressed quickly. With a sigh, you stood up, albeit shakily and slipped your chemise back on. His thick seed seeped down your thigh as you stood before the mirror, combing out the tangles in your hair with your fingers.
The door opened, and Tywin stepped into the room, but before he acknowledged you, he turned to what you assumed was his squire. “Have the servants bring up two plates from the feast, and a flagon of Arbor Gold,” he said to the lad, who responded with a quiet ‘yes, My Lord.’ “And see to it that Lady Lannister’s handmaidens know to come here on the morrow with her gown and jewels. She will be staying here tonight,”
He dismissed the squire with a nod and shut the door, turning to you with raised eyebrows. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me to return to my own chambers, my Lord,” you murmured, finally able to smooth your hair down over your shoulders.
“Indeed not,” he said simply. “I was merely arranging some supper and wine,”
You crossed your arms. “And for my handmaidens to come here on the morrow?” You teased.
Tywin only smirked, prowling over to you. “Indeed,” he said. “It would seem, wife, that we must return to bed…” you cocked your head to the side, looking up at him curiously. “An heir will not find its way into your belly if my seed is dripping down your thighs, now, will it?”
Characters: King Louise XIV & Fem!Decorator!Reader (Platonic)
POV: Reader, Second
A/N: It’s been quite some time since I wrote for King Louise XIV and last time a number of people reached out saying the loved that I wrote something for the man, and I haven’t really since. But, who better to go all out for Christmas then the self-indulgent King? 👀
Also, do you know how hard it is to write cute, fun Christmas fics when watching Tears Of The Sun? 😂😂😂 Like, if you’ve seen the movie you know what scene I mean if I say the mother with the baby in the hut after the interrupted attack on the little village. And, like, I just wanted to watch this specific movie, and IT IS NOT GIVING THE RIGHT VIBES BUT I WANT TO HAVE IT ON - I’m not being nice to myself or my writing today apparently 😂 So, let’s see how cute I can write while having my heart wrenched out of my chest by this god-awfully fantastic film. (I ended up not finishing this until today - it’s now 16.00 the 15th of December 😂)
Tags/TW’s: Grief, Loneliness, Kindness From Strangers, Potential Friendship, Deep Conversations, Christmas Decorating, Open Ending, Granted Wish, Unknown Identity
Word Count: 1.5k
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Decorative Obsession
The palace was ready, decorated from top to bottom in all things Christmas. From the pillars wrapped in silver silk to the windows framed by golden satin and green garlands. The holly, the ornaments, all things showered you in a warm sensation of utmost joy. I am such a lucky woman, you thought to yourself while walking toward the servants’ palace entrance hidden behind a secret door leading to some of the main servant quarters.
Ever since the King lost his latest love, the palace had been in mourning. It had been almost nine months and on the approach of Christmas, the King finally declared mourning to be over and your father’s company employed by the crown to turn the palace into a wonder of joy and warmth. The King had specifically requested silver, gold, and green to be the main colours. No red beyond what was naturally coloured so.
Your father had sent the very best he had — all hands on deck, as he had said two weeks ago. Two weeks, it had been an impossible mission to decorate the palace in such a short amount of time, yet, you had managed. You, out of all, had worked like a dog to uphold the high prestige of your father’s company and now you watched your work in absolute awe at five in the morning on the day it all had to be completed.
You gave the hallways one last glance before pushing the servants’ door open and slipping into the darker gloom with the deadly stairs and narrow spaces with candles lit here and there. Every muscle ached, every finger stiff from the many bows you’d tied and strings you’d wrapped around hidden nails. From the carrying of boxes to the pricking of pine needles. But it had all been worth it. Especially now, as you hurried out of the palace and headed for the Gardens of Versailles.
You had never seen them, but you heard they were an absolute wonder so you couldn’t pass on the single chance you’d have to see them, even in the chilly winter when they were not in bloom or truly tended to. I bet it’s absolutely beautiful.
It was. Entering the Gardens, you felt engulfed in both earth and sky, surrounded by beauty and unlimited with the high sky above covered in twinkling stars as the dark of winter drew the night out until near-lunchtime. There was half a moon available to light your way along with the light cover of snow and frost.
You giggled, spinning at the very centre of the gardens where you had heard the King had danced upon its first opening. You’d never paid much attention to royalty or the aristocrats of the world. Decorations and interior wonders were more the things you noticed. The polished pillars of a grand estate, the sculpted stone of railings along curving stairs, or the intricate details of a candelabra — yes, those things you noticed but the people owning the beautiful things? Not truly of consequence or worth your time, no matter how that sounded. You had a decorative obsession, and what a good thing that was given your father's company focusing on precisely that. Perhaps you had been conditioned to love it, but it didn't truly matter now.
The wind picked up and your dress flowed around your legs, sending snow swirling all around the rounded stage.
“A morning dance?” came a deep, brooding voice.
You drew a quick breath, stopping and turning instantly. “Sir,” you said while offering the man in a thick brown coat a curtsy.
“You are not from the Palace,” he said, stepping closer.
You internally cursed. “No, Sir. I am the one who has decorated it for this holiday.”
“Ah, the decorator… Sneaking off to view the grand Gardens of Versailles?”
You straightened. There was no menace in his voice. Perhaps, if you were lucky, this man would not tell of the trespassing he had just found you performing. It was a guess, but his eyes were not cold as they found yours. He looked tired, burdened with life it seemed while the heavy cloak rested atop his shoulders with an edge of fur all around. He was of wealth, you could see that much, but how wealthy you were not sure.
“I have heard of its splendour and grandeur, a garden of the skies and earth.”
He moved closer. “Yes. Quite. A garden where music appears to come from the heavens and we dance under the unlimited sky.”
“We?” you asked, feeling your heart hammer harder. Was he perhaps going to turn you in, despite the initial view of him you had.
“Yes.”
You gulped. “I— I believe it’s a wonderful experience,” you managed to force out as he drew another two steps closer.
He appeared a proud man, tired but proud. Just his stiff and straight posture betrayed that fact.
He looked down on you before looking out across the stage you both stood atop. “It is a fine place to dance and be joyous. The many celebrations held here have indeed been of the grand and beautiful kind.”
You tried not to step away from the man. “I believe you,” you simply said, wondering how beautiful it would have been to dress the Gardens in all things Christmas — deep greens and rich golds with numerous candles would have suited it splendidly. “It’s a shame the grand King has not decided to use it for the holidays, I very much would have loved to decorate it. Elevate its beauty even in the dead of winter.”
The man looked at you, arching a brow that had his grand wig of a deep brown wiggle atop his head. You never did find such beauty standards to be quite to your taste, to be perfectly frank. Yet, it somehow wasn’t too much atop this man’s head.
“Is that so?”
“Well, yes. Despite the darkness around us, I can see it light up beautifully and be a wonder even when gardens usually lay dead during this time of year.”
“Hmm, quite the idea,” he murmured and once more gazed around the two of you before returning his eyes to you.
“Winter is a time of many things, nature lay dormant and quiet. But, it can still be beautiful and inviting — even when cold and harsh. Just as we humans sometimes are burdened by loneliness and hardships, nature is too. That is no reason to not see the wonder in humans as well as the earth.”
Why you rambled on you were not quite sure but the loneliness and heaviness permeated the air by the mere presence of the stoic-looking man so you felt a strange need to share your view on the matter of life.
“Quite the statement, miss.”
“Oh, perhaps. But it’s the circle of life. Life is more enjoyable when aware of it always being condemned to the endlessness of waves — much like the wonder of the sea. Sometimes the waves are high and we struggle, sometimes there is barely a ripple and we can float about in bliss. The only certain thing is that it is ever-changing, while also being a constant.”
Silence stretched for a long time and it seemed less burdensome than earlier.
“What, do tell, should a ruling man with many subjects in his care do when the waves are too high and there is none in sight to offer aid to stay above the surface?”
Your eyes widened. “K-King— Your Highness,” you stuttered out as realisation dawned on you.
“Stand up, miss.” He glanced down at your bowed form. “Answer my question.”
“You sink, Your Highness. Until the bottom is reached where you can push yourself up once more.”
“That is a terrible answer…”
“But it is honest. And, if I may say so, there is also the option of calling out for help…”
“A King does not call for help.”
“No, perhaps not. But a man does if he knows what is good for him and those he has in his care.”
The King peered down on you. He said nothing for the longest of times while you nearly held your breath. You weren’t sure which way he would swing but you had no choice but to remain beside him under the star-strewn sky.
“Then, I shall ask for your assistance, miss.”
Your eyes widened. “Mine, Your Highness?”
“Yes. Indeed.” His eyes softened while his face hardened. “You have until the end of the week to turn the Gardens of Versailles into something warm. Something, splendid… As you wished to decorate it, I too wish to feel the wonder you spoke of but I cannot reach such views with mere imagination.”
“I can.”
He nodded. “Indeed, you seem gifted with the sight of what could be when what is isn’t something worth seeing…”
King Louis departed in a steady walk while you watched after him until he left your view. Perhaps, if you managed to outdo yourself with the gardens, the lonely king would feel something other than all the burdens which rested atop his shoulders.
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A/N: I know it’s a bit of an abrupt ending, but I feel this was the perfect place to stop this One-Shot. I feel all warm in a friendly manner from writing this fic and I think we can all remember what happened in A Little Chaos and basically imagine the same thing repeating once Y/n has finished decorating the Gardens 🥰
Setting: Snape lives AU, set many, many years after the Second Wizarding War and life has been kind to Severus at last — with you by his side.
A/N: It’s Christmas Eve darlings! Merry Christmas! 😍🎄✨ We’re in full swing with the celebrations and with the in-laws visiting it’s quite nice. For those who don’t know me, my husband is from Hong Kong and so we have quite different cultures, language barriers (no shared language despite having many languages between us) etc in our family but we always end up having such a great time 🥰
I wish you all the best holiday and I hope next year will be amazing! Let’s end this year’s Rickmas with some Old-Happy-Snape 😍❤
There was little to do for him. You always sorted everything needed, with a smile so bright and a warmth so strong he would never have enough of it. Each year, as if it were a magical law, you turned into an energetic ball of joy with a need to decorate every surface of the little house he had come to feel at home in — a feeling he never expected to experience. It had been years of this warmth now, years of having a bright home and that odd feeling in his gut that came with complete relaxation.
It was all you, of course. It had nothing to do with the cosy kitchen where your favourite mug and his stood side by side next to the kettle. It had little to do with the fireplace of natural stone dressed in garlands and two stockings with his and your name hand-stitched into the white fabric in the living room. There was nothing special about the bedroom with the hand-sewn quilt of fabrics procured during all your travels around the world. Not even the cute covered porch with the hanging swing big enough for two to sit and watch the marvellous sunsets during chilly spring evenings had anything to do with it.
It was you. Just you. He could live in a shack at the edge of the world and you’d make it wonderful, he was certain of it. You were magical. A muggle, sure, but more magical than any spell or incantation could ever hope to be.
“Severus! Where are you, love?” you called and he could not help but smile as he put down his book and got out of the comfortable chair of worn-out leather.
“The study,” he said, his voice carrying through the house despite it not being loud.
You poked your head in with that bright smile and those warm eyes. “Cheeky, love. Come on, they’ll all arrive soon.”
“On my way,” he said while you disappeared, your quick steps sounding out through the house while he moved a bit slower.
He stretched out his back, two pops going off before he rolled his shoulders once. He was no spring boy anymore, and time had not been kind to his body — but you seemed to love it as much today as you had all those years ago. That was all that mattered.
He drew a deep breath, not fearing what was to come as he had done for the first decade by your side. Now he knew better. He was better. Again, it was all your handiwork. So, as he walked through the narrow hallway from one end of the house to the other he found his steps to be light and the warmth of the house felt comfortable rather than stifling as it had done all those years ago when life had been dark and he had been broken.
“Can you get the ice chocolate and the fudge from the fridge?” you asked as he entered the kitchen.
“The red or green bowls?” he asked as he grabbed the sweets.
You looked over your shoulder at him, a little flour on your nose and the amazing smile had gone even wider. “The red ones, I think the green ones for the gingerbread and candy canes.”
He nodded. “Certainly. You know best, sweetheart.”
You giggled. “Again.”
He harrumphed but obliged. “Sweetheart."
“Onnnne more time?” you asked, your eyes warming as you’d stopped whisking whatever was in the bowl before you.
“Sweetheart,” he said, not wavering in his gaze hooked to yours.
“I love you.” You smiled softly all of a sudden and his heart stuttered.
He sat the sweets down, walking up to you. He grabbed at your waist and pulled you close before whispering into your ear. “I love you beyond all things.”
“Sev.”
“Mmh, my sweetheart…” he murmured before kissing your cheek that was all warm against his lips. “You’re a wonder, each year—” The doorbell rang and interrupted him.
“They’re here!” you called out and he chuckled as you scrambled out of the apron, revealing how perfectly dressed you were in greens and silver.
He grabbed your wrist before you bolted. “Flour,” he said before brushing it off your nose.
You leaned up and kissed him quickly with all the love in the world shining in your eyes. Then you nearly ran to the door while he walked slowly out of the kitchen just as jolly voices rang through the house in a cacophony of wishes for Happy Holidays and Merry Christmases. It made him smile hearing his in-laws and friends be so happy to enter his home for a Christmas party. Never had he imagined he’d ever have anything the likes of his current life. But, with you, he had all the things he’d thought impossible — despite the differences and difficulties the two of you had gone through at first it had all been worth it.
He chuckled to himself as he entered the hallway. You were in full swing with gathering everyone's coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. You were more of a clothing pile on legs at that moment than a human. He drew out his wand and flicked it, lifting the burden from you and hanging it all up.
“Oh, thank you, love,” you said with a chuckle as he nodded. “Now, can we all gather in the living room for some toddy and sweets that would be great,” you said loudly while the general noise of twelve people in the tiny hallway made it quite hard to hear.
Everyone greeted him warmly, happily, before moving through the house and into the soon-to-be packed living room while you brought up the rear end.
“This will be wonderful, love,” you said, giving him a quick hug and kiss.
“You make everything wonderful,” he said before releasing you.
You blew a raspberry. “Sev, love, you make me who I am,” you said — something you had told him several times but it would probably be the one thing he would never fully understand.
“Then I shall keep doing whatever it is I am doing, sweetheart,” he murmured before stealing another quick kiss before the both of you moved to the living room and all the happy guests who wished to spend Christmas Eve with the two of you every year. I am blessed, he thought and you stopped just beyond the threshold — forcing him to do the same.
“You deserve this, Sev.”
He glanced down at you. “What?”
“You think you’re blessed, but you’ve done all the work to get here. You deserve this, so, smile and enjoy it with me?”
That you knew him so well only added to the warmth. He leaned forward, kissing your temple gently. “Every day, sweetheart. Every. single. day, he murmured with that low tone you seemed to adore so much. And, indeed, your eyes warmed further and there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be than right there in the chaos of a loud Christmas party with you by his side...
The end of Rickmas 2024...
Thank you for this year, darlings!
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A/N: HE DESERVES ALL THE HAPPINESS! 😭👏🎄✨❤
Merry Christmas darlings! I hope you've had a wonderful time this December and that you're all warm on the inside with this last fic of Rickmas 2024 ❤❤❤
I can barely wrap my head around having been able to post every day for Rickmas this year without missing a single day, and it's ended up at a total 69k word count in the end - holy moly 👀😅
AaaaaaaAAAAaaaaAAAAAAAAaaah! I ADORE SEEING YOU IN MY NOTES! And your tag "yellowbadgermole recommends" always makes me go:
I missed your works soooooo much! It's been a while since I last had the time to read. And I'm genuinely glad to read your beautifully written works again. It keeps me going. Thank youuuuuuu so much!
Setting: Snape Lives AU, set 19th of December 1999 roughly a month after Snape’s return home from the hospital and you have been in love with him for years, sending letters and gifts in secret.
A/N: I feel like we need one more Snape fic this year, don’t you? 🥰 Well, you better bloody well enjoy it ‘cus I damn near keeled over writing this long thing in one sitting - remind me why I keep doing this to myself? I’m short on time, tomorrow the Christmas celebrations start and go all the way until the 25th over here and I’ve been running myself ragged between my two jobs, sorting the house, writing for Rickmas and generally being a wife, a mom, and a human - with all the work that entails in and of itself 😂
Also, don’t be fooled by how sweetly this fic starts 👀
Tags/TW’s: Secret Pining, Teenage Crush Turned Love In Adulthood, Fear, Shortly Mentions [horrible nightmares / fear for another’s safety / violence / blood / slight gore / painful past / terrible history / the war / the dark lord / wanting to die / hospital stay / scars], Shame, Guilt, Going Into Hiding, Embarrassment, Sadness, Mind Reading (Legilimens), Confessions
Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name | Y/L/N - your Last Name
Word Count: 4.2k
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
A Helping Hand
This is fantastic, what the bloody hell was I thinking?! The black door with chipped paint loomed before you. It was an ordinary door, of regular height and width, yet it was so large and utterly imposing. I shouldn’t be here, why am I here? It’s not like he’s going to open the door and go ‘oh a Christmas star, how wonderful, come in, come in’, like, no… You adjusted your hold of the red flower in a too-small pot with a green satin ribbon tied at the top of it.
You shivered in the cold wind and your boots had turned slightly soggy with melted snow. They weren’t the best shoes for walking in snow but they were the finest pairs you had and matched perfectly with your dress and cloak of deep green with silver details.
“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, just knock, you idiot!” you hissed at yourself before drawing a steadying breath, reaching your hand up, and knocking far too lightly. It was more of a tapping than a knocking, really. But your hand was already clamped around the pot once more as your heart raced and pixies seemed to have a party in your stomach.
You sighed. This is stupid, he’s not going to open… It wasn’t your first attempt at contacting your previous professor. It had been a few years since you graduated, he might not even remember you despite the letters and gifts you had sent him through the years. The last two years you hadn’t dared to do so though. The world had gone too dark and the rumours of the man’s place as Voldemort’s number one follower hadn’t gone unnoticed.
One more time, you told yourself before reaching up to knock again. This time, a little harder even if it still sounded timid. You held onto the pot in a cramp-like manner as you waited with your heart in your throat and the growing party of pixies in your stomach turning into a rave.
The lock clicked. Then a chain rattled. Your eyes widened as you watched the handle turn and air seemed to evade you as the door slowly creaked open. There he was. Black hair, pale skin, frock and all — just how you remembered him. Almost.
He arched a brow, opening the door further as he found you standing one step down. His eyes went up and down, from your shoes to the Christmas Star flower and then to your face.
“Miss Y/l/n?” he drawled, his voice more hoarse than you could remember.
“P-professor,” you stammered, suddenly having no idea what to do now that he actually opened the door.
“Not anymore,” he said harshly, but his tone wasn’t quite angry or the like. “What can I do for you, Miss Y/l/n?” he continued, his voice clipped and low.
You blinked. “Um, here—” you held out the flower, nearly shoving it into his arms “—it’s a Christmas Star, erh, flower for you,” you continued, feeling mortified as heat crept under your skin.
“I can see what it is,” he drawled, looking from the flower to you with eyes betraying none of what he was thinking or feeling. “Why am I receiving it?” he continued.
“I— Well, I thought I’d— You see, I— Um, well, yes, that’s a good question,” you rambled, turning warmer in your heavy cloak by the second. “Um, Merry Christmas,” you finally managed to force out while wishing the stone steps below would swallow you whole.
You hadn’t thought it would go like this, you hadn’t thought you’d lose any semblance of speech and thought by just seeing the man again. But, as usual, your teenage habit around the intimidatingly gorgeous man had you tongue-tied and unable to coherently say or think anything.
He was still gorgeous. More ravaged by harsh times, more distant than ever, and less fearsome yet more intimidating with the lack of feelings coming from him. Get yourself together!
“Another gift,” he drawled, looking at the flower while he held the bottom of the pot in just one hand. “You have sent me quite a few.”
You spluttered, dying of embarrassment it felt like. “I— Well, yes, I did… I’m sorry. Sorry, Professor, I shouldn’t have— and I shouldn’t have come now, you never opened before so I didn’t think you’d— No matter, I’ll leave. Um, Merry Christmas,” you rambled.
“Yes, you said that already, miss.”
“Oh, right, yes, right, I did. Sorry,” you whispered while burning up from the rushing of your pulse and the searing heat of embarrassment.
You turned to leave, rushing down the stairs without another word.
“It’s slippery at the— Careful!” he shouted in a hoarse manner that could barely be classified as more than a murmur in the lone tone. But, it was too late. You flung your arms out, your feet sliding out from under you as you fell helplessly backwards. A crash resonated through the air and with barely a millisecond to spare you levitated in mid-air with your hair gracing the snow below.
You panted and heaved, completely still in the charm he had cast over you with no time to spare. The stone beneath could have cracked your skull, so adrenaline kept rushing through your body even though the danger was over.
“T-Thank you,” you said in a stuttering exhale as he straightened you up. As soon as your feet hit the ground and his charm released you you shivered and drew in a deep breath to calm yourself.
“As accident-prone as I remember,” he murmured behind you. “Do you never learn, Y/n?”
You turned, only to find him standing in the fully open doorway with the shattered pot and snapped flower at his feet. “Your gift,” you whispered, feeling your lips turn down in a saddened frown. “It took ages to grow that thing and make the pot,” you sighed to yourself.
“You grew it?” he asked, making you look up from the mess.
“Well, yes, I can’t give you store-bought flowers.”
“Why?” he asked, making you scrunch your brows. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“What do you mean? You saved the world, you must have gotten all kinds of flowers and gifts. I wanted mine to… be something else,” you admitted while looking at the snapped stem and scattered red petals. Your heart ached at the sight, all those months of work and magic you’d poured into it — gone.
Snape aimed his wand at the mess, not a word uttered but his brows scrunched. You sighed. “It can’t be mended…”
He looked at you. “Magic?”
You shook your head. “No, it can’t be fixed with magic… I grew it in… It doesn’t matter,” you whispered, brushing down your cloak to have something to do with your errant hands that wished to scoop up the broken pieces of your love at his feet. No amount of wand waving would be able to mend either flower or pot — they were impervious to any and all magic.
Snape looked at you, tilting his head ever so slightly before he waved his wand and the broken pieces flitted up into a levitating ball. “Come in,” he said and you damn near lost the capability to breathe.
“W-What? Come-, come in? Into your home?” you asked, your voice nearly rude.
He looked at you while standing half-turned in the doorway. “Or do not,” he simply stated before you lurched into action. “Slippery,” he reminded harshly and you slowed your climb up the stairs. Your heart and mind had no intention of slowing down though.
The door closed behind you and the gloom of a narrow hallway took over. The scent of him was overwhelming. Your mouth popped open at his back as he moved away from you, towards a door at the end leading to what appeared to be a shabby kitchen in a dull green with chequered flooring.
You scrambled out of your coat, in the gloom your dress glittered like a star-strewn sky and the silvery buckle of your waist-belt shimmered. I can do this, I can absolutely do this, this is what I wanted. Yet your hands shook and your entire body felt strung tightly as you used magic to dry your boots and the hem of your dress. You weren’t about to drag in slush and gravel into the man’s house.
With careful steps, you moved toward the open door where Snape stood by a small table only large enough to seat two people. The kitchen was gloomy as well, and it hadn’t escaped your notice that there were no decorations or hints of Christmas in the house. The man himself stood leant over the remnants of your shattered gift as you stepped up.
“Just throw it out,” you said quietly, despite how it hurt. “It’s rubbish—”
“Don’t,” he snarled in that hoarse voice while throwing a harsh glare at you. “It is not rubbish.”
You blinked. “Professor, it’s broken. Can’t be mended.”
“It’s not Professor anymore,” he muttered.
“Then, what do I call you?”
He glanced at you, something swept over his features before his shoulders stiffened. “Severus, if you wish. Mr Snape if that is more to your liking.”
“Your— I can call you… Severus?” you asked, stunned and floored and bewildered and, well, everything at the same time.
He didn’t reply. You both looked at the broken pot and flower in silence. All the months of work you’d put into it, gone. The endless hours you’d spent teaching yourself to do pottery by hand and the countless failed attempts — it had all been a waste. But, I knew it would be… Even if it hadn’t shattered it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. This was just selfish of me, my own need to tell him I... You couldn’t finish the thought, too many horrid memories crept up just thinking about it. All the tears, the ache in your heart and fear in your gut as times had grown dark years ago.
Severus straightened. “You stopped sending letters,” he said but kept his eyes on the mess atop the table.
You looked up at his profile. “Well, yes… I…” You drew a steadying breath, readying yourself to be honest. “I got scared… I knew of your place beside Voldemort, and I suspected your place beside Dumbledore… I couldn’t imagine you ever truly being on the wrong side… But, they took family members, friends, people who—” People who mattered to others… And even if I know I don’t matter to you, they wouldn’t have known that given the letters and gifts…
“So, you read them..?” You almost didn’t want to hear the answer — either way, it would feel weird.
He nodded, his hair falling forward. “Many times. You did not sign a single one until the very last, why?”
You released a deep breath. “I… I never have and never will think I’m worthy of someone like you.” His eyes widened and he was about to speak but you rushed on. “Don’t worry, I’m not hurt by it. I understand,” you said with a dejected chuckle. “I’m just me, and I was your student, you know I’m nothing special, just average.”
“That was many years ago, I only taught your last two years,” he said. The depth of his voice and its new raggedness had a shiver crawl down your spine.
You looked up at him, your arms crossed over your chest in a self-hug and your lips in a small smile both sad and soft in its nature. “Yes, quite, and from that time to now you’ve saved the world, protected children and adults, offered all of yourself with only loss of years to show for it I guess.”
“Your point?” he drawled, a deeper darkness to his tone.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up, it must be painful for you.” This is going bloody well, absolutely fantastic, can I be more of a damn idiot?
He crossed his arms over his chest, too. Yet, in a harsher manner. “Your point,” he demanded and you instantly felt as if you were being scolded by your professor, a fantasy you were far too shy to ever admit to having had several times during your more lonely nights.
“I have nothing, sir,” you whispered. “I’m nothing compared to you. I went into hiding, I didn’t even fight like so many did…”
“You wrote of your fear,” he drawled and your shoulders drew upwards, toward your ears in shame. “You stayed alive. More people did that than those who fought against the Dark Lord in battle.”
“I hid, I ran away to the north and… I was of no help,” you admitted with a forced smile to hide the shame within your heart.
He glared at you, but it didn’t feel like a glare out of anger. It still had you tensing even more though. How on earth you’d managed to get into such a deep conversation with the man of your dreams — and nightmares — you weren’t sure but you barely dared to breathe for fear of being kicked out of his home.
“War is a terrible thing,” he said quietly. “Many fought. Many lost their lives and loved ones, but more still fled or hid. Staying alive, there is no shame to it, Y/n. No shame.” His words were harsh, unyielding and said in a manner that had you believe he might be speaking equally for your and his benefit. He was still alive, too.
“Yeah, maybe…”
“No. You should not be ashamed for staying alive.”
“One day, maybe I won’t be,” you admitted while a heaviness seemed to blanket the room.
Severus glanced from you to the broken pot and flower once more. “Perhaps a helping hand is all we need when times are the hardest,” he said in no more than a whisper. “Your letters… they were, important to me.”
You gulped down a lump that had formed in your throat. “They were..?”
“Yes.” He seemed to soften next to you. “I feared you had died, when it all stopped… Seeing your name in the last letter, I cannot tell you how it affected me when I realised no more would come.”
I affect him? You weren’t sure what to say to that. You hadn’t ever imagined that you meant anything to the brave man, yet here he stood and said the opposite. But perhaps it was more of a comfort thing, a friendship thing. You shivered, your shoulders shaking. It wasn’t any help that the house was quite chilly.
“Come,” he said, turning and leaving the kitchen before you had barely reacted. You stumbled after him with a final glance at the shattered love left on his little kitchen table. He led you into a sitting room while your mind kept spinning with questions of what he thought of you, what he felt, how much he had cared when he thought you had died. Don’t go there. You had imagined far too many times that he had met a slow, painful death. Far too many nightmares had forced you awake with a scream as his death and torture were featured within your own mind.
“Sit,” he said before flicking his wand to light the fireplace. “I shall bring some tea.” A wave of warmth washed over the room and the golden light of the flames had shadows dancing all around.
“Tea? Oh, thank you,” you said in a shocked rush as you sat yourself down on the two-seat sofa. He disappeared out the doorway and you were left looking around the room with the growing memories of all the nights and days you had been a complete mess, absolutely in shambles, over the man whose house you were now in.
Your eyes zeroed in on the fire as you squeezed your own biceps. He was different from how you remembered him, both in a good and bad way. Despite the harrowing life he had led, he was still the most beautiful man you had ever laid eyes upon, and despite the slight hint of a scar that shouldn’t be there at all at the very top of his throat and the hoarse voice, you found him perfect. He was darker, he was harsher and more reserved in his behaviour but he talked with you and there was something about him that hadn’t changed at all.
You squeezed your biceps again, the memories coming unfiltered of all those times you had cried yourself to sleep or woken up screaming in horror. Your head swam with images of a bloody Severus, of broken limbs and a twisted neck. Gurgling breaths and wheezing noises. You barely held onto reality and the roaring fire attempting to warm you. Being in his house, and seeing him again after all these years, kicked everything to the forefront and you couldn’t get a handle on your emotions or mind.
You drew a stuttering breath, closing your eyes to try and banish the horrors of the past as they multiplied — both false nightmares and memories of re-tellings in the news of Severus’s heroic actions that had only led him to experience pain and suffering for Merlin knew how long. Get it together, get it together, you told yourself over and over as you drowned in the raging flood released by the very realisation that it was all over — that he was safe. Out of reach, but safe and alive.
You jolted up from the sofa at the sound of porcelain breaking and scattering. “Severus?” you called out, your voice shrill and your heart in an uproar. “Severus?” you called again before rushing toward the kitchen, in the direction of the noise. But you stopped short in the hallway where he stood with open hands and a mess of broken teacups and steaming water at his feet.
He looked at you with ghastly pale skin and slightly heaving breaths.
“Are— Severus, are you okay? What happened?” you asked while walking up toward him, your pain and fears from the past forgotten for a moment at the sight of him.
“What… was that?” he asked in a dark whisper.
“What was what?” you asked, spinning around to look down the hallway, was there something in the house? No, you couldn’t see anything. “There’s nothing there.”
You turned back toward Severus, his eyes eerily fixated on you. Then you felt it. A prodding sensation and a presence in your mind that wasn’t supposed to be there. “What are you—” Your temples strained and your hand flew up to your forehead.
“That,” he snarled as you saw flickers of so many horrid memories revolving around him flash in your head as he scoured through it all. You couldn't push him out, his skill was too great.
“S-stop,” you pleaded. “That’s private,” you continued while looking away from him.
Embarrassment, shame, hurt, it all filled your chest as he retreated from your mind and left a palpable void where he had been a second ago. “T-That’s private,” you whispered, holding back tears as your back curved under the weight of your shame. Severus had gone through literal hell for years on end where your imagination had only brushed the surface — yet it was more than you could handle and he had had to live through it all, and possibly far worse things than you could imagine. Your fear and anguish was false, and in the presence of true bravery and strength, you wished to vanish and never come out of hiding ever again.
“You cried, for me?” he asked, so quietly you could barely hear it.
“Please, I’m ashamed enough as it is…” you whispered while turning your back on him to wipe away the tears refusing to stop now that they had begun to spill over.
“Ashamed,” he said as if tasting the word for the first time.
You tensed. “I’m sorry, I— I shouldn’t have come to see you,” you whispered while snivelling as quietly as you could. “I’m sorry,” you forced out before bolting toward the door with a suffocated cry, grabbing your cloak in passing before gripping the door’s handle and tugging.
It didn’t budge. You tugged again, twisting one way and then the other but it wouldn’t open. Let me out, please, please let me out. You couldn’t stand the shame, the fear, the unwanted longing you were filled with for the man behind you. Through all the pain, the fear, through everything, all you had wanted was to hold him tight and make sure he was safe. It was selfish, it was ridiculous, it was unrequited and a lost cause.
You snivelled and spluttered a cry. “Please, let me out,” you whimpered while tugging on the door again. “I can’t do this,” you cried quietly. But two large hands atop your shoulder had you gasping a breath as you were spun around in a rush, your back pushed against the unyielding door with strength you stood no chance against.
“You cried for me,” he whispered. You couldn’t look him in the eye.
“I’m sorry.”
A gusted breath fanned your face as he snarled. “No. You cannot be sorry for that,” he said with finality. “Do not apologise for caring enough to shed tears for an unwanted man.”
You glanced up through the tears, the view of him hazy despite how close his face was to yours. “I’m sorry,” you said again. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t.”
“I was useless,” you cried quietly. All the shame, the guilt, the pain welled up further. “Useless…” You snivelled and gripped your dress so harshly you could feel your nails through the fabric.
His hands hardened around your trembling shoulders. “You cried for me,” he repeated — as if he was as stuck in his mind as you were.
You had no time to react before he sank before you, his knees thudding to the floor ominously as his hands slipped down your arms only to hold on to your wrists. “I thought you were dead,” he murmured with his face tilted toward the floor. “The letters, the gifts… I thought I had lost my chance,” he continued while his hands hardened to the point of pain around your wrists. But you felt him tremble, heard his voice waver, felt the coldness of sadness seep from him and into you.
“What chance?” you asked, barely able to breathe when he tilted his head back only to view you with tear-lined eyes. The onyx colour appeared black in the gloom.
“To tell you…”
“T-Tell me? W-What?” you managed to force out between snivelling breaths and clogging cries.
“You matter to me. You… are important, to… me,” he said darkly and forcibly through gritted teeth as his hands clamped around your wrists and a bewildered look filled his eyes while the rest of him remained utterly harsh.
“But I can’t be,” you whispered. “I did nothing.”
“You saved me,” he snarled.
Your breath hitched as he tugged on your wrists, forcing you down on your knees before him. His hands gripped your shoulders anew, steadying you before you would have fallen face-first into his chest. “Your words saved me, your gestures, you have no idea what you did for me,” he ground out. “Do not think, for a second, you are useless, Y/n. If it weren’t for you… I am the one who should feel shame.”
“What? No! You saved the world!”
He glared at you. “Only barely.”
“That doesn’t matter. You did it.”
“Because of you. I could not… I could not fail when I thought you had died because of what the Dark Lord persisted for.” He was so calm in the next second. As if, somehow, he found control again while you spiralled and kept snivelling and whimpering cries.
Your body sagged under the weight of his words. “But, I am nothing to the world—”
“You are important to me,” he interrupted. “And until you sent that card to St. Mungos, I had believed you dead — as I had wished to be.”
“Severus, no, no,” you cried, instinctively reaching up to grasp at his chest.
He allowed the touch, reaching around to pull you closer. “You saved the world, and then you saved me. All you had to do was stay alive, and you did. Nobody has a right to ask for anything more than that, yet, I will…”
You leaned back, a snivelling and trembling mess before him. He reached up and wiped your cheeks with the back of his chilly fingers even if the tears just kept on coming.
“Let me know you, Y/n.”
You held his gaze. “You know me better than anyone, what I told you in those letters are things I haven’t told anyone…”
His eyes widened, his fingers tensed and then he pulled you closer by your waist. “Stay,” he said.
You buried your face in his chest, beyond emotional and out of control. You trembled and shook, your brain misfired and had you scrambling for the connection with your voice to speak the only word you wished. Instead, you cried into his chest and grasped at his clothes with clawing strength. He held you closer, his embrace firm and warm.
“Stay. Gift me what I thought I had lost forever…”
“A-and, w-what, is that..?” you said between snivels and rushed breaths.
“You… A chance to be with the woman who saved the world through me…”
It was too much, yet you managed to find your voice. “Never let go,” you whispered.
“Never.”
Pairing: Young Severus Snape x Young Female Hufflepuff You
Set in: Year Seven of Yours and Severus’s Hogwarts time
POV: Second, Reader
A/N: I wanted to write something sweet, something cute, something fun and warming in a one-shot to take a little break from the serials of Brandon, Gruber, and Turpin that I have going on so far this Rickmas so here we are with a young Snape 🥰 Now, it was supposed to be short but… umh, yeah… 👀 P.S the potion in this story is completely made up.
Also, side note, we had a family Christmas crafts day at work (the library) today and there was so much happening I feel like I've been in a whirlwind and I need to finish tomorrow's prompt but I'm all drained after the super-energy at work 😅
Tags/TW’s: Mutual Secret Pining, Young Love, First Kiss, Hand Holding, Knight In Shining Armour Vibes, Illegal Potion Making, Rule Breaking, Sneaking Around After Curfew, Disastrous Potion, Slight Banter/Teasing (fun kind!), Nervousness, Low Self-esteem
Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name | Y/L/N - Your Last Name
Word Count: 4.6k
LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST
Wrapped Tightly
Your hands ached, your mind solely focused on counting the stirs of the cauldron. …forty-eight, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one… On and on it went, you would count until you hit eighty-three and then stir the potion counter-clockwise sixteen times before setting it to simmer for the upcoming eleven hours — perfectly timed for when you’d return from breakfast the day after. You’d have to get an early breakfast to make it in time but curfew was coming closer for this Friday evening so you had no choice but to make it at this time.
What you were doing wasn’t exactly allowed, but then again, no great things are discovered or created by strictly following rules and regulations, right? There, switch to counter-clockwise and one, two, three, four, five… It was a relief to move your arms in the opposite direction while you focused on counting — trying not to let the potentially disastrous outcome of brewing an illegal potion in a restricted tower of your school could yield; especially if the potion didn’t go as planned.
You pulled the wooden spoon of honey-waxed oak out of the potion at the exact right time, staring into the still-swirling potion for any signs of it changing colour for a long minute. It did not, and you let out a sigh of relief. The icy blue liquid was thick and white fumes with what looked like minuscule crystals wafted up from the cauldron as you adjusted the burner beneath it. Nothing happened, the potion remained the same and you clapped your hands giddily.
Before leaving the cold room with a slight shimmer to their walls as the fumes filled the space, you cast another three secrecy charms and a trespass hex for good measure. Rather someone gets a bit of a headache than discovering what you were up to, honestly.
The clock struck nine, the giant clock tower not far from the tower you occupied boomed it out and you closed the door to get yourself back to Hufflepuff quarters. You were on the wrong end of the school, and at the top of it which also happened to be opposite to where your dormitory was. Hufflepuff wasn’t as deep down as Slytherin in the dungeons but still, like the badger representing your house, you were down below.
You sneaked down the swirling staircase of stone, staying close to the inner wall, and made sure to keep your steps light and quiet. The curfew was in effect and now, with the halls lit with more candles and dressed in sparkly globes of magical ice, your reflection could be spotted as well if a teacher on patrol happened to pass nearby.
“Miss Y/l/n,” came a quiet voice and you halted while stiffening. “Perhaps you should take a left, lest you run into old Filch in a minute,” it continued as you turned your head only to find Sir Nicholas peaking his head out from the wall, literally just the head and the tiny flap of skin holding it attached to his shoulders which were hidden within the wall or perhaps behind it — you weren’t sure how thick the walls actually were.
“Sir Nicholas,” you whispered. “Aren’t you supposed to be on the teachers’ side?”
He smirked, his moustache twitching. “Oh, I like a good joke as much as anyone and what you’re brewing will be a fantastic one.”
You scrunched your brows. What you were brewing wasn’t intended for any joke. “What do you mean?”
“Come now, he’s nearly here.”
You looked around. “I can’t walk through walls,” you whisper-hissed.
“No, but you can open the door,” he chuckled and disappeared. Door, what door?
“In here,” came a voice you knew all too well.
Your heart quickened at the dark drone and you looked slightly behind you. “Severus?”
“Come on,” he said and a hand shot out through the wall— no, through a crack in the wall that suddenly opened wider. A hidden passage? I thought I’d found all— woah! You got yanked through the second your hand landed in his and darkness wrapped tightly around you along with stale air and an eerie quietness.
He pulled you closer, you stumbled on the uneven stone floor and planted your face against his harsh chest in the process of nearly falling face-first. He smelled too good. Sage, peppermint, and a scent all his own. Your heart leapt anew and your pulse quickened rapidly.
“Sch,” he hissed as you were about to apologise for stumbling into him.
Footsteps moved past the other side of the wall— erh, door. You both stood absolutely still and you could not help but inhale his scent deeply, feeling that ever-growing warmth in your gut once more — as you did each time you lay eyes on the young man who a year ago had fully caught your attention when he saved you from a potion about to explode in class. It hadn’t been your potion, but the benchmate you sat next to. Had Severus not pulled you away and down from the bench next to you on the other side you would have ended up in the Hospital Wing for weeks, like Mr Biscy (the boy who was brewing) had.
You’d liked Severus before that, mostly by his appearance and this strange allure he had. You’d chalked it up to the bad-boy-vibes and the utter lack of interest he seemed to hold in anyone — even the world — and that was something you were fascinated by. Fine, alright, given your badger status, you were also quite happy to make friends and drag those friends along for the crazy ride that was life. To see people realise how not docile Hufflepuff people were was like the icing on the cake, to be honest.
“He’s gone,” Severus said, the dark drone even deeper with your head so close to his chest. You almost whined a complaint as he let your hand go and stepped back. Your eyes had adjusted to the darker space but it was still hard to see much of anything.
“Thanks,” you said with a wide smile.
“Why are you out beyond curfew?” he asked, and you could have sworn his brow arched and his face hardened a smidge. He was so pale and his hair and clothes so dark that the features were actually visible even in the gloomy space.
“Wouldn’t you like to know."”
“I would not have asked otherwise.”
You rolled your eyes, the saying going over his head apparently. “It’s my business. I could ask you the same question, you know.”
“True.” He turned and began walking, you followed quickly. "But I am not the one nearly caught. Good for you Nicholas told me.”
“Wait, he told you? What did he tell you?” Please, nothing about the potion for Merlin's sake.
“That you were about to get caught by Filch. I can come out of that unscathed, you, however, could not.” The drawl of his voice nearly sounded smug.
You knew the squib and Severus had some strange form of friendship, or even a bond perhaps, but there was never a chance for you to ask anything about it. Hell, you barely got a chance to ever speak to or even be this close to Severus — he was a bloody expert at keeping distances… Annoying. You couldn’t quite bring yourself to admit that you truly fancied him, because there was no happiness to come from that given Severus barely acknowledged anyone's existence — yours included.
“There should be rules about teacher pets,” you said quietly.
“True. It would not have any effect on the caretaker of Hogwarts, though. Would it?” he said, again, a hint of smugness to his voice you could not quite remember ever having heard before.
“You’re awfully smug, bit of a git behaviour that,” you said in a we’re-talking-about-the-weather kind of voice.
“Smug? No.”
“Then, what?”
He stopped, you nearly crashed into his back before he looked over his shoulder at you. “Happy…” he murmured before speeding off in long strides while your brain misfired and your legs had to start sprinting on instinct to follow the leader - so to speak - as you had no idea where you were or where the small hallway was taking you.
Happy? Why happy? Have I never heard him happy before? I don’t think I have. Why is he happy though? Is it me— pfth, don’t be daft. But why? You caught up to him as your brain fired thoughts at you in rapid form. “Happy?” you asked. “Why? What makes you happy? I love it, but why?” you rambled while walking as fast as your shorter legs would carry you. Severus took such long strides you had to fight to keep up as the hallway twisted and turned, sometimes going down a few steps, and sometimes going up.
“I could help you,” he said quietly, his words barely audible.
“Help me? Well, yeah, Filch would have caught me so I’m very thankful for the help.” It looked as if he nodded at your words but you weren’t quite sure in the gloom. Come on, get him talking, this is your chance!
But Severus beat you to it. “Why are you… sparkling?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.
You held out your hands and arms, well, shit, you hadn’t thought about the fumes sticking to you as well as the surrounding area. “Erh, glitter bomb?”
Severus snorted. “Sure, glitter bomb. Engineer a better excuse.”
“Unicorn farted on me?” you said with a whitheld laugh.
“Better. Try again.” What, no laugh out of that?
“Fine, a Christmas elf sprayed me.”
He sighed. “Try again. Careful, steep drop here,” he said right after and slowed his steps.
Severus stepped down, turning him a few inches shorter than you which looked so odd.
“Here,” he said, holding out his hand. You hesitated for a moment while your fingers tingled with the prospect of getting to hold his hand. You grabbed on, he took a sturdy grip with those long fingers, and you stepped down the high step with a bit of manoeuvring.
“Where are we?” you asked and he released you.
“Almost by Hufflepuff.”
“What?”
“Yes.”
“But we were over on—”
“Hogwarts has many passages and secrets.” Severus glanced back at you. “Now, another, better, excuse.”
How about the truth? “Alright, I was brewing the Dragon Ice potion and the fumes got all over the place.”
Severus halted, you crashed into his back with an oomph! and a thud.
“You what?” he asked, turning to face you.
“Brewing the Dragon Ice potion—”
He grabbed your upper arms. “Are you completely out of your mind?!” he hissed. “Where’s the potion? Where are you doing it?”
“Southwest tower, the restricted one with the—”
“Idiot. Come on,” he said with exasperation and annoyance mixed with urgency.
“What? No, it’s not done until eight in the morning, it’s simmering for—”
“For eleven hours as per the recipe in the restricted section, yes, but that’s the incorrect recipe!” he snarled, grabbing your hand and pulling you back the way you came.
You dug your heels in. “What? But it says the same thing in all three books,” you said, halting all movement.
“Yes, and they are all incorrect to keep people from brewing it!”
“What?” you asked, worry beginning to gnaw in your gut despite the warmth and absolute joy it was to have Severus so close. “What will happ—”
“It will explode, turn everything in close vicinity to ice.”
“You say that as if you’ve done it before.”
“I have, and I learned,” he said. “You’re about to learn that you don’t brew dangerous, illegal potions at school where, if things go wrong, the evidence is in everyone’s faces. Y/n, what were you thinking?” he asked, anger and frustration seeped through his voice but he was not quite mean to you.
“I need the money.”
“So brew less dangerous potions!”
“No, I need a lot of money.”
“Don’t we all…” he muttered
“Come on, we need to break the potion cycle before it turns half the castle into an ice cube.”
“Wait, what?”
He jerked on your arm and you both began moving again. “Yes. The fumes are already turning your clothes hard, aren’t they?” When you thought about it, yes, your cloak felt stiffer than usual and your skirt wasn’t moving as swiftly around your thighs.
“I’m becoming ice?” There had been no bloody warning about that in the books.
Severus snorted. “No, of course not. It’s more like your clothes being covered in frost, not ice. It stops after a few minutes. The potion, however, is another matter.”
You both walked at a brisk pace all the way back to where you came from. Sir Nicholas appeared just in time when you reached the wall that was really a door.
“Back so soon?”
“Dragon Ice,” Severus said, and Sir Nicholas smiled and chuckled so his head nearly toppled to one side.
“Yes, quite the jester our Miss Y/l/n.” He glanced at me with weird eyes of mischief one usually didn’t see in them. “It will be so much fun when—”
“No, Sir, it’s the wrong recipe, half the castle will turn to ice if it explodes. And it will.”
Sir Nicholas stiffened. “Oh dear, Miss. Quite the pickle we’re in now.” But there was definitely mischief in his eyes, it looked wrong on this specific ghost but not in a necessarily bad way.
He floated backwards, out of the wall, and then reappeared again. “All safe, onward mighty students, to stop the botched potion!” he said with fanfare as if you two were knights in shiny armour. It was endearing but the bravado was a bit too much at the moment.
“Let’s go, Severus said and pushed open the wall— door, before grabbing your hand anew and pulling you close behind him toward the entrance to the tower.
You started up the swirling stairs, rushing up them. Truth be told, it was hard to be fast when Severus held your hand, but you had no incline to let go. Who knew, perhaps you’d never get to feel his fingers squeeze around yours ever again after tonight? It felt as if you were in a whirlwind — there was so much happening that you barely had time to reflect on the fact that you were with Severus, holding his hand, nearly running with him and that he’d spoken more to you in the past fifteen minutes in one go than ever before. And he said he was happy… But you had no time to think any more of it as you reached the door.
“Good hex,” he said, grabbing at his forehead with his free hand while you drew out your wand and undid it.
“Thanks, it was in—”
“Uncomfortable Spells For Protection, restricted section.”
You chuckled. “Yeah.”
“And here I was, thinking you badgers were sweet, none rebellious creatures,” he said, that smug sound in his voice once more but now you knew better.
“Aren’t you serpents supposed to be greedy, evil people? Not ones to help those in need with diffusing disaster potions and keeping people out of harm?”
“Touché.”
You chuckled before pushing the door open with the back of your wand-holding hand and arm.
“Shit,” Severus said, seeing the room filled with a blue-tinted fog that wasn’t at all the type of fumes you’d left it filled with not too long ago.
“It didn’t look like—” But Severus let go of you and rushed toward the cauldron, looking into it and interrupting you.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” he muttered before starting to search through the pockets of his robe. “Where is it, where is it?” he muttered further as you moved closer in the freezing room with walls, ceiling and floor covered in a thin sheet of ice and small icicles were forming across the ceiling, too.
“Well, this is bad,” you said, not sure if you were panicking or having a laugh at the whole thing.
“Yes, bad, very bad,” Severus muttered distractedly, still searching his robes.
“Maybe we should get a teacher?”
“No, this will not end well for us.”
“Us? You haven’t done—”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
True… “But you haven’t done anything, you can go to the dungeons while I get a teacher.”
“No time for— Shit! It’s going!” Severus snarled, nearly tearing his clothes apart when ripping at the pockets.
Panic surged through you as the cauldron began trembling and creaking while the potion swirled like a whirlpool. A very beautiful whirlpool of glitter, silver, and blue. But ominous.
“Get out, Y/n!”
“No way!” you shouted back. “This is my fault!”
“We’ll be pop-sickles in a minute!” Had the situation not been so grave you would have burst out laughing. But Severus looked far too serious.
“We’ll melt eventually!” you shouted over the sudden storm-like winds spinning around the room, coming from the cauldron. Small flecks of ice scratched at your skin and forced you to squint.
Severus grabbed his wand, shouted something, and a small cluster of purple twigs with white leaves flew from a pocket and into his hand. “Get down!” he ordered and you ducked as he threw the material into the cauldron before covering you with his own body. Your heart hammered, your pulse raced and in the midst of whatever was going on with the potion and dire situation you were in some bizarre form of heaven with Severus holding you tight while half laying over you to protect your head and back was there too, wrapping itself tightly around your heart.
The cauldron exploded. You gasped and whimpered from the shattering sound before the noise of splattering liquid came a second later. Another second passed and quietness took over. No more storming winds, no creaking cauldron. Only the odd dripping noise now and then along with the drumming of your own pulse in your ears and the feel of Severus’s heart against your back with his harsh breathing fanning over the top of your head.
After another moment you both straightened. The room was an absolute mess of darkly blue goo. A dense liquid closer to slime than anything else covered everything, including the wide-eyed Severus standing before you. He had protected you from most of it.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gruff and low.
You nodded. “Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” you replied while looking around the room before landing back on him again. “You’re not though, your hair, it’s turning blue…”
“Blue?!” He reached up and grabbed at the long black strands turning blue from root to tip like the black lake freezing over.
“It’s not so bad—”
He gusted out a harsh breath through his nose while glaring at you. “Not, so, bad?” he snarled. “I’m blue, Y/n. Blue.”
You couldn’t stop the giggle as all that had been black on him turned blue. A vibrant blue to boot. “It’s pretty, very, umh, Christmasy,” you said, endeavouring to hold back the laughing. But, in your defence, he looked like a blue gnome with porcelain skin.
“Christmas is red and green, if you’ve not noticed.”
“No, it can be any colour you—”
“By Merlin, if you say one more word about it I will hex you, Y/n.”
“Well—” you stepped closer, loosening the tightly gripping fingers out of his own hair “—hex away if it makes you feel better, I owe you big time for this… I mean, I could have been blue. Can you imagine a vibrantly blue badger? Nope, nope, nope. Blue snakes exist, so, no worries there.”
“Pacifying me with facts, are we?” he asked, but he seemed less angered and softer as you brushed away some blue hair from his face and adjusted the now blue coat that had been askew.
Looking up at him, you found his onyx eyes mesmerising. He looked slightly alarmed, but there was something to say for being the focus of his attention. Your heart certainly had a say about it, it galloped along like reindeer across the Christmas night sky rushing to bring the sleigh of Santa all around the globe.
“Purple,” you said.
“Purple?”
“Plum purple, now that would suit you splendidly. Perfectly matchable with black, too, mind you.”
He arched a brow. “Plum purple?” You nodded. “Make plum juice next time then, badger.”
“Next time?” you asked, your knees turning slightly wobbly.
His eyes hardened and widened a bit at the same time. “Or not, not like I care either way.”
His voice trembled ever so slightly, a lightness to it — as if he was suddenly embarrassed or something along those lines. You were too occupied with wondering what he meant to think much of it.
“You know, it’s not nice to say you’ll stick around if you have no plan to do it. I keep my friends, forever. Unless they do something shitty I can’t forgive,” you said.
He glanced away for a second and then looked back at you. “Well, I wasn’t suggesting friendship.”
You tilted your head, trying with all your might to understand if he was rejecting you despite having helped you immensely or if this was his way of saying he felt something for you as you certainly did for him. You had hinted at it, you had tried to get closer to him — but Severus, well, he wasn’t one to allow distances to shrink.
“Severus, are you saying I should keep my distance or are you asking me out on a Christmas date?” you asked, throwing caution to the wind and diving in head first.
The blue hair shimmered as he glanced all around the room except at you. “Maybe…” he muttered, redness creeping up along his neck and covering the tips of his ears peaking through the still-moist hair.
You sighed, trying to find his gaze with your own. “Maybe what? Maybe a date? At Madam Puddifoots next weekend with some sweet treats and hot drinks in the corner booth?”
“Something like that, perhaps…” His voice was so deep, so low, you barely heard him.
“Will you still be blue? Should I match?” you asked, unable to hide the warmth and giddiness in your voice despite trying to lighten the mood as the poor bloke seemed absolutely stressed about the potential of going on a date. Pfth, it's probably more just talking and being with someone and admitting to feelings and all that stuff but bloody hell I am right now damn thankful for potions going wrong.
Severus still hadn’t said anything, he just looked at you. “Well? Will you still be blue?”
“Are you— Are you making fun of me now?” he asked and the depth of his voice turned uncertain.
“Absolutely not.”
“You will go on a date, in public, with me?” he asked, his features tight but his eyes soft.
Better be clear here… “Yes.”
“I didn’t think you actually liked me.”
“I’ve been trying to show that for a year now, you're very difficult, you know.”
“Too difficult?”
“HA! There is no such thing as someone too difficult to love, Severus.”
“Love?” he asked, alarmed.
“Well, I’ve had a crush on you since Biscy nearly landed me in the Hospital Wing with his potion exploding.”
Severus snorted. “How he messed up so grandly I’ll never understand.”
“Perhaps not, but you noticed before anyone else did. I’ve always found you interesting, you know.”
“Have you?”
You smirked, wiggling your eyebrows at him while the atmosphere softened and eased. “Well, yeah, I’m a friend collector and I always want to rope in as many kinds of friends as possible — you certainly are one of a kind, helpful, too.”
“Why does that sound incredibly ominous, badger?”
“’cus it is. And if you’re my boyfriend, well, all the more fun things I can rope you into doing. Do you think failing a Dragon Ice potion is the only mischief I’ve ever been up to?” you asked, laughter and mirth in your voice as Severus’s eyes widened in alarm.
“I believe I am about to find out…”
“We badgers are on a whole other level. Like the time the cups turned into mice in the great hall, that was us. The singing trees in the dungeons, also us. The ice rink in the hallway on the fourth floor, also us. Remember that time everyone started floating about as if gravity went haywire?” Severus nodded. “Well, that was me. Who knew messing with gravitational spells to create a new one could make such a bloody mess of everything?”
“Anyone with two brain cells to combine,” he snarked and you smirked at him, he wasn’t serious or harsh about it — it sounded as if he were joking with you, to be honest.
“Think you can handle it?” you asked, stepping closer.
“Obviously. I may be blue, but we’re alive and the castle is whole, no thanks to you.” Severus looked down at you as you inched even closer, feeling all tingly as his eyes warmed a bit.
“So, knight in shiny armour it is,” you said, grabbing his hand and squeezing.
He arched a brow, not impressed apparently. “Shiny armour?”
“Ugh, fine, black knight,” you conceded and reached up on your toes.
Before he could react, or step back, you planted your wanting lips atop his and kissed him with everything you believed he could handle. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it certainly appeared to be his as he stiffened and did not so much as soften his lips — it was sweet, endearing even. When you leaned back he looked paler than a ghost but he didn’t appear to particularly dislike what you’d done.
He stared at you for a long moment while your hands warmed each other.
“You kissed me,” he said, eventually.
You smiled widely. “Supplying me with facts?”
“I wasn’t prepared.”
“Oh, shall I do it again on the count of three?” you asked, joking and smirking at him.
His eyes flickered from yours to your lips and then up again. “If— If you want to…” His ears turned scarlet red at that and your heart absolutely melted.
“Three, two, one,” you said quietly as you leaned closer and then you kissed him again. This time, he softened and tentatively kissed you back while his hand turned utterly warm around your own.
When the kiss broke, Severus seemed as shocked as before. “You did it.”
“Well, yes, I wanted to,” you said brightly. “Now, will you still be blue for our date and the breakfast tomorrow?”
“No. It will pass in about six hours with a good shower and new clothes.”
“So no matching then,” you said with a smile.
“And no plum purple,” he replied.
You laughed as he smiled carefully. “You’re quite the hoot, you know that?”
“Perhaps you hit your head when you ducked?”
You laughed again. “Perhaps, perhaps, but at least my head isn’t blue.”
“Touché,” he replied before turning to look at the mess of the room. “This will take time to undo,” he continued.
“Nah, a few spells and we’re good. On toward the next mischief.”
You never did tell him why you brewed the potion, or why you needed the money only illegal and dangerous potions to sell could bring in. That was a future discussion; if the relationship led to something more serious. For now, you’d enjoy a Christmas with the Slytherin you’d wanted for over a year — even if he were currently very blue you had no qualms about kissing him for a third time when he undid his cloak and rolled up his sleeves to help with the cleaning. The fact he stiffened and his ears reddened this time, too, only made you feel as if he was the sweetest thing that you’d eventually corrupt with shenanigans, of course.
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A/N: Well, this was fun 🥰👏 It really was supposed to be a short thing, just like a small tidbit of fun teenage shenanigans and then boom - inspiration hits and you gotta type type type 😂👌
I hope you’re enjoying this first week of Rickmas - which character is your favourite to read about when it comes to Alan? 😍❤
A/N: It’s the day before Christmas Eve and I’m here with the ending of Turpin’s serial for this year’s event - I’m excited! I wasn’t sure how this would pan out when I started writing this part but I think it ended as it should and I’m actually super pleased with this ending ❤
LET’S GOOOOO! Turpin and Julianne need their HEA! 😍👏
Tags/TW’s: Dancing, Pining, Harsh Turpin, Love Confessions, Light Fluff, Kissing, Proposal (more like a demand, but, yeah), WE GET ANOTHER HEA FOR RICKMAS 2024!
Word Count: 4.2k
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Eve Of Revelations
⁛•⁛ Julianne’s POV ⁛•⁛
A little more than a week had passed since I left Judge Turpin’s house after causing him yet another moment of disturbance with my intrusion and need for assistance. I had not once been able to let go of him in my thoughts, nor had my heart slowed in its beating for the man. It was odd, truly. I had no reason to feel as I did, nor had I been given any inclination that the man even truly saw me as anything but a citizen who had required aid.
As I clipped in the last false pearl in my hair and pinched my cheeks to turn them rosy I had to draw a steadying breath. The Christmas Ball was soon to commence and I had but a sorrow within me regarding it. A heavy weight atop my shoulders that had never been there before I met the great Judge Turpin — perhaps the weight would not be lifted for quite some time but I was in no position not to find a husband.
I walked with my pale blue dress held off the ground, the underskirts warded off the chill with the help of my cloak and it was a short walk from the Inn to the town hall where the ball was to be held. Lanterns hung around the entrance as well as a few garlands and red bows. Well, this is rather unpleasant but nothing to do about it. Perhaps Constable Greer is already here and I can do my utmost to secure him? He’s a respectable man, with a respectable profession, and not above my station. A possibility, at the very least, and I must clutch each one.
The Hall was warm and loud. Music played and people already danced about the floor as I gave my coat to one of the women by the door who hung it in a cloakroom and offered me a ticket with a number upon it. I thanked the woman and moved through to the large room decorated in green garlands, red satin strings, and an abundance of candles. It was rather beautiful, and the people seemed happy as the air filled with a warmth I had missed these past weeks in London. The city was a dark and gloomy place, absolutely, yet this room was inviting.
I walked in, looking around at the dancing couples and chatting people off the dance floor. Constable Greer waved at me before heading straight toward me with a wide smile on his slightly above-average face.
“Miss Brimmer, what a pleasure to see you arrive, my lady,” he said and bowed as I curtsied.
“Constable Greer, a pleasure indeed.” I smiled and he smiled right back.
“Are you in need of refreshments, or would you prefer a dance?” he asked, not offering me an alternative where being accompanied by him was not an option — it was quite forward, quite bold, but that was all the better for me.
I smiled and let out a little laugh. “How forward of you, sir. I shall take a dance, if you are offering.”
“A dance it is then,” he said and offered his hand. I took it and he moved us out on the floor among the other couples as a waltz began to play. His grip on me was soft and appropriate as we began moving about the room. He led me gently through the turns and spins and smiled happily at me. Yes, this man is a good option… Yet my heart was not in it. The heart matters little for marriage, Julianne. Now dance and smile.
Constable Greer finished off the waltz by dipping me gently despite it not being a true part of the dance. “How about that drink?” he asked, offering his arm as he had not held onto me beyond the dance.
“Oh, yes please, sir.” I wrapped my arm around his and he walked me toward the refreshments while talking of London as a city for life and work, he mentioned his position within the force and many other things while I sipped the red wine and nodded when needed.
He was a friendly man, and a happy one it appeared. He had few words of ill-will to speak and kept the conversation flowing with little investment from me — a good thing, too, as I could not truly find many words to speak to the man. The weight atop my shoulders only grew as time passed and my thoughts and heart were elsewhere, far away from the bright and warm room so at odds with the gloomy house that I had found a different kind of warmth within.
“May I ask for another dance, Miss Brimmer?” Constable Greer inquired as I sat my empty wine glass down on the counter.
“Certainly, Constable,” I replied with a smile and he once more led me to the floor now packed with couples. We found a little section of space and he held me closer than before so as not to bump into the other dancers before he began moving me about gently.
He still spoke of things like preferred foods and weather, of places in London to visit and people he was willing to introduce me to. It all went quite over my head as I struggled to pay attention and keep my smile bright enough. You need a husband, Julianne! Do not allow your silly thoughts and idiotic feelings for another man far beyond your reach to interfere! Focus, and keep smiling. Do not let the man you will never forget and never reach… My thoughts dwindled out as my smile faltered while Constable Greer spun me around in his gentle grasp.
⁛•⁛ Turpin’s POV ⁛•⁛
| During the same time as Miss Brimmer danced… |
He had held out until the clock struck nine. The very notion of your smile gracing the eyes of those attending such a frivolous thing as a Christmas Ball oddly had him deeply uncomfortable. Did you not say it was such a thing? Yet, you are to attend… with men ogling that perfect smile and hearing that sweet voice in all its warmth and, lightness…
He adorned his coat and hat, his face distorting with a sneer as he jerked the door open and strode out into the dark of night lit by lanterns casting a low glow across the dirty snow below. As he crossed the line between his home and the city. The creaking iron gate threw the infuriating memory of your fear and tear-stained cheeks at him. Unforgivable to cause a light as her such… fear.
Yet, that was not the reason for the long strides carrying him through London for said frivolous gathering. No. Oh no. His mind had a far darker water to wade through as his own villainous side prodded with vicious intent. Not for her, no… For whoever dared entertain even the idea of procuring the little light’s slender hand in marriage. It was her purpose for visiting London, after all. Yet, that purpose, could now only be allowed to have but one… sole… outcome…
“I shall have her,” he said under his breath in a near-desperate manner. For she had, undoubtedly, infected his skin with the warmth he sought and a brightness of voice which ought to have grated on his nerves as it never quieted yet he had found himself listening to it — each word she had spoken so brightly. It had been a violation of an unspoken rule for her to speak so freely in his presence. Yet, she had done so. And that, coincidentally, had now been the ruin of her future and extended to a life sentence of the so-called bad luck she had spoken of. For it certainly was bad luck that she had arrested him so fully, even if perhaps unwittingly done on her part.
He stepped into the Hall, its light a stark contrast to the dark of London behind him. The music an assault on his ears as the one sound he sought was nowhere to be heard. He would have heard Miss Brimmer, there was no hiding now that he had decided the path to be walked.
The couples danced as he was offered a wide expanse as all stepped out of his personal space. He paid them no mind, he had only a single person on it. But as the couples in dance spun around on the floor before him in an array of colours and wide variation of wealth displayed. There, a pale blue dress caught his eye as the woman who had occupied him so fully was dancing — in the arms of the man he had sent to help her all those days ago.
Get your hands, off, her… His mind snarled as he strode forward. His step faltered as Constable Greer spoke, and she smiled up at the man happily. His chest constricted at the sight of the little light she was with a man smiling brightly in return; in a manner he never could.
Then her face altered, slowly it sank in joy and a sight so wrong arrested him in turn. Miss Brimmer no longer smiled, and he had yet to hear or see her speak despite him knowing she was so talkative. Her words rang in his head, words of sorrow and fear tying her tongue while other emotions were no noose to her voice according to the woman herself.
His face hardened, his lips thinned further and his posture became as rigid as it had ever been while he could not stop himself from straightening into his full height. He restrained himself, held his mouth shut and forced his legs to move him forward in a harsh stride with controlled steps so as not to run like a fool in love. Surely, he was not… Surely…
⁛•⁛ Julianne’s POV ⁛•⁛
My arm stretched out just as he spun me out fully. I gasped and twisted my head as a large hand gripped my outreached one so strongly and steadily my heart stuttered with remembrance. My eyes found him a mere second later. J-Judge Turpin… You— His steely glare halted my mind as his grip remained unyielding and decisive while my breath stuttered and my fingers instinctively gripped around his with the unwavering wish for him to not let go.
Constable Greer released me, I could hear his heels click and, in my peripheral, I saw him bow in a rush despite my eyes being held by His Lordship through it all.
“Judge Turpin,” Greer said in a rapped manner with far less warmth in his voice, replaced by a dread and respect so different from the warmth that bloomed in my heart.
“Constable Greer,” he said. “I shall take this little light off your hands. Leave,” he demanded and Constable Greer did not even utter so much as stuttered breath before stepping back.
The judge tugged me forward and I stumbled a step before his free hand caught my waist and his sturdy grip never faltered or loosened. “Judge Turpin, sir, you are here,” I said quietly, shocked into a low tone.
“Indeed, how observant you are, Miss Brimmer.”
My cheeks warmed and a smile widened my lips with no prompting from me. “I apologize for stating the obvious, sir. I am merely surprised, shocked, even, my lord.”
He arched a brow at me and drew me even closer. “Yet now you speak.”
My brows scrunched. I had no idea what he meant by that.
“You have been quiet, my talkative little light,” he explained in a low murmur so dark and consuming I could barely comprehend the words despite hearing him clearly.
“I believe I have talked most of our time together, sir. Have I not?”
He smirked, it was a devilish ordering of his features as it shined with a powerful sort of satisfaction. “Indeed, you have.” He had me at a loss with that but, for the time being, I did not care for the reason behind what he said.
The music still flowed and the couples around us danced yet none bumped into us — nor did they invade the space around the man holding me so firmly. He had still not let go, and the feel of his stable hands was soothing on a whole other level. I ought to have curtsied, but he offered me no freedom to do so as we stood in a sudden silence that I felt no need to fill with words — for the first time in my life. My smile never faltered, my cheeks still hot with a blush he set upon me by merely being there.
My heart fluttered and my fingers tingled while my knees shook as his unyielding eyes never left mine.
“Miss Brimmer,” he began quietly while taking a step back, which moved us to a more proper distance. “I do not frolic under these circumstances.”
“Is this you telling me you do not dance, sir?” I asked with a slight giggle.
“No. I dance. I am quite proficient at it.”
“I believe you…” I whispered as he arched a brow at me with a sudden, tiny twinkle to the steely grey.
“Come, we shall return to my home. You do not need to remain here.”
I blinked. Whatever spell he had me under flickered for a moment as my purpose for attending the party in London returned to me. “I apologize, sir. I have no choice in the matter. Even if I do not wish to offend you, or deny you, my lord, I must remain here. I do believe you have just scared off the only prospect I had managed to garner the attention of,” I said and my smile faltered for a bit while his hand hardened around mine.
“You are denying me, miss?” he asked in a harder, darker voice than I had heard him speak to me with before. “I will not be denied.”
“But, sir, I must find a husband. You know of this, I spoke of this with—”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you—”
“You have procured a husband.”
I blinked. “Huh? What? I have not, sir.”
He smirked, his thumb stroking over my knuckles while my heart beat harder within my chest.
“I believe you declared your future husband as a grand and respectable man.”
“I have done no such thing.” The only one I spoke such words about is you and you are far—
“Ah… You made the connection, little light.”
“S-sir-!” I wheezed, feeling my mind fall into a tumble and my heart into an absolute fit.
“Come now,” he said quietly. “I shall not be denied.”
“But sir, you are far too grand and I am but the daughter of a smith master. I could not possibly ever be worthy of a man of your standing.”
He arched a brow at me, his features hard and set. “Not worthy?” he snarled. “Miss Brimmer, you are the only worthy one on this wretched earth of ruin and damnation. I shall take your light, and I. will. not. hear another word out of that sweet mouth that is not an agreement. You shall take responsibility for the state you have so foolishly placed me in.”
I gaped at the man my heart was in such a rage for. Was he truly declaring that I affected him? That he was affected by me in a manner so capturing it brought marriage to his mind? I am losing my marbles. This cannot be happening, I am not the sort of person who is blessed with such luck. The judge knew this. He knew of my bad luck and my talkative manners, my less-than-proper behaviour and my lack of standing in society. I had only ever hoped to find a man of my own stature — a farmer, a blacksmith, a shoemaker perhaps. Yet, there he stood, proclaiming that he wished to have me as his wife and that he would not be denied by me. I am in no position to deny him, and I do not wish to… But, what if he is toying with me? Playing some cruel trick upon this lesser woman before him knowing none would come to aid me?
“Sir… Are you toying with me?” I asked, my fingers growing numb in his sturdy grip as my voice faltered in my fear of heartbreak.
“I am not a man with the time nor the inclination to toy with a woman, not… in this manner,” he said and there was both a smirk and a hint of frustration coming with those words.
“You wish to take me as your wife? Truly, my lord?”
“Am I such an inconceivable partner? Are you so deterred by me?”
“No!” I gasped. “No. No, sir… I am-, I am-, I…”
“Then agree,” he demanded. “Be my wife.”
“Y-yes. Yes, my lord,” I whispered as my knees shook and my stomach was in an upheaval under the satisfied eyes looking down at me.
⁛•⁛
I cannot believe it. My mind raced, my heart pounded, and a smile stretched my lips so widely my cheeks hurt. I, the black cat crossing the road, had been asked to wed the only man my heart had ever been affected by. A man so far out of my reach, so different from myself in every manner conceivable. The gloomy house of which parlour I was situated in — as the man himself had gone to change out of his outdoor attire — felt slightly warmer than before. The angel I had gifted him stood atop the mantel, the only piece of Christmas spirit in sight.
Judge Turpin strode into the room, all stark and stoic with that air of power one could not possibly mistake for anything else.
“Sir,” I said as he stopped before me. “I must confess to some confusion. Why me? Why wed me?”
“You do not know?” I shook my head. “Neither do I.”
“What? You are wanting to wed a woman such as me without a reason?”
“No. There are many reasons, each one stranger than the next.”
“Oh, so, it is a strange thing even for you, sir.”
“No. The reasons are strange, but that I am to wed you is not.”
“Sir, I do not understand when you speak in riddles in such a way,” I confessed as my need to know he was indeed not toying with my innocent heart grew ever larger.
He sat down beside me on the sofa, his posture rigid and his face showed no hints of his thoughts.
“Are you aware of who I am, miss?”
“Yes, of course I am. Your reputation has spread all over London, sir. There is not a man or woman who does not know your name or the fierceness of your court. You are a most harsh judge, a pillar for the law and justice in a most severe manner, sir. Who would not be aware of you? Well, granted, I did not know who you were before your name was spoken but that is merely a lack of awareness for features,” I said, chatting away as his presence comforted me with its rigidity. I felt as if I knew where I had him, and there was just something rather pleasant about the harshness of him — the manner he existed in spoke to some lack of it within me, I was his opposite and where the world frightened me it seemed to bow before him.
“Talkative?”
I smiled. “Always, sir.”
“Incorrect.”
“Sir?”
He glanced at me. “When frightened or saddened, you speak very little.”
“Ah, yes, true, my lord.”
“That is one of the strange reasons, little light.”
“That I do not talk while afraid or sad?”
He chuckled; a most glorious and deep sound. “You are talkative with me, as if there is no fear in a sweet woman such as yourself in my presence.”
“There is not…” I whispered. “You are a grand man, harsh and stoic with the power of the law at your fingertips but I do not fear the man of the rumours nor the man sitting here with me. There is nothing about you that frightens me, sir. Quite the opposite. You are everything I am not, sir.”
“Explain.”
I drew a small breath, rubbing my fingers together atop my thighs before pinching the blue fabric. “I am frightened of the world. I am small and of little consequence, I talk too much and come off as either brazen or frustrating — to some I am humorous or inviting, too, I suppose. I have little value and am not a pillar of anything. I am quite the opposite of you and you… are everything I am not. There is little I can do about who I am or what bad luck afflicts me, nor can I control my heart or mind as it longs for you because of how you make me feel.”
He arched a brow. “And how is that?”
“Safe. Safe, sir.”
He looked at me. For a second he softened and the steely eyes swirled for a moment before he seemed to find himself anew. “My dark heart calls for you as well, Miss Brimmer. It has never called for another and I am, as you say, the opposite of you. Where you see it as unreasonable for us to wed I will not be denied. Where you see me as out of your reach, I can with ease take you.”
I gulped. “Sir… You speak most sweetly.”
“No, I do not. I shall teach you the ways of my world, and I shall teach you to know you belong to me, by my side. You shall learn, little light, that the only one worthy is you.” His voice hummed and rumbled with a forboding wickedness I could not place yet it had a tingle shoot through my body as my breathing turned shallow under his intense gaze as he spoke.
“S-sir, I do not understand what you mean. But I find myself n-not caring when you speak in such a manner.”
He leaned closer. “And what, do tell, is the manner in which I speak?”
I drew a ragged breath, my chest heaved as he inched inappropriately close. “W-with want, my lord. With want and warmth…” Much like my cheeks are now burning your words seem to do so as well.
He was far too close, his breath fanned my face and I could barely draw breaths deep enough to sustain myself.
“There is want, Miss Brimmer—”
“Julianne, my lord. Please, my name, it is Julianne.”
“Julianne…” Hearing my name spoken in his thunderous voice in such a dark purr had me staving off a needy sound I had never felt myself inclined to make before. “A most suitable name, perfectly paired with Richard, as is my name.”
“Richard,” I whispered and his eyes widened.
“Again,” he demanded.
I swallowed, my eyes flicking between his for a moment. “Richard.”
A strange snarl mixed with a harsh breath left him and before I knew it his lips pressed against mine, suffocating the gasp leaving me and swallowing the strange moan of want leaving me. His thin lips were unlike any I had imagined would kiss me and the manner the tip of his nose dug into my cheek felt perfect — never had I imagined my first kiss to set me on fire.
“Exquisite,” he purred as he leaned back, leaving me panting and heaving while unable to move. “I shall wed you, Julianne, and you shall be mine for all time to come. I shall help you overcome your fear of the world and you shall forever be a light in my darkness as you have been from the moment I found you.”
“S-sir, you are toying with me now,” I whispered as my voice faltered.
“I assure you, I am not.”
“I never thought you felt anything for me,” I pushed out as his hand cupped my chin steadily.
“I assure you, none other would ever have been allowed to disturb my peace with constant chatter. Nor would I have offered my home as a sanctuary. You affected me from the very first moment I laid eyes upon your smiling face in the dark of night.”
“I found you handsome and inviting, sir,” I confessed. “I felt safe, protected, for the first time in my life there was no need to fear…”
He tilted my head to hold my gaze. “You have captured me,” he murmured.
“As you have me, Richard. I do not believe in love at first sight, yet I find myself loving you already…”
His eyes widened. “I am a fool in love,” he hummed and his lips met mine once more while his steady hand kept me in place. Not once did he let go as warmth bloomed in my chest and the certainty of my future with him released my shoulders from their stiffness when his tongue darted out to caress my bottom lip roguishly.
“Mine,” he declared against my lips and the depth of his voice quieted my mind completely.
“Yours…” I whispered as the gloom seemed brighter and the house warmer…
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A/N: These two, I adore them. I hope you’ve loved this story ❤ tomorrow is the last day of Rickmas, and Christmas Eve, meaning the fifth Rickmas celebration will be concluded and I am absolutely thrilled to have managed a fic a day all through this event (she says as she’s needing to still write, prepare and proof tomorrow's fic 😂👏). I’ll see you tomorrow darlings! ❤❤❤
A/N: Since many seem to be wanting more from Turpin’s POV, I shall be less sparse with it and give you another dual POV part to this fic 🤭👏 Now, this one is calmer but boy-oh-boy are we getting some cuteness and longing along with a tad of humour and a confounded judge at the end 👀
I have to say, I am so so so in love with Julianne - Turpin too of course but Julianne is so much fun! I’m having so much fun writing this couple of pining idiots that I sort of don’t want it to end 😂
I awoke with a deep groan, my body rested yet strung too tightly. My heart jolted into action as the remnants of last night stampeded through my mind. But then, I calmed. The judge had taken me in, held me upright and offered comfort through his strong grip. I exhaled and found calmness once more. I am alright, I am safe, I cannot be harmed here… Who would cause me harm in the home of the High Judge of London? None would be so foolish.
Moving the cover, I found myself in a nightshirt of soft cotton. Who undressed me? Perhaps Mrs Jennings. Yes, that makes sense, does it not? Looking around I found my dress neatly hung over a chair with my now clean shoes just as neatly placed on the floor below it. I wasted no time getting myself in order.
“Where is it?” I asked, looking all around for the pouch of satin I had had with me. It held a most precious gift, even more so now than the moment I had procured it. “Where? Where is— Did I drop it last night? No, no I had it in my grasp,” I muttered to myself while flinging away the cover, as if whoever had put me to bed last night had placed the most likely dirty thing in there with me. Nonsense idea, of course, yet I looked. The gate!
I flung the door open, rushing down the stairs toward the door that would lead me outside. I grasped its handle and—
“Going somewhere?” The deep drawl of Judge Turpin arrested me fully and halted my movements. “Running away, perhaps?” he continued as I turned to find him in the door to the parlour.
“Sir! No, no I lost— I dropped— The gate, it’s by the gate,” I rambled out as my heart did a triple-beat-dance in my tight chest.
He was stoic and harsh, cold and distant, yet… I found him interesting and inviting. I found his stoic face handsome and his harsh words comforting, the power he exuded reminded me of safety and despite the steely eyes being unyielding in their viewing of me it soothed a worry inside of me I had not known I held. Until I met him.
“Go,” he said, and I nodded.
Flinging the door open and rushing down the steps I pleaded with the world. “Please, be there, do not be gone.” And as I reached the iron gate, the gate I had sought salvation through from the terror hunting me in the dark of the night, I saw it. It lay by the stone pillar in a dirty heap, but it was not lost. Thank the faiths, oh my word, thank goodness it is not lost.
I grabbed the handle of the gate and froze. Beyond it, lay the unsafe London with false kindness and leering men in the shadows. The grey light of day did little to ease the fright spreading through me in a rush while my trembling hand gripped the handle. I could not push down, could not open it, despite the pouch laying right there — waiting for me, for him to receive what was hidden within it.
My shoulders trembled, my fingers felt numb to the cold of the iron, and my breaths had turned shallow. It is right there, silly goose. It is right there. Open the gate and take it. Open the gate, take it, take it, take it, just take it. But I could not.
A warm hand landed atop mine. It pushed down as I looked up only to find His Lordship by my side.
“You seek the pouch?” he asked with an arched brow as the gate creaked open and I jolted back from the sound.
“Y-yes, my lord.”
He nodded and stepped through the gate, bending gracefully and retrieving the pouch. “Miss Brimmer,” he said while handing it to me.
I clutched it to my chest. “Thank you, my lord. I could not open the gate, I am so silly, I am so sorry for troubling you,” I rambled.
“Think nothing of it, Miss Brimmer.” He offered his arm, and I took it. “Inside,” he ordered and I walked with him, feeling the dread and fright leave me before we even entered the house. His power overruled everything else.
We were seated in the parlour a moment later and I felt my usual smile return as I cradled the pouch in my lap while he stood by the fireplace next to the seating area he had offered me to occupy. It is safe, and not lost. I was beyond thankful for my decision to lean back and grab it when the horrid man had ripped the string. It holds little consequence. No matter the gift I offer, it will be small and inconsequential to a man the likes of Judge Turpin.
“Miss Brimmer,” he said, calling for my attention.
I looked up. “Yes, my lord?”
“Are you fairing? You were in quite the state this past night.”
Heat crept up along my neck as he had seen me in such shambles. “I apologize, sir. I usually do not cause trouble for others, I have been such an inconvenience to you, my lord. I am terribly sorry for all the time I have occupied and—”
“My time is not occupied with anything or by anyone I do not deem fit to take it up,” he said harshly, a mix between a drawl and a declaration.
I smiled at him before turning my head to look at the pouch once more. “Of course, sir. I apologize for my choice of words as they clearly have offended you. You are the owner of your own time, of course. I merely meant I have intruded upon it and caused you quite some labour, and for that, I am sorry, my lord.”
“You are not labour,” he stated harshly.
“Nonetheless, I was out to procure you a gift last night to thank you for— Well, for your service and grace. Your help, my lord.”
I rose from the chair, opening the little pouch. “I am so thankful it did not get lost in the struggle. Returning for it was worth the risk,” I said mostly to myself as I reached inside it.
“Returning for it?” he asked.
I looked up at the man who now stood a step closer. “Why, yes, in the struggle the string ripped and it fell from my grasp when I was running away, sir. I had to fetch it back and—”
His hands gripped my shoulders roughly, squeezing the flesh and bone as his steely gaze seemed to penetrate me to my soul. “You returned to fetch this?” he snarled.
“Yes, sir. It is a gift for you and I could not abandon—”
His nostrils flared. “Are you a complete fool, woman? You could have been caught and— Why would you return for this?” he asked in such a seething voice I ought to have recoiled. I did not. He showed some form of worry and it warmed me to see such a stoic man with such fierceness to him display a care for me.
“It is for you, sir. How could I abandon it when you have done so much for me?”
His eyes widened. “Foolish woman, you could have come to harm!”
“I am alright, sir. Thank you, for caring…”
He jolted at that, releasing me and stepping back. He appeared alarmed, even frightened perhaps. A most strange look to adorn his commanding features, yet it also housed a certain level of beauty to witness the slightest softening of those eyes in the sudden shift of emotions. Perhaps there is a chance I— No, do not be daft. It is enough that you are a black cat and silly goose all wrapped up in an inconsequential person. Do not add daft and stupid to the concoction, Julianne. He is far beyond your reach. Just-, just thank the grand man and be on your way.
⁛•⁛ Turpin’s POV ⁛•⁛
He was uncertain of what to do, how to act. The woman before him, in all her warm glory, spoke of a gift for him she had risked her life to keep and offer him. It was absurd. He warranted no such thankfulness or gesture of gratefulness. She had been on his mind ever since they had crossed paths, more so after the morning filled with her excessive chattering. Surely, such a bright star houses no more than common thankfulness and respect for a man such as me. There is no chance for more to lay within her actions, surely.
He watched her. Unable to stop his roaming eyes from taking in her lesser dress and hardening at the sight of her marked throat. A reddened line around it, much like remnants of a noose — it made his heart beat harder.
“Sir, may I offer it to you?” she asked, her light voice soft yet not meek.
He nodded. “You may.”
She stood, reaching the pouch toward him. “This is for the help you offered, sir. For the gestures of support and the efforts you spent on securing my safety as well as offering me shelter during the darkest night of my life thus far, my lord.” The pouch shook slightly in her delicate hands and he reached out to grasp it, gracing her slight fingers in the process had his breath rushing out of his nose.
“Thank you, Miss Brimmer,” he said quietly, not able to put the words into more than a dark drawl.
She smiled widely at him, her teeth framed by plump lips and her cheeks like rounded cherries as a blush crept over them. Do I intimidate you? He wondered for a mere moment as she released the pouch and seated herself anew. No matter, it is of little consequence. He knew he could take her, keep her, have her as his own if he only decided to do so. He was not a man accustomed to denying himself yet regarding Miss Brimmer he found it a different matter entirely.
Opening the pouch, he reached inside it and revealed an angel of warped steel decorated with minimal embellishments yet it shone in the light of the fire as it reflected its glow in a demure manner. A Christmas ornament? He arched his brow, studying the little thing small enough to rest in his palm like a matchbox.
“You… do not like it,” she said quietly and he looked upon the woman now clutching her hands atop her thighs. “I apologize, sir. I found it a suitable gift for… No matter,” she continued gently yet her voice had a chirp not unlike that of a caged bird never taking flight.
“It is a Christmas ornament, miss.”
She chuckled, glancing around his dreary parlour. “Yes, indeed, and I see I was wrong in offering it, sir.”
“No.” The word came quickly. “No, Miss Brimmer—” he looked down at the gift anew “—it is quite perfect,” he continued and stroked the smooth steel of the angel’s dress, a mere cone frankly yet it was perfectly harsh and perfectly polished.
He heard the swishing of fabric and glanced toward the little lady who now wore a true smile.
“I am so pleased it is to your liking, my lord. It reminded me of you, not that I had not been on the hunt for a gift for you from the very start, of course, but I struggled to find something that spoke to me of your harsh grandeur, sir.”
Harsh grandeur… Obviously, there is no other manner in which you would view me.
She continued while his thoughts darkened. “It is quite beautiful, simple and strong with much work put into it yet little to show the world in terms of boasting. Yes, quite respectable, quite harsh, and quite grand, sir. Like you, my lord.”
He stiffened. Had the woman of light and warmth offered him a compliment? He swallowed harshly as his hand enveloped the little angel. No, surely not. She is talkative, she may be unaware of what has just been said as she talks rapidly. Does she think before she speaks? He always did, he could not imagine voicing something he had not thought of for a moment before — words were not to be used lightly in his opinion. Yet you speak so many, and so joyfully, and so rapidly. A chatterbox, yet you do not grate on my nerves… How… eerily strange.
“You speak many words, Miss Brimmer.”
She blushed. “Quite right, sir. Talking is one of my many faults.”
“A fault, you say?”
“Certainly, my lord.” She smiled up at him. “I talk a great deal when I am in good spirits, or angry spirits, even in nervous spirits.”
“Do tell… when do you not talk, Miss Brimmer?” He arched a brow at her, daring her, while being ever so curious to hear of a time she would not fill the air with her happy chatter.
Her shoulders slumped. “Forgive my coming bluntness, sir. But I do not talk much when sad, or afraid. I find myself closing up, much like a clam,” she said with a shallow giggle following the last words.
“A clam…”
“Yes, sir. Like a clam, I just close up and speak very little when I do not feel safe or when my emotions have me in a woe.”
He blinked, his hand hardening around the little angel as his spine stiffened. “And you feel… neither afraid nor sad, in my presence?”
She tilted her head as his stomach churned. “Why no, sir. Ought I feel such things in the safety of your home and the presence of such a grand gentleman as you, Judge Turpin?”
“Indeed, you ought to.”
“I have had no inkling to it being so. You have been nothing but helpful and kind to me, sir. Why on earth should I clam up and not offer my honest words of gratitude towards you, my lord? I see no goodness in that, nor truth for that matter.”
“You are quite the strange woman,” he murmured, uncertain of what to say when her innocent face peered up at him with confused eyes and the sweetness in her voice.
“I have been called worse, sir,” she said with a laugh, and his lips twitched with a smile at the joyous sound. “Now, I must be on my way, I do not wish to stall you from arriving at court in good time, my lord. I shall take my leave. I hope you have a Merry Christmas, sir. I am ever grateful to you and thankful you crossed my path—” she chuckled “—as my path is rarely crossed by good fortune, my lord. Yet, here you are, defying my black cat curse and—”
“Curse?”
“Oh, indeed, I am cursed with bad luck as they all say. I am the black cat crossing the road, the ladder you walk under or the mirror you shatter for seven years of bad luck. I must have destroyed quite a few mirrors in my previous life,” she said with a giggle but there was an underlying sorrow in that chirpy voice. He was all too aware of the sensation of being cursed, with darkness and coldness.
“That is neither here nor there for now, though. Again, thank you, my lord. I shall never forget your kindness and the protection you have offered me. Perhaps, in another life, I would not be so far below you that I have no reach for a gentleman such as yourself.” She curtsied with a soft smile, her cheeks pretty with a deeper hint of red to them and he could not find his thoughts nor his voice after her confusing, ongoing string of words spoken so quickly.
“Goodbye, Judge Turpin,” she said as she had straightened and before he could open his mouth she had left the room and the entry door opened and closed quickly while he still stood frozen to the spot with the angel of steel in his hand. Did she speak of wishing to reach a man such as I in societal value, or did she in fact speak of reaching… me? And I do not frighten her? This is impossible. Perhaps I am still asleep, dreaming of improbable and foolish things?
But he was not asleep, nor was he dreaming. The sensations in his chest were far too palpable for it to be a figment of his imagination. Pair it with the sudden wave of rage at the lack of information Miss Brimmer had offered about whoever had caused her harm and fright one suddenly had a rather violence-inclined and enraged judge stalking toward his entrance door.
⁛•⁛ Julianne’s POV ⁛•⁛
This time the gate was no problem for me to open. Leaving the grand house with the powerful man within it that had my heart in a flutter and my limbs in a tingle had to be done in a rush. I could not linger or allow him to offer any reply to the words I had so boldly spoken. I ought to think before I speak. I am far too talkative, far too quick to let words of great consequences spill. Oh, I made a fool of myself yet again in his company. I can now definitely add foolish and stupid to the list, crass and brazen, too, perhaps. Silly goose, Julianne. You are a silly-nilly goose with a bonnet… Except, I’m not wearing a bonnet, but a goose in a bonnet, now that is silly.
I hurried down the crowded main street, heading toward the Rosemary Inn in a rush to add distance to the place where I had made myself appear so utterly stupid before a man so utterly grand and rigid. I was beyond certain I would never meet him again, and a good thing that was, too, or I would most likely succumb to the heating in my veins and the fluttering in my stomach. He is far out of reach. Now, you stop it, Julianne. You stop this foolishness and you screw your head on straight. Focus on the Christmas Ball, on finding a suitable husband. Constable Greer seemed inclined to meet again, and he was kind-hearted with a nice laugh, was he not?
I shook my head, sighing as the only man I could think of with want was the very powerful High Judge of London who had not even deemed it fit to berate me for the foolish things I had said — so out of reach was he, that not even my brazen words warranted a reaction as they were such an impossibility he most likely thought me to be jesting. Perhaps, some day, I will no longer remember the grand man as more than someone who helped me when help was needed. It is highly unlikely, yet I shall hope for it to come true so I may never need to feel this forlorn sensation within my heart. “Silly goose you are, Julianne. Silly-nilly stupid goose with a bonnet…”
To Be Continued...
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NEXT PART » Prompt 23: Eve Of Revelations [C6]
A/N: Uffh, they are ADORABLE but so frustrating - we need to get these two together but I’m afraid we have to wait a little for the final part of their story 👀 Gotta match with the prompts, you know? 😘
A/N: I got an extra treat for you today 🤭 We get a little glimpse of this story through Turpin’s eyes - I adore writing his POV but I do it sparingly as the impact is always so intense when seeing things from his point of view while getting to be in his head for a moment 👏 And, of course, we need a dramatic reunion so we’re adding a little fear, a little darkness, and a little bit of frantic running to this 👀👌❤
Tags/TW’s: Infatuated By Her, Unwanted Thoughts/Feelings, Unwanted Touch, Fear, Being Restrained By An Unknown Man (Fearing Being Harmed), Feeling Safe With Turpin, Mutual Secret Pining, Nickname (so cute!), Being Carried, Protective/Harsh Turpin, Mentions Hating Christmas (of course he does), Dark And Gloomy, Angst With Tiniest Hint Of Fluff
Word Count: 2.1k
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Deceptive Kindness
⁛•⁛ Turpin’s POV ⁛•⁛
Miss Brimmer… Joyful, sweet, talkative little Miss Brimmer… He was incapable of casting her out of his mind. He had cursed himself for it, had bargained with himself, and lately taken to sulking. Yes, the high judge of London sulked in his gloomy library with his face contorted in a frown as he was incapable of reading the lawsuit spread across his desk with her infernally sweet face disturbing him every minute of each wretched day.
At this time of year, it was usually the infernal jolly mood and ever-chiming carols that had him occupied with the deep-seated need to snarl. Now, it was something apparently worse. A jolly, chiming, sweet and fury-inducing little woman with green eyes like the needles of a pine and a smile as bright as the midnight star.
Four days had passed since he left her at his home, not so much as a goodbye had been uttered and he had thought little of it at the time. Certainly, her energy had been warm. Obviously, her smile had been a lovely view. Her bright and loud chatter a constant and intrusive company, definitely. But warm…
He slammed his fists down and rose in a rush from the large chair. “This is madness, banish these foolish thoughts.” He knew her joy was far beyond his reach and despite being the depraved and selfish man he was, he struggled with the notion of putting out her light — trapping her to him would surely silence that joyful talkativeness that had slithered itself under his skin. It lingered, and the sound of Miss Brimmer’s constant, bright, and quick chatter echoed all around him as he marched from the library to the parlour despite her not being there.
He poured a glass of whiskey from the crystal decanter by the seating area. Beyond his windows, the bells of Christmas rang as snow flitted from the dark sky of night. He watched the fire before him, spreading a warmth he barely felt while the golden light reminded him of how you shined in the darkness of his home. Such as a star upon a Christmas tree… There had never been one in his house — a star or a Christmas tree.
He tapped his finger against the glass and took a slow sip. He remembered every word she spoke, strangely enough. He never took notice of others in such a manner, and never committed words not of the utmost importance to he himself to memory. But Miss Brimmer’s words were committed to memory — truly, burned with warmth and light into the membranes within his skull housing a dark mind usually so quiet and void of all things good.
Placing the glass back on the table, he stepped away from the fire and toward the large windows draped with wine-red velvet on either side. The darkness beyond was as deep as the dark within his home, within his heart. So it must remain. Quiet, dark, and the same as always. “Yes, the same as every damned Christm—” His eyes widened, he leaned closer to the frosty window as a running woman stumbled on her skirt and crashed against his gate in a tumble.
He tilted his head, looking down to see better. A pale hand grasped the iron of the gate, his heart revolted as the harrowed face of Miss Brimmer appeared between the bars for a second — her breath fogging in rushed bursts — before she turned her head to look back as she grasped for the handle to open his gate blindly. He staggered back a step, his heart pounded and for a second his mind struggled to comprehend what his eyes showed him.
⁛•⁛ Julianne’s POV ⁛•⁛
| A few moments earlier |
My breath fogged before me, the chill of December was biting in the dark of the late evening as I held onto the little satin bag with a tight grip and left the little shop behind as the woman by the counter wished me a Merry Christmas before the door closed. Uffh, cold and dreary, why does London feel colder than the countryside? I shivered and began my walk back toward the Rosemary Inn.
“Watch it!” a man shouted as I crossed the street and, before I knew it, I’d flung myself backwards, tripped on the slick cobblestone, and landed flatly on my back in the dirty snow. Great! Wonderful! This is absolutely a fantastic day! The Inn lost my package from Father, a horse trampled my foot, the barmaid spilt bear over my best dress, and now— “Ugh, I truly am a black cat crossing the street…”
“Miss, are you alright?” came the voice of another man, his slightly dirty face coming into view above me. “Need a helping hand?” he continued and I sighed. At least, the people are not too rude. A silver lining I assume one could call it.
“Thank you, sir,” I said and reached for his slim hand flecked by soot. He helped me to my feet and I righted my dress, brushing off as much of the snow as I possibly could.
“You ought to take care in the streets, miss.”
“Yes, yes I ought, with my luck I shall surely be run over any minute. I am not suited for the big city, it seems.”
The man chuckled as I straightened. “Perhaps I ought to walk the lady back to her home, then?”
“That is most kind of you, sir.” I took his stretched-out arm. “I must say I am surprised at how friendly London dwellers are. I have yet to meet an unkind person not willing to be of assistance.” I glanced at the man as he walked me down the street. Something was not quite right about him, though.
“We are friendly people,” he said with another shallow chuckle that just did not sit right with me.
After another few steps, I came to a halt. “Thank you for your help, sir, but I can manage from here.” I released his arm but he grasped my wrist. “Sir, let go of me, please.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” His smile was a leer and my stomach turned at the sight of his crooked teeth.
“Let go.”
“No can do,” he chuckled and tugged. “A pretty piece like you is—”
I wrung my wrist free. “Goodbye,” I said harshly and instantly turned.
A shriek left my lips as the man grabbed around my waist and pulled me toward the alley behind, away from the lit-up main street. “Let go! Let go!” I screamed and pushed at his arm before fear filled me and I threw my head back only to feel his nose-bone connect with my skull. He stumbled back, pulling me around with his hand stuck in the loop of the satin pouch around my wrist.
“Fuck,” he snarled with a hiss and grabbed the string by twisting his hand. “You bitch.” He tugged and I backed up at the same time, ripping the string with the pouch falling to the ground as I spun to run away. No, the gift! Leaned back and grabbed it but the man hooked his dirty fingers on my cloak and tugged. The string tightened roughly around my throat and I coughed through a gasp.
Reaching up, I grabbed the end and tugged. My throat was freed and I slipped out of the man’s grip. Before I drew another breath, I bolted. My heart roared, my limbs shook and my eyes seemed to take everything in with a blur. Run! Run! Run! Where-, where-, where do I go?!
“Get back here!” the man shouted and as I looked over my shoulder he was taking up the hunt for me. My eyes widened and dread surged through my body, fuelling my legs and forcing me to go faster. I sobbed while panting, holding onto the destroyed satin pouch with a numb grip. My feet pounded the cobblestone and snow below as I raced down the street of central London.
I took a sharp turn, seeing the shape of the man still running toward me before I kept going as tears streaked my cheeks. Despite the blurry vision, the dark town-house caught my eyes. Judge Turpin! My brain screamed and my heart eased as I threw myself forward, stumbling on the raised sidewalk and got myself flung into the iron gates with a loud rattle as my chest heaved.
Looking back I saw the man come to a sudden halt as his eyes flicked between me and the towering house while I fumbled blindly for the handle to let myself through. I found it, pulled down, and fell backwards in a heap before I managed to scramble back from the gate on my bum.
“Miss Brimmer!” came the roar of the judge whose refuge I sought.
Looking back, he came rushing down the steps. “J-Judge Turpin, my-, my lord,” I choked out in a stutter as I slumped on the snow-covered stone beneath; relieved.
“Miss Brimmer,” he rumbled in a harsh snarl before his large hands grasped my trembling shoulders harshly, he did not let go even as he sat me up. “Are you—” His eyes latched on my sore throat, exposed at the loss of my cloak.
“What, happened?” he snarled as those steely eyes turned impossibly hard.
I gulped, taking comfort in his steady hands. “I— He—” my voice trembled too much to make sense “—grabbed me, grabbed-, grabbed-, grabbed at—”
“Little light, look at me. Look. at. me,” he demanded as my eyes flicked about in a rush and adrenaline-fuelled fear. “Are you unharmed?” he asked, his voice was a low thunder which hid none of the rage hardening his entire face.
“Y-yes, sir. I’m-, I’m unharmed, my lord. Thank you. Thank you, sir,” I pushed out in a rush as his grip on me softened when our eyes locked.
Judge Turpin helped me to stand, keeping a sturdy grasp of my hand before he wrapped an arm around my waist when my knees weakened beneath me. “T-thank you, sir,” I whispered, my brain turning quiet and my voice lowering as I held on to him.
“I shall have their head,” he snarled under his breath and I was not sure if I had heard him right.
He led me inside, all the way to the parlour where a fire crackled and granted both light and warmth in the dark. He released my hand and I stuttered at the loss of stability, the loss of his touch, but then he dragged one of the two beautiful chairs and helped me sit right by the warmth of the flames.
I shook and trembled as the adrenaline seeped out of me and a chill so utterly dreadful crawled into me in its wake.
“Little light,” he said while going down on one knee before me — grasping my shaking hands in his warm ones. “Did you see who caused you harm?” he asked, his voice that harsh thunder that seemed to roll through me.
“I saw… most of him. But, he was dirty and in shadow, and I do not know who he-, he-, he—”
“We shall discuss it tomorrow, when you are no longer frightened,” he said with finality.
I gulped, already feeling my shoulders slump in his powerful presence. “I… am not frightened,” I managed to push out.
Judge Turpin arched a brow at me, unimpressed. “I do not take kindly to lies, Miss Brimmer.”
“It is not a lie, sir… I am here, with you, safe. I am-, I am in shock, not frightened any longer,” I said, truthfully. I dared believe nothing could harm me when such a man as he was close.
His nostrils flared. “You, little light, are mistaken. I am not… safety.”
“Yet I feel safe, my lord…” And, a bit faint, perhaps. Yes, yes perhaps a bit out of sorts and a bit… confused… and faint…
“Deep breath, Miss Brimmer. Take a deep breath,” he ordered, squeezing my hands to catch my focus.
I drew a deep breath. Ragged as it was, it was still steadying.
“Good.” It was a soft word despite the deep voice. “Let us get you sorted for the night.”
I nodded. “Thank you, sir…” But as I stood with his sturdy hand wrapped around one of my smaller ones, there was no stability beneath my feet and the world swayed. I reached up to my head, trying to focus my gaze by pressing against my forehead but there was little I could do to stop my knees from buckling and my body from sagging.
He caught me. A sturdy arm around my waist while his other hand still gripped mine.
“Easy, easy now,” he said quietly and there was something deadly in the tone of it.
“S-sir… I…” But I could not get the words out when the world turned darker by the second.
“Miss— Little light,” he said rapidly as I collapsed in his hold. The world slowly faded as I was hoisted up into strong arms against a broad chest with a thundering heart.
To Be Continued...
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NEXT PART » Prompt 16: Thoughtful gifts [C5]
A/N: Well well well, I guess I have a thing for fainting women, huh? 🙈 Also, isn’t Turpin just the harshly-sweetest?! 😩👌 I’m adoring how he’s withheld and torturing himself with the whole situation rather than just taking what he wants as he usually does 👀🤭
I haven't gotten far on tomorrow's fic - I'm only about 500 words in - but hopefully,y I'll have time to finish it up later tonight so it's ready to go up early tomorrow 🥰👏 And Christmas is near now, we have celebrations with family over from the 20th to the 25th (hosting for both sides of the family this year too so I have so much to prepare 😅) but I feel good about this years Rickmas and how it's going so far so hopefully I can get ahead during this weekend and get a lot of writing done! 🙈❤
