#deepperplexity fic

“There we go, Miss. All settled,” Mrs Marble said with a twinkle in her little eyes surrounded by wrinkles. “You shall be the centre of attention, such a beauty you are, Miss.” My nose wrinkled at her words. In anyone's eyes, that was all there was to me. Beauty. Golden locks, hourglass figure, pale skin dusted with a blush to highlight my cheekbones, and clear blue eyes not unlike the sky during a cloudless summer day. My appearance to any and all was that of a stunning woman in her prime at twenty-one springs of age — soon twenty-two.

“Time to go, Miss.” “Give me a minute alone.” They nodded and departed while I stepped up to the silver-framed wall mirror displaying the entirety of me. Dreary… The only thought echoing in my head was a sad affair to have when looking upon oneself. My eyes were not bright today, my smile not flawless, my shoulders slightly slumped and the weight atop them only grew heavier by the minute.

Outside, the snow fell slowly, just enough to dust the ground in white but no winter wonderland appeared beyond the large windows lining one side of my bedroom. In the middle sat a matching door leading out to the stone balcony, which was privy to a beautiful view of our large gardens with fountains and a large span of open grassland beyond the intricate layout of the land created by a landscape artist.

I stepped out into the cold, my skin instantly pebbling in the light breeze despite my dress covering nearly every sliver of skin from my collarbones and down. The sound of carriages, people chattering, and hooves stomping against gravel travelled through the air and a sensation most dreadful crept through my veins. This Christmas would be unlike any other. No use dawdling any longer…

I sighed, and as I began to turn, a black dot appeared on the horizon where the grassland slope began tilting toward our estate. I watched for a moment as the dot became an outline of a rider in full gallop, and wished — for just a moment — that I could climb my mare and gallop across the grasslands for a while to rid myself of the weight resting on me. No amount of riding will ever be able to take away the demand to marry before the year is out. How cruel a demand… There is none I hold even the smallest amount of affection for, how can father demand such a thing of me?

⁛•⁛

The hall gleamed. The polished marble floors, the spotless mirrors and golden candelabras reflected the glow of thousands of candles and the odd lantern here and there. The entire ballroom I entered, at a slow pace so as not to ruffle my perfectly fitted dress too much, was a haven for all things white and gold. The two colours I abhorred, along with pink in every hue. Still, it was a wonder to behold. A fairytale-like sensation lingered in the warm air while jolly, upbeat music filled the whole space where the rich and mighty of society had gathered. None were the wiser, none knew the true reason for my father’s sudden invitation to a “December Ball” — it had little to do with the season, and everything to do with my unwed state.

When Mother passed during the early summer, he became obsessed with marrying me off. Always under the guise of me being protected… Lies. For one, I was in no need of protection, nor were I in need of any rich man to keep my house should anything happen to my father — I was the last and only living relative of our family so all would become mine once he was old and worn out of life. I was perfectly protected in that sense.

“Miss Haymnick,” said a man in his mid-twenties, his brown hair neatly trimmed and his green coat perfectly tailored to his lean body. “Good evening,” I said with a short nod and curtsey. “May I request a dance with the lovely lady?” How bold of you. “No, sir. I am not sure I shall dance this evening,” I said with a soft smile to ease the blow. He merely nodded and stepped away with a slight rush and pinkish ears.

I moved further into the room, watching the well-dressed people filling it. My eyes landed on my father, dressed splendidly as usual and with a glass of brandy in his glove-clad hand. He was a handsome man, my father, but he was handsome in the traditional way — the boring way that seemed to be all the rage with the three young ladies standing a tad too close to him (I was no fool, he was a sought after man, my father, but he would not remarry — my mother had been his all and I was all that was left of her so protecting my future heritage was a priority of his in turn).

My eyes kept skimming the faces and clothes of those all around me. They were mostly known to me, one way or another, but none had ever caught my interest and did not manage to do so now either.

There were such shallow values, such lack of depth in those within the confinements of the ballroom I nearly felt my own soul dim under the weight of finances, politics, and outer beauty not deep enough to allow any true value to shine. Do not judge so harshly. You don’t know every person in this room. My mind whined at me, and I had to yield under its words — yet still, I felt as if I had met every person now present. Of course, my father had only invited the grandest of the grand, the richest of the rich, the most important in society to this celebration — which purpose had not been revealed to those attending. Such fraud…

I turned and Lady Hilliard stepped up with her son in tow. Oh, fantastic. I steeled myself as she beamed at me and forced her son, Mr Timothy Hilliard, to stand a step closer to me than her. “Miss Haymnick, what a marvellous celebration your family has put together, such lovely decorations and such high spirits.” I curtseyed slightly. “Lady Hilliard, Mr Hilliard.” I looked between the two and they both greeted me with a curtsey and a bow. “How fine of you to attend our celebration of December’s arrival,” I said, smiling to the best of my capabilities.

Mr Hilliard’s eyes roamed all over my being, the way he studied my neck had me swallowing a lump. He wasn’t a nice man, or one I found particularly attractive even if he in general was quite the catch in most young women’s eyes. “We are so sorry about Lady Haymnick, Miss Haymnick. My son—” she nudged him forward “—wishes to offer his condol— Oh, my word, is that—” she interrupted herself as the pair’s eyes moved past me and toward the opened double doors of the ballroom.

I slowly turned, as many had begun looking the that direction as well. “Oh, my word, it is!” Lady Hilliard squeaked quietly, a nearly hissed whisper of shock. I could not fathom her reaction to the man, my own being completely different. I had no idea who the tall man with broad shoulders dressed in red, gold, and black was. That did not stop my heart from skipping a beat at his unorthodox beauty, though.

I fully turned without realising, watching the man stride into the room with a regal air about him none I had ever met before could ever match. He was stunning, straight-backed but not high-and-mighty looking. He appeared strong and unfazed yet the way he moved spoke of a soft elegance. What truly made my breath catch in my throat was his eyes, though. They were on the smaller side, but in the golden light they shined while speaking of uncharted depths hidden beneath the slight veil keeping his secrets safe.

As I had watched, stunned, he had moved through the room and were now passing me without so much as a nod to Lady Hilliard who tried fervently to catch the man’s attention. His eyes, though, were fixated on me. My heart thumped harder and harder until he passed me by and turned his head — looking in the direction of my father who now walked toward the man in turn with determined steps I rarely saw him stride forward in.

They shook hands, exchanging pleasantries I could not hear over the murmur and music in the room. “Lady Hilliard,” I said, without looking away from the man’s back. “Who is that?” “Who is— Who is that? My word, you are young, Miss Haymnick. That is Colonel Brandon. A fine gentleman, rich and proper, unreachable yet gentle in his manners. He was sought after in his prime when ladies would line up to attend his balls and gatherings. Well, the few moments he was at home, that is. The man has been all over the world, fought in wars and returned unscathed time and time again. His estate, Delaford, was in disarray upon his overtaking of it but now it is most grand.” She blabbered and rushed the words out in a quiet tone so none other could hear, but I did not miss the longing in her tone.

“Is he wed now, then? Being so sought after?” I never thought you’d be of use, Lady Hilliard, with your gossiping from one end of the country to the other. “Oh, goodness, no, Miss Haymnick. He never married, he never sought a wife after his first love was lost. He is a broken but fine gentleman. My niece would do him good,” she said, the last part slightly under her breath and as I watched her for a moment her eyes seemed calculating. “She is too young for him, but nonetheless, he would be a fine catch,” she continued just as quietly, and the hunger in her features made me wrinkle my nose in disgust. She was a prime example of all things wrong with all in the ballroom. It was only thanks to my mother I had turned out differently, if that is such a grand thing given my circumstances, I don’t quite know…

“He’s such a catch,” she continued and my eyes hardened. “Rich, fancy, away most of the time and— Oh, he’s looking this way!”

I turned my head, unable to untangle my features from the disgust and annoyance before meeting the man’s eyes. His eyebrows drew together, his head gave a slight tilt as I managed to school my face into indifference — removing the ugly emotions and hiding the absolute flutter of emotions he stirred in me. His eyes hardened, though, and his thin lips turned into an even thinner line a second before I averted my gaze as his handsome features turned too harsh for my heart’s liking.

“Excuse me, Lady Hilliard.” She gave me a nod at my words but her eyes were hooked on the handsome man who now had looked at me differently. Perhaps my father had said something not to his liking about me?

I had no idea, but for whatever reason, his eyes had turned sad when he viewed me and the veil I had noticed before had solidified in a sorrowful manner. I might have been mistaken, perhaps he’s just like all the other frauds here… Calloused, cold, money-hungry and politically attached. My shoulders slumped.

I grabbed the many layers of fabric to lift my dress, making my escape from the ballroom easier as I rushed my steps to get away from the room giving me a sinking feeling of despair. One of the men in there would have to become my husband, and the suddenly appearing ray of hope when Colonel Brandon entered with his beautiful eyes, soft yet strong elegance, and stunning features, vanished as swiftly as it had appeared.

There was no more to it, I would be wed to someone I had no interest in — someone who would never understand me, would never discuss the depths of poetry an entire afternoon or share my love of fictional stories all through the night, nor would I be able to discuss the intricate turmoil within an artist viewed only through the harsh brush strokes across a canvas painted many years ago.

I did not wish for a husband to keep me on his arm for display. I wanted no husband whose conversation was limited to finances and politics. No husband would ever suit me if he did not have a depth to his soul, a passion beyond money, or even a love of something that existed to please the heart and not the bank — something that garnered emotions without any further value.

I had walked myself right through the grand hall, out the doors, and along the gravel path around the house in my deep thoughts. I shivered in the cold evening air as the wind tugged on my hair and pulled at my dress.

The sinking feeling in my gut only ever grew with each passing thought, each hope of my heart being lost. I stopped at the frozen fountain, the ice glistened in the moonlight every moment the clouds parted above. My foggy breath seemed to shake out of me as his eyes haunted me — the way they changed without me having any knowledge of why. They had been so beautiful, so deep, so captivating when he passed me. Yet, when he looked upon me again, and our eyes had locked, his features had changed so swiftly.

“There is no hope…” I whispered while looking out over the gardens with a most forlorn sensation within my chest. “You will catch a cold.” I spun around, startled by the perfect voice taking me by surprise with my mind occupied of self-pity. “Who’s there?” I asked, looking toward the corner of the house where the silhouette of a man stood.

The silhouette moved closer, each step allowing me to see more clearly as the lantern light behind dimmed in intensity and the light of the pale moon turned brighter. Colonel?

My breath stuttered out of me, the wind tugged at the ends of his long coat as he walked toward me in a harsh stride. “You will catch a cold, Miss Haymnick,” he said anew, and I could have sworn my heart did a somersault at the delectable rumble unlike any other I had ever heard. “A lady such as yourself should not be wandering the grounds unaccompanied and under-dressed so late at night,” he continued and stopped just two steps away from me.

The clouds parted as I turned fully toward him. His harsh features were cold to view when his eyes seemed so closed off and empty. “Colonel Brandon,” I said and curtseyed. “Miss Haymnick.” He nodded his head deeply, his voice slightly harsh yet wonderful. “Have I offended the lady?” I blinked. “Excuse me?” He straightened. “I may be no beauty to look upon, but even that has yet to warrant such a display of disgust upon a woman’s face before introductions have even been made. Therefore, I ask, have I offended the lady in some manner?” he asked while holding my gaze captive.

I blinked a few more times, seeing the gorgeous man up close again — this time in pale moonlight — had my mind out of sorts and my heart in an uproar. He was striking, stunning, powerfully elegant. “No, you have not, Colonel,” I said, my eyebrows drawing together while his features softened a smidge. “Nor have I looked upon a handsome man as yourself in such a manner, sir.” He arched his eyebrow and a flutter broke out in my stomach. “I may be up in years, but I am not blind, Miss Haymnick.” “I’m sorry?” “You viewed me with the most abhorrent of looks, disgust smeared over your beautiful features. I shall not pretend I have not received harsh welcomes before, but paired with the lie you but a moment ago told regarding my looks I cannot—” “Lie? I have not lied, nor have I viewed you with disgust, sir,” I said, my hands balling to fists at my sides.

He reached up and unclasped his cloak at the neck. “You said I am a handsome man,” he said as he stepped forth, his voice slightly lower — softer. “After having viewed me with disgust, I find that to be a lie, miss.” He draped the warm cloak over my shoulders as I leaned back, taking half a step away from him before he had time to tie the string around my neck.

I glanced down, the fabric was lush and warm while thick and heavy at the same time. It smelled like heaven — of hay, horse, musk and wind. How something could smell of wind I could not fathom but as I drew a deeper breath to calm my raging heart at his sudden proximity it hit me with full force.

“There,” he said, taking a step back. “You ought to dress for the weather, miss.” I looked up at him, stunned at his sudden kindness amid the accusations of lies. “Thank you… But, wait, I have done none of the things you accuse me of, sir.” He arched his brow again. “A good person, as I have heard rumours of you being, ought to strive for honesty. No?” “I am honest!” I shouted and stomped my foot in frustration — Mrs Marble would have a fit if she saw my manners. “You saw me,” I continued loudly, “before I had time to—” no! He cannot know of anything, a man like him would laugh at the pitiful feelings my soul harbours. How could a colonel ever understand such things…

His eyes had widened, the shock of my outburst apparently enough to spook him out of the withdrawn, colder state he’d been in ever since our eyes had locked for a second time in the ballroom. “I am not lying, my good sir,” I said quietly. “A man such as you, so perfectly attuned to the world we live in, would simply not understand, as I cannot understand the likes of men such as you.” “Men such as me?” “Yes. Men such as you, colonel.” “And you have met many men the likes of me?” I merely sighed at his calm words, nodding toward the estate housing a party filled with men such as him.

He chuckled and shook his head slightly. My heart stopped beating for a second. “So that is how you view me, after a handful of seconds. Then I shall bother you no more, miss. Excuse me,” he said and clicked his heels before turning to leave. “Sir!” I called, not truly knowing why but my heart roared at him leaving. Something about him was so different to any other I had ever met despite the words I had just spewed in my dismay.

He stopped, only half turning so I could view his profile before he turned his head fully. I took a step closer, curious and something else moved around within that curiosity, too. “Yes?” His voice, so dark and deep, made a shiver slip down my spine. “Are you not?” I asked. “Am I not, what, miss?” “Like them.” “Life would have been easier had I been, but I’m afraid I must disappoint you.” “That does not disappoint me, colonel.”

His eyes widened as I took another involuntary step, something about him pulled me in and the more time passed the softer his expression turned and the brighter his eyes appeared. There were layers there, depth and that warmth I had always searched for in the eyes of others. So I stopped two steps away, spellbound by the beauty he was — even if that was shallow of me.

“Is it true? That you think me a liar for calling you a handsome man?” I asked quietly. “I am not a handsome man, make with that what you see fit.” “But, you are—” his eyes widened “—and I do not know what to make of the way you changed when you viewed me for a second time.” “You viewed me with disgust—” “I was disgusted by Lady Hilliard, for how she spoke of you.” “And, how did she speak of me?” he asked, his voice turning even softer yet it kept the depth that rumbled through me like gentle thunder in the distance. “I’d rather not say such things, but she wishes for you to marry her niece.” “Many wish to see their nieces and nephews wed—” “No, not like that, sir. She spoke about your-, your wealth and how you are never home.” “I am not home, for there is no reason to be. I have wealth for I have none to spend it on beyond the orphanage and my estate.”

I blinked at him, feeling lost for a moment. “If I had a wife, I would be here more. If I had a home, and not a mere estate, I would venture out into the world less. As it stands, none have caught my attention. That is, until tonight.” Why my heart faltered and saddened by his words I could not say. The man was far beyond me in years, he was a sophisticated and aged gentleman with beauty I could barely comprehend — every second I looked upon him he simply turned more handsome, inside and out. The way he spoke of a wife, of a family being what makes a home, it was beautiful and poetic.

“Then why are you standing here, sir?” I dared ask while I gripped the edges of the cloak he’d hung around my shoulders. “Because you are standing here, miss.” “I— I don’t understand, should you not pursue her before the evening ends?” “I am, by asking if I had offended her, given her change in view from the most beautifully wondrous look rivalling that of clear summer skies, to one as harsh and cold as disgust distorting her stunning features unlike any I have ever witnessed before.”

My breath snagged in my throat in the blink of an eye. My shoulders stiffened and as he held my gaze unyieldingly I turned warm on the inside. Those eyes had seen horrors and beauty all around the world, yet now they appeared solely focused on me with a warmth within them rivalling the sun.

“You find me beautiful?” I asked, my voice a mere whisper. “Most beautiful.” I sighed and averted my gaze. “As they all do.”

His cold finger came up under my chin and I jolted back. It was not proper for him to touch me, for us to stand so close with no chaperon near. “I apologise,” he said. “Have my liking of your appearance offended you?” I shook my head. “No, sir.” “Then why..?” “I am beautiful, sir. I am aware,” I said with a soft smile while drowning in his eyes that had gone most soft and deep. “It is not always something…” my voice trailed off, for how could I explain that my beauty was a curse in the disguise of a blessing?

“It does not matter, miss. I am no match for you, either way. I shall take my leave so another, more suitable match can sweep you off your feet as you deserve.” What a romantic thing to say… “I wish you the happily ever after you deserve,” he said a breath later and clicked his heels together with sorrow in his eyes that tugged at my heartstrings. I had no time to make my brain understand he was leaving until he was out of view.

I jolted. I finally connect with someone and I, what, shoo him away? Oh, no… I drew an unsteady breath, feeling that warming scent of him waft up my nose. I ran after him, my feet thudding against the ground. “Colonel!” I called as I rounded the corner, just as he galloped out of the gates too far away for him to be able to hear me over the snorts of the horse and spraying of icy snow around its massive hooves.

To Be Continued...

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NEXT PART » Prompt 5: Open Doors [A2]

A/N: I'll be adding links to parts as I go along through Rickmas - so if you revisit or find Rickmas2024 later on you'll have access to direct links to continuations. My plan for this year is several serial fics and a few one-shots here and there as I know I'll get stressed and need breaks where I can just write whatever my little heart desires from time to time. Rickmas is INTENSE to write for, so 🙈

Anyway, how we feeling? We ready for this month's shenanigans? 😊

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It was quite desolate at the moment though. Only one thought echoed through the haze of alcohol after the questions fizzled out, you. The way you danced between his bed and wardrobe at the furthest left side of the room. Your hips swayed, and your hands skimmed atop your clothes. Your skirt hitched up, your slightly too-small shirt revealing every single curve of your upper body and the dangling of your tie across your chest was as hypnotic as the music.

He couldn’t believe you were there. Singing about being touched, humming about feeling like you could breathe under the sensual caress described in the song. You were magnificent in the dim candlelight. And he was hard. His cheeks flushed. His hand squeezed the fabric of his robe spread out on the couch from where he had an uninterrupted view of you.

You spun around — a new song filling the room with an even more sensual beat — and he blushed deeper as you smiled at him. You seemed less affected by the alcohol, or you were a more experienced drinker. The entire situation was new to him. Everything about it was so wholly new on every level and he barely knew what to do with himself.

You swayed your hips as you moved closer, he tensed and you smirked. Your eyes were alight with something he could only describe as mirth. Mirth and warmth. He was warm all over too, his cock strained against his trousers and jerked as your eyes darted down to it. Embarrassment filled him as you watched his tented pants with the highly visual outline of his erection intently.

“Like what you see, Sev?” you asked with a purr to your voice he’d never heard you speak with before as you dragged your hands up along your thighs, hitching the hem of the skirt up along with the motion — baring your black knickers. You moved differently, showed a new side to you he hadn’t ever even imagined you had. You were so sweet, so pure, so gentle normally. How could he not have noticed this side of you that made his heart hammer and pound so harshly yet your control was also comforting — it baffled him but his body was alight and too strung up for him to think further on it.

His fingers squeezed the fabric within his hand harder, his heart drummed as he watched your fingers trail up along your sides while tugging up the shirt before you unbuttoned it. The black bra matching your knickers came into view as you dragged it off and threw it on his bed while his breath caught in his throat — nerves coiled within him but the alcohol wouldn’t allow him to panic.

Severus gulped while it felt as if his cheeks were on fire, his cock nearly ready to explode. No, don’t-, hold it, don’t— “Sev?” you asked, interrupting his frantic thoughts. “Don’t you like me? Don’t you like what you see?” you continued with a shy smile but your tone, it wasn’t uncertain or worried about his answer. You sounded confident, sounded perfectly aware of what he was thinking.

“I-, I do,” he confessed — his voice slightly pitched despite it having become much darker over the last two years — as you moved your hips in a figure-eight. The way your stomach moved along with that motion, how your breasts bounced ever so slightly, and how you smiled almost wickedly at him had him in a twist of want-corded tension and he had never experienced sensations as strong as he now did.

“Won’t you show me, Severus?” you asked as you undid the button and zipper of your skirt, shimmying out of it. He gulped and panted while his cock jerked and his balls drew up, his body begging for release.

He’d dreamt of your body. He’d jerked off in the shower with the fantasies of your touch and moans. You had overtaken every whim of his hormone-riddled body, for over a year. A year of torture watching you from afar, knowing he’d never have a chance with someone like you. Someone so perfect.

“Y/n, please…” he exhaled while his body began to tremble with the restraint of not coming. But you merely tilted your head while keeping up your seductive dancing. “Be good for me, Sev…” you said just loud enough to be heard over the music as you moved yet another step toward him. The gloomy dungeon-like room with its green and silvery shades felt too hot.

Your bare skin glistened with a slight perspiration, little beads of salty water glittering in the low light that his mind screamed of wanting to lick up. His cheeks turned hotter still, his hand moving up to his mouth to contain his tongue and the involuntary moan slipping out.

Your eyes moved down to his trousers again, your gaze focused wholly on the pulsing erection he couldn’t do anything about while he watched you with a mixture of shame, need, and pure horniness while he squeezed the robe tighter in his hand, pressing his hand to his mouth harder as he moaned again when you stroked your breasts through your bra. Don’t come, don’t come… By Merlin, she’s so beautiful…

“Don’t be shy, Sev…” you hummed as you unclasped your bra. “Be a mess for me, like I am for you…” you continued as your breasts were exposed and he gasped while you toyed with your pebbled nipples. He groaned and sank into the sofa further, straining in every manner possible. You threw your head back with a moan and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

The sweet moan you let out made him sag as his trousers were stained with his cum, bleeding through the fabric while he closed his eyes as little tears lined the edges of them. He was so embarrassed, so relieved, so turned on he didn’t know what to do with himself as his cock kept pulsing, squirting wave after wave of cum sticking to his cock, underwear, and trousers. How embarrassing… How do I ever look you— “You’re so beautiful like this, Sev. All messy and bothered, all flustered and so cute…” you said, again interrupting his thoughts while the last tremor left his body and his cock softened in the mess he’d made — that you’d made of him.

He jerked as your hands landed on his knees, making him open his eyes only to find you between his legs with the most beautiful look of satisfaction, with want and pride in your eyes as you looked up at him. The shame he’d felt a second ago vanished as your hands stroked up along the inside of his thighs with nothing but glazed hunger in those inviting eyes he’d often daydreamed of.

“You did so good, Sev. I’m so proud of you for holding out so long. Such a good boy,” you said with praise and reassurance in your voice that did things to him he couldn’t explain or understand. “I-, I’m a mess,” he said, feeling his heart race as your fingers began undoing the button of his trousers with a smirk as you glanced up at him through your lashes. “Just how I want you,” you whispered with that tone of praise again. “A mess for me, with that sweet look of surrender… Makes all my fantasies of you pale in comparison.”

He felt elated, assured, and wanted when you spoke to him like that. It was wholly new to him, new territory and unknown terrain. It felt good. He felt so good under your hands, viewing, words, and voice. He felt good, and hearing you fantasised about him as he did about you eased a little knot in his stomach.

But then your hands were pulling down his soiled trousers, tugging down the waistband of his underwear until his spent cock became visible and he had to look away from you. Embarrassed by the mess, triggered by the salty smell of his own cum as it wafted up. “Let me clean you up, sweetie,” you said and he jolted. Before he had time to ask what you had meant, your hand grabbed his cock gently and your lips encased the slack member a second later.

The heat of your mouth, the look of your head moving between his legs made his eyes widen and his body erupted in a shocked burning. His heart instantly thundered, his pulse roared in his ears as he watched you lick up his cum, sucking and licking his cock with tender care.

He jerked as your tongue swiped the crown. “Oh, you’re such a good boy,” you praised as he began to harden anew. “Y/n,” he panted as you encircled him again, “p-please,” he protested with need and confusion. He’d never been able to get hard right away after coming before. “Hush, sweetie, let me taste you,” you said softly before he felt the hand you’d had on his thigh disappear.

You moaned around him and he jerked within your mouth, throwing his head back as he stiffened. You began stroking at his root while your tongue teased and swirled around the tip. He tensed as pleasure soared through him in an entirely new way, his last climax still loomed over him.

He looked down at you, feeling hot beyond belief as he watched you suck his cock while pleasuring yourself — all while being between his legs, on your knees yet in control of everything. I’m dreaming, I’m drunk and dreaming, he tried to convince himself but the sensations were too real, too palpable, too perfect for his head to be able to conjure such a dream.

You panted around him, moaning and humming while he watched you work yourself up further. The entire room began spinning around him while his hands squeezed the robe beneath him, the music and sounds of you invading him, the feel of your touch overwhelmingly perfect, the smell of your arousal and his cum mixing and mingling in the air.

His hips jerked as you suckled him. He watched you hollow your cheeks and never before had pleasure erupted so violently within him. He moaned, feeling self-conscious about the way his body was jerking and tensing, how he was burning up and desperate for a second release but terrified he wouldn’t be able to despite how good you made him feel.

You moaned around him, your rhythm faltering while your hand tightened around his root. Your movements turned erratic — hasty and needy. His own breath hissed out between his teeth as he felt his balls draw up. “Come for me,” you moaned around his cock. “Be good for me,” you exhaled before sucking harder. “Please-, please I can’t—” His words were interrupted as you moaned and shook between his legs, climaxing hard while still sucking his cock with vigour.

The sight was beyond his understanding, beyond his brain’s capability to comprehend in its beauty and he came. Hard. Moaning loudly while spurting a single string of cum into your mouth while his lungs nearly froze up at the warmth exploding within him. “So good,” you said while removing your mouth but still gently stroking his cock through the pulsing. “You’re so good, Sev. Such a pretty sight, such a sweetie coming for me twice.”

The praise hit something within him he couldn’t touch, your words made him feel so good he could barely stand the sensation — so at odds with anything and everything he had ever felt. He wanted you to say such words to him again. He wanted to be good for you, make you praise him, make you look at him like you did in that exact moment. Sated and happy. You were so beautiful to him, so perfect, and he wanted to be touched by you over, and over, and over again.

“You’re mine now,” you said with a sweet smile, showing that side of you he’d fallen in love with while watching you from afar. “Y-yours?” he asked as a fresh blush crept over his skin, heating his chest and cheeks. You giggled and reached up to stroke his cheek. “Yes, mine. I want you, Sev.” “Yours…” he said in a quiet murmur, trying the word while you watched him expectantly. But it was hard for him to even imagine that what had just happened had, in fact, actually happened.

“Severus,” you began as you rose up fully on your knees, “I want you. And I know you want me, so I’m going to make you feel good enough to accept that. Okay?” you continued and his eyes widened but he nodded and you smiled that sweet smile he loved seeing your face marked by. Then your lips were pressed against his and he melted under the taste of him and you. He wanted you to make him believe you too, so he’d let you try…

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A/N: It’s almost 1 am as I finish writing this, I wrote it in one single sitting right after I got the artist’s permission to write a fic for their art and gosh… This became way longer than I had thought, and bit more “adult” than I’d planned at first but I blame that on me usually writing for older Snape and it’s the middle of the night atm 😂👍 But damn, this was fun and enjoyable to write. I hope you had a good time too, dear reader 🙈😘🖤

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There had been something else burning you that night though. Being a gentle soul, easily afflicted by ailments from the time you were sick as a young child, the time spent out in the cold when greeting him had sent you into a high fever. You were unable to remember the first week of your husband being back home but each time you had come to he had been by your side. Worry in his eyes and soothing voice.

Now it had been three days since you had been fully restored and the fever gone. You felt more than fine yet your husband had been most stern about you resting and not doing anything that required any energy. That, unfortunately, extended to lovemaking as well. It was driving you bonkers that all he offered were small kisses and long hugs. It had been months, months since you had laid with him and having him home but not willing was infuriating.

Now it was Sunday, one week left until Christmas Day and you could not take it anymore. Much like the howling wind outside you felt as if you would kick up a storm if he did not see sense soon. Your entire body was desperate for his touch, your mind in shambles — made worse by the absolute beauty he was. You adored his kindness and care, the way he worried and always held your well-being as an absolute priority. But now, by god, you wished to whack him atop his pretty head with the candlestick on your nightstand to get him to see reason.

His hair was sleep tossed and his eyes soft as he watched you the very second he awoke. “Good morning, love,” he whispered but you huffed at him. “My love, what is the matter?” he asked, alarmed by the way you turned your face away from him. “It is not a good morning. In fact, it is the most terrible morning when one wakes up next to the most beautiful man one has ever laid eyes upon, which one is married to as well, yet the man is untouchable,” you sulked out, being so tensed up with need you couldn’t help the sour mood.

Christopher moved about in bed while you laid with your back towards him. His hand travelled up your bare arm most gently before he placed a soft kiss on your shoulder. The warmth of his body reached you as he came closer. “Love, you were not well,” he said quietly. “But I am more than well now, yet my husband is withholding himself from me so adamantly.” “Love, you must understand, I do not wish to cause you any harm.” “You are harming me now, denying me what I wish for the most… How can you not see that I need you?” you asked, nearly in a pleading voice still tinted by the sour need coursing through your entire body — as if he were in your very blood.

He kissed your shoulder again, tenderly, while his hand journeyed to your own where he entwined his fingers with yours while you watched the snow begin to stick to the window on the other side of the room. “Do you promise you are fully well, darling?” he asked, his voice an octave lower than before. “Yes, I’m well, Christopher. Please… I need you as much as my next breath,” you confessed while your body warmed under his hold and the pebbling of little kisses ha lavished your shoulder and neck with.

“All I wish, is to care for you,” he said while moving slowly to lay atop you. “All I want in life, is your joy and love,” he continued while he situated himself between your legs. His gorgeous face hovered above yours and you felt your body begin to burn under the intense but adoring manner he viewed you. “You have all of that,” you said softly, your breathing turning harsher. “Then what’s left is your pleasure, my love,” he hummed in that baritone voice of his. “It’s all yours,” you whispered while reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders while he leaned forward.

Your lips met and the world was gone. There was only you and him. There was nothing else in existence at that very moment when he laid between your thighs and you felt him grow hard against your pelvis.

He kissed you with ardency, tender care and warmth. His hand travelled down along the side of your naked body until he reached your thigh where he grabbed a hold gently. Your mingling tongues danced as he began to slowly grind against you, the ridge of his cock stroking between your folds only to nudge your clit towards the end, each and every time. It had you spiralling into a moaning mess beneath him in no amount of time.

“I adore you,” he hummed against your lips. “With every ounce of me there is,” he continued as he travelled down to your neck while squeezing your thigh to part your legs further. “Darling, please,” you moaned as he gave your nipple a soft lick before travelling to the other where he sucked it in between his teeth before offering it the same treatment.

Your hands reached up to grab at the sides of the pillow as he travelled further down, kissing his way to your wanting core with nothing but pure love in his tender touches. “I will ever only wish to please you,” he said as he nestled down between your thighs. Your chest was heaving, your heart hammering and there was nothing but lust and love in it for him. “I have no other purpose in life, my love,” he said before his tongue stroked over your clit. The little bundle of nerves already so sensitive and needy for his attention after such a long time of him being absent.

He latched on, gently, and suckled at the tiny bud while he move to give his fingers access. While his tongue kept lavishing your most sensitive spot he gently pushed his finger inside you. You gasped, your back arched and he pushed his digit all the way in. “Hmmm,” he groaned, the vibrations of his mouth making you gasp out. “Oh, god,” you whimpered while he stroked your insides in a teasingly slow manner while his tongue kept licking and circling your clit in a way that only allowed your pleasure to build, not to find the release you so desperately craved.

“You are everything,” he said while pushing a second digit inside of you. You threw your head back before lifting it only to find him looking up along your body with the most gorgeous look in his eyes. The warmest, purest of happiness radiating from him while he smiled so utterly fondly at you — all while his fingers worked their way in and out of you at a maddening pace. “Please, please, I need-, haaa-!” you choked out as he curled his fingers to reach that elusive spot deep inside of you that had you in utter shambles.

“So beautiful,” he whispered while he began to kiss your thigh. You were being driven to the brink of madness from the tender, soft, slow torture of pleasure you had wished for so desperately. Your entire body was tensing, every muscle and nerve cording themselves under his ministrations.

“Christopher, I beg you, please,” you whimpered as he upped the pace and rose up. The view of him, half sitting on his knees between your thighs as he pleasured you and began to stroke himself leisurely was indescribable. He was so beautiful, so lust-inducing that there was no way on god’s green earth that you’d ever be able to have enough of him. He was everything to you, and no matter how he tortured you with slow and tender loving that you adored so viciously you would never have your fill of him.

“I want all your pleasure, I crave it, my love. All this time, these days of having you close but never close enough, such torture to my soul,” he groaned while his hand gripped his cock harder. It was erotic beyond words. To see him pleasure himself while doing the same to you. But you needed more, you needed him.

As if he could feel how close you were, how your desperation had sky-rocketed, he leaned forward and withdrew his fingers from you. You moaned and ached at the emptiness while he lined himself up between your thighs. His eyes never left yours.

As his lips kissed yours, he gently pushed himself inside your slick cunt. Your hands shot up, gripping at his neck to pull him closer while he sank to the base into you with a restrained groan. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” you whimpered as he kissed your cheek and laid down atop you without adding any true weight. “As I love you,” he said on a deep exhale by your ear.

He began to pump into you at a slow and steady pace, appearing to draw out the pleasure from your body with each perfect stroke. Your legs wrapped around him as you met him thrust for thrust. Your panted breaths mingled with his and a sheen of sweat began to mist your body as you did all you could to not cry out how desperate you were for him to make you come.

“More,” he groaned, “not yet,” he gritted while you felt his entire body go rigid. You were wobbling on the edge too, holding back with all your might, waiting for him to tell you to let go. You were clinging to your sanity as he picked up the pace with a near snarl escaping his lips that were pressed against your neck. The tip of his nose dug into your skin and you had nearly resorted to begging when he slammed into you so harshly you cried out from the bliss claiming you.

“Yes,” he groaned while slamming into you again, and again, his cock pulsing and your insides clenching as you whimpered and crumbled beneath him. Your entire body shook while pleasure beyond comprehension washed over you in crashing waves as he filled you with his cum.

You saw stars when he stilled and kissed your neck softly. “Love,” he panted, “are you alright?” he asked, as he always did. “I’m wonderful,” you said in a sated tone, feeling the last trembles subside while he softened inside you. The way he squeezed you a little tighter had your heart fluttering and you leaned your own head up to bury your face in the crook of his neck as both of you found your equilibrium again.

You hadn’t even taken notice of the way the wind had picked up outside, or how the snow now covered all the windows — sticking to the glass like paper to glue. The weather was raging beyond the walls of the Delaford Estate and you couldn’t have cared less. No storm out there could ever match the one in your heart when your husband leaned up and looked down on you with such adoration and care in his bright eyes.

“Appears that we shall remain indoors today, love,” he said and you giggled. “I can think of a few things we can do to keep ourselves… warm,” you whispered, a small blush creeping over your dear husband's cheeks from the way you looked at him with unabashed hunger. “You are insatiable,” he murmured with a soft smile before he kissed the tip of your nose. “A bath first, and then we shall see what other compromising positions I can have you in.” It was your turn to blush, but your heart leapt at his words.

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You bent your fingers, the red and blue stripes over your hands ached and throbbed. The lines made from a thin whipping stick stood out like tea stains on a tablecloth. But you didn’t cry now, you had cried yesterday but no more.

You dressed in your usual maid attire, a black dress with a white apron tied around your waist and pinned just above your chest. You tucked your hair into a white bonnet and tied it at your neck, cinching it tightly with trembling fingers from the hurt and the cold. There were only three candles for light and warmth in your little windowless room but at least you were not by any outer wall, those rooms were even colder than your own and reserved for those working the stables and grounds.

Colonel Brandon’s sweet smile and gentle grey eyes flashed in your mind, you shook your head — not wanting to think about the nice gentleman so unlike those you served. You knew it would be trouble, now take your punishment and don’t let it show, Y/n, you told yourself and straightened before leaving the room to start your newly acquired chores extending your day by several hours for the foreseeable future.

≪⁕≫

As you scrubbed the kitchen floor, down on your hands and knees making them ache and turn redder by the second, the door flew open. “Y/l/n!” came the shrill sound of the head housekeeper, Mrs Louvé. Your head shot up and you rose as quickly as you could. “Yes ma’am,” you said as you straightened and wiped your hands on your dirtied apron. “Come with me, now,” Mrs Louvé said harshly and you jolted into action following her rapid pace.

You took the servant hallways, the killing stairs with too high steps, and eventually ended up outside one of the attic doors. “You need a dress,” she said with a snippy tone and flailed about a piece of paper in her hand. “I do?” you asked, dumbfounded. “Yes, silly girl, you cannot visit the colonel in this state! And gloves too!” she said as she yanked the door open, revealing more killer stairs, but your mind was on the three words ‘visit the colonel’.

“Come along,” Mrs Louvé sniped and gathered her dress to climb the deadly stairs. You followed in confusion. “I am to visit the colonel?” you asked while you climbed with care. “Yes, did you not hear me, girl?” “Yes, yes I did Mrs Louvé,” but that doesn’t explain anything.

A little while later the head housekeeper found a dress in one of the many chests. It was nothing special to anyone usually wearing fancy gowns and the like, but to you, it was truly a pretty piece of clothing. The light green satin with white lace details, the wider skirt and the sleeves stopping midway down the forearms with a frilly of white lace were truly pretty. “I’m to wear this?” you asked. “Yes, we’re not dressing the cat, are we?” Mrs Louvé scoffed and shoved the dress into your arms.

“Take a bath, fix that mane of yours and get dressed. Wear these too,” she added and handed over a set of white satin gloves that would reach to your elbows, meaning none of the markings on your hands would be visible. You gawked at her back while she strutted away and began climbing down the horrible stairs.

I’m to meet him again?

≪⁕≫

The simple sleigh you had been riding in stopped right at the front doors of Delaford Estate. Your stomach was tied up in knots while your heart seemed to run rampant within your chest, hidden behind the ill-fitting dress constantly not made for your body but cinched tight enough to look decent.

Unable to stop thinking of Lord Billington’s last words to you about not ruining their reputation with the upstanding man you were to meet. You didn’t know why the colonel had called for you, or why he wished for your company. However, you couldn’t deceive yourself regarding the joy you felt at seeing the man once more — dressed more properly this time too.

You drew a deep breath while clambering out of the too-high sleigh, made for transporting goods rather than people, and walked towards the large steps and the towering entrance door while the sleigh pulled away; leaving you alone.

The doors opened as you took the last step up. “Miss Y/l/n, welcome,” a finely dressed butler said with a smile. You smiled back at him and curtsied, the man was above you in station after all. “Good afternoon,” you said quietly while trying to work past the lump in your throat as he stepped aside to allow you entrance into the grand hall beyond. The deep mahogany colours, the polished marble floor and the beautiful pieces of art welcoming visitors took your breath away for a moment.

“Colonel Brandon awaits in the grand hall,” the butler said. “I shall take you to him, miss Y/l/n.” “Thank you, sir,” you said and followed the man, doing your utmost not to look around too much. But the estate was in splendid condition, and there was a sense of calmness resting over it that soothed something within you, warming and comforting. And the staff you passed weren’t rushing, they appeared collected and happy. It made you tug on the silky fabric of your gloves which hid your punishment for inconveniencing the man yesterday.

You entered through an arched doorway and stopped. It was a magnificent room with a giant wall of windows, on one side an enormous fireplace with a roaring fire, on the other, a grand piano polished to a shine and there, slightly off towards the side of it, he stood. Colonel Brandon. Your heart did a little flip when seeing him.

“Miss Y/l/n has arrived, my Lord.” You stepped forth as the butler announced your arrival. “Good afternoon, Colonel Brandon,” you said as you curtsied deeply. “You’re here!” came the happy voice of Annie as she rounded the piano, you hadn’t seen her crouched behind it. “Miss Hatchet,” you said and smiled at the child who positively beamed at you while running up. Her pale pink dress flopped around her legs while her golden curls bounced around her face.

“Can we have the cookies now, uncle?” she asked and the both of you looked towards the straight-backed man dressed in bronze-coloured clothes with polished black boots on his feet. The black silk cravat around his neck was pinned with a small golden pin. He was a stunning man, his singular features only making him more handsome.

He smiled tightly at the girl and nodded, “We can.” “You’re going to love Mrs Mender’s cookies,” Annie said and took your hand, leading you toward a small sitting area by the fireplace while you glanced back towards the colonel. He appeared to watch you most carefully, his grey eyes soft but piercing. It made your cheeks heat.

“Come on, uncle,” Annie said while plopping herself down on the sofa, leaving you to stand awkwardly by the table — fighting the urge to serve the two. “Please, miss Y/l/n, have a seat,” said the colonel as he appeared next to you. “Thank you, sir,” you said and took the seat next to Annie while he sat down in one of the two cushioned chairs opposite you. “Tea?” he asked and you scrambled to grab the teapot.

But his hand shot out to stay you. “No, no, you are my guest, miss. Allow me,” he said and your eyes widened while you retracted your hands before he had a chance to actually touch the silk covering them. “Sir, it is not—” “Proper? There is none but us here, and to have a lady serve tea as the honoured guest would be rude, no?” he said while tilting his head and smiling towards you. Those thin lips looked too inviting and you had to hold your breath not to gasp at your own thoughts.

So, you nodded and allowed him to pour the hot drink into the beautiful china you had never dared consider drinking out of until the very moment he turned the ear of the cup towards you. “I want chocolate milk,” Annie said while Colonel Brandon poured tea into his own cup. “Certainly, little princess,” he said and the way he seemed to dote on his niece was charmingly sweet.

She snagged a cookie and you all fell into a stiff silence, or perhaps it was only stiff to you. It was hard to tell while you could hear your own pulse run amok. You sipped on your tea while the colonel watched you. Something about how he looked at you made you feel different, as if you should straighten your back and show your best side. It was ridiculous how warm your palms had become and how hot the air seemed all of a sudden.

“Have a cookie,” Annie said and pointed to the silver tray filled with Christmas cookies and other sweet treats you had never had before. “Please, help yourself, miss,” said the colonel and you obliged, slowly reaching out to take one of the smallest cookies that looked the least fancy, the least expensive. “Not that one,” Annie exclaimed, “take the big one.” “Annie,” Colonel Brandon scolded, his voice a bit darker than before. “What?” she asked with her mouth full of cookie crumbs. “Miss Y/l/n is perfectly capable of choosing her own treat.” “But—” “No.”

Annie sulked for a moment but then shrugged herself out of it, all while your hand was halted mid-air above the cookies while you looked between the two until Colonel Brandon smiled with encouragement towards you and you took the small cookie you had been aiming for, feeling utterly misplaced and unsure of yourself.

“Tell me,” Colonel Brandon began, “how did things turn out yesterday?” You swallowed the absolutely delicious cookie you had in your mouth and folded your hands atop your dress. “I’m afraid I do not know what you mean now, sir,” you said in earnest. “That butler appeared quite aggravated.” “Oh, I’m quite alright.” “Is that so?”

Something about those gentle but piercing eyes made your breath hitched before you managed to swallow and nod. What else were you supposed to do? Inform the nicest man you had ever had the pleasure of meeting who also appeared to run a happy household and be loved by children that you had endured hand-lashings and gruelling work at his insistence to take you home in his sleigh? I think not.

“You have gloves today!” Annie suddenly exclaimed from beside you, oblivious to the exchange between the adults in the room. “I do, do you approve of them? I’m no lady, so I’m not sure how proper they are?” you said even if you knew, having dressed fine ladies for the last two years. “I think they look fancy,” she said with a beaming smile before she snagged yet another cookie. “Your stomach will hurt,” you cautioned gently but the child scoffed and Colonel Brandon chuckled.

You turned to look towards him, the sound was just so beautiful coming from him. “No need to worry, miss Y/l/n, Annie is quite capable of eating more cookies than what is deemed healthy,” he said and your cheeks heated anew. “Sweet of you to care for my tummy though, isn’t it uncle?” she said and the man nodded before setting down his cup. Once more you felt out of place but it wasn’t truly uncomfortable, just new and uncharted territory.

“Annie, go fetch Mr Bracket,” he suddenly said and the child beamed at him before bolting out of the room so fast you barely had time to react. “Miss,” Colonel Brandon said and you turned your attention to him, “my niece thinks you are a nice person,” he continued and you softened at the words. “I usually do not care for children, I must confess,” you said sheepishly and he nodded. “But she is quite the honest delight to be around,” you continued and he smiled gently at you. “She is indeed,” he said thoughtfully and you tilted your head. “Something the matter, sir?” “She is in my care, her parents having succumbed to pneumonia a mere month ago,” he replied and you stiffened. “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” you said truthfully.

A moment passed while the colonel watched the fire dance in the hearth. “I fear I am doing a poor job,” he said quietly. “She has not smiled, before yesterday.” “Yesterday?” you asked. “Yes, upon meeting you. She became the child I have always known her to be and has not been quiet about you since then.” He chuckled and looked at you. “She even scolded me for not taking you home with us yesterday, sulking in her room like the child she is that you were left with that, well, less than good-natured butler.” He appeared almost embarrassed by his own words, looking you up and down as if he didn’t know where to place his eyes.

“I do not know what to say, Colonel Brandon,” you confessed while you looked at the sweet man before you that had your insides in a twist over his gentleness and care, even for a child not his own. “I must confess myself to be, at a loss,” he continued. “At a loss, sir?” “Yes, Annie is not the only one—” “Found him, uncle!” came the voice of Annie followed by rushing footsteps in two different strides.

You both looked over, seeing Annie followed by the butler you had been greeted by carrying a violin. You wished she had been a moment longer, curious about what the colonel had been about to say.

“My Lord,” Mr Bracket said and the colonel stood. “Annie, will you do the honour?” he asked and she nodded vigorously. The butler followed the child towards the piano where she sat on the stool, looking utterly at home at the big instrument. “You play, miss Hatchet?” you asked and she nodded. “We will play, and you will dance with my uncle,” she beamed out while all colour left your face. I cannot dance, you thought as your body stiffened.

“Miss Y/l/n, will you do me the honour?” Colonel Brandon asked while stopping next to you, holding out his hand for you to take. “I-, sir, I cannot dance,” you said while lowering your head, feeling less than adequate. “Not to worry, I shall lead you,” he simply replied. “You need only follow.”

You gulped down a breath while the music, some soft carol, began to play. Just a piano and a violin filled the space with soft sounds. “Come,” he urged and you reached out your hand tentatively. He took it gently but sturdily, making your sore skin hurt just a smidge but you managed to hide it.

He took you in his arms, telling you to rest your hand upon his shoulder while he placed his own at your waste, shooting fire through your entire body at the close proximity and gentle hold. He was such a gorgeous man, and so good-natured and kind. He was truly unlike any man you had ever met. But, up close, in his personal space, you felt a slight sadness within him. Something hidden.

“Now, you begin with your left, and then follow my lead.” “Sir, I really must protest—” “Here we go, miss,” he interrupted and spun you off. But you didn’t trip or falter.

He lead you with expert grace, it felt as if your body knew what to do a second before he asked it of you. A natural leader, a commander, a colonel. You could scarcely believe it, but you were dancing with a colonel at a fine estate clad in a real dress with silky gloves and your hair nicely ordered. No servant bonnet or pinned apron. No flat working shoes or duster in your hand. It was magical, and unbelievable.

“You are a natural,” he said and you blushed under his sweet gaze, wanting to impress the man who made you feel so different. But then he grasped your leading hand a bit harder to spin you out and you winched, biting down on your bottom lip and cinching your eyes closed for a second.

“Y/n?” he asked, your name sounding beautiful in his baritone voice, at the same second you tugged your hand free by instinct. The glove slipped and remained in his grip, baring your damaged hand with the purple lines looking most gruesome in the bright room.

He drew in a harsh breath as you stepped back, clutching your naked hand to your chest, attempting to hide it while you felt nauseating fear for what he was thinking grip you. “Your hand-, what happened?” he asked as he stepped closer, your silky glove still clutched in his hand. “I told you, it was not proper for me to ride in your sleigh, colonel. I told you,” you nearly whispered out while sadness took hold of your heart. Reality taking hold once more.

He was not a man for you, no matter that he made your heart sing and your body warm. You were a measly maid while he was a colonel. You did not belong in his world, as he did not belong in yours.

The music stopped and silence descended. “I did not think—” “We are not the same, colonel,” you interrupted despite how rude it was. “If there is a mistake, an impropriety, you are not to be blamed or held responsible, it befalls me. The punishment is always mine to bear.”

Your words made him stiffen, his eyes widening with something akin to horror as realisation seemed to dawn on him; he was the cause of your damaged hands. “There should be no punishment,” he said with a dark voice that did not suit the gentleman you had come to know him as. “But there always is,” you said quietly. “Please, sir, return my glove so I may leave.” “No.”

You stiffened and looked up at him. “No?” “I am not sending you back to that house to be harmed,” he said as if it was a declaration of the utmost importance. You wished his words to be true, that he would ask you to remain, with him. No matter how silly it was. You felt at home by his side despite everything telling you how wrong it all was. How out of place you were in his world of ballroom dancing and sweet treats to take delight in.

“Uncle, what’s happening?” Annie asked quietly, confusion in her bright voice. “We are asking miss Y/l/n to stay with us,” he simply stated but his eyes never left you. “We are?” she asked with sudden joy in her voice. “Because you love her, uncle?”

The look he gave you was that of mortification and worry, of wishing and inner battling. You knew that because you felt similar about your feelings for him. “Annie, you errant child, you do not speak like that,” he scolded. “But you said so yesterday!” “I did not,” he grumbled while his cheeks turned pinkish. “Yes you did, you said she was the prettiest woman you had ever seen and she wasn’t even dressed properly or ordered. That your taciturn heart was happy when she talked—” “Annie, enough,” he interrupted and the child had the decency to fall silent while he looked ever more sheepish. His shoulders crept towards his ears before he reacted and forced his back to straighten under your shocked gaze.

But your heart fluttered, your body turned soft and warm while your hands fell to the sides of your body. You didn’t know what to say, or even how to speak while he averted his gaze for a moment, as if he needed to collect himself.

“I made your heart happy?” you asked quietly, not quite able to use your voice fully. He looked towards you, and nodded. “You did-, do.” “I-, my heart-, I feel as if it sings when I’m with you, Colonel Brandon,” you confessed and it was the strangest conversation in history. Confessing to wanting the impossible and hearing it being mutual.

He blinked at you, looking at a loss for words for a moment. “I will not send you back to the Billington Estate,” he said quietly. You nodded. “What do you wish to do with this maid then, sir?” you asked while he slowly began stepping towards you. Your stomach filled with butterflies. “You are no longer a maid,” he said as he stopped a single step from you. “You are,” he continued while reaching for your bared hand, “to be mine. A colonel’s wife, Lady of Delaford Estate.” “You do not know what you are saying,” you breathed out, sure you were dreaming. “I assure you, the short time I have had with you is all needed to know you are the one for me.” “Colonel…” “Christopher,” he corrected and your knees weakened as he raised your battered hand to his thin lips and planted the gentlest of kisses atop it.

The suffocated giggles of Annie and strangled chuckles of Mr Bracket could have been heard, if you had not been so occupied by the sound of your own pulse raging or the drumming song of your heart when Christopher straightened and tugged you closer. You heard receding footsteps but were to occupied by the man holding you to take full notice of the others leaving the room.

“This is insanity, Christopher,” you whispered as he leaned his forehead against yours. “Say it again,” he murmured while his hand landed at the small of your back, holding you even closer. “This is insanity,” you whispered. “Say my name, Y/n…” he asked gently. “Christopher.” “I never thought my name could sound so… wondrous.” “I never thought my heart could sing.” “Or mine be happy…”

You closed your eyes, taking in the overwhelming emotions you finally dared let lose within you now that he had told you in earnest that he wished for your hand in marriage — despite everything that ought to have kept you parted.

Christopher released your hand and grasped your chin most gently, tilting your head while you opened your eyes and were met by his joyous ones. “Beautiful,” he said and it felt like the highest praise.

Then his lips graced yours, a soft connection that kicked up a storm within you as the taste of him reached you. His warmth seeped into your flesh and a moment later you became lost to the sensation of him while the fire crackled and the tea turned cold next to the most delicious treats you had ever had the fortune of tasting. Still, they had nothing on the taste of his thin lips.

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A/N: Can't belive it's already been a week worth of RICKMAS, feels a little crazy that we're here again sharing love throughout December. Feels like it was only a month or so ago I started with Snapemas… Time truly flies. Gosh. BUT I'M LOVING THIS MONTH! 😍🤭👏❤

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Christmas was approaching, when he had left the flowers had been in full bloom as summer had begun but now the ground was covered in glistening snow and there had been no news of his whereabouts for the past two weeks. You usually received at least one letter a week and the absence of news had constructed a knot in your stomach.

You wandered the halls, up the stairs, along corridors and past closed doors, downstairs and along the windows of the grand ballroom. Your home, in all its glory, was beginning to take on the gentleness of Christmas as the servants hung garlands, and switched the white candles for red and green ones. All around, it was slowly but surely unfolding.

“Christopher,” you whispered and looked out through the massive window, “where are you, my heart?” There came no reply, from the widespread landscape beyond covered in glistening snow or the empty halls you were so fully surrounded with. Come home to me, you thought while your fingertips graced the cold glass.

You watched as your fingers left trails of warmth behind, painting swirls and abstract patterns absentmindedly while your thoughts lingered on the gentleman you loved beyond what words could possibly describe.

A black dot appeared far off in the distance, your throat cinched itself tight as you gasped. It appeared to nearly fly over the field while snow was kicked up in a swirl all around. Closer and closer it drew, faster and faster your heart hammered.

Right at the top of the hill, it stopped. The massive black steed carried the most precious man atop its back, it reared and your smile took shape — spreading your cheeks wide as you ran to your left, opening the glass doors cleverly hidden among the windows.

The cold air of December greeted you, stroking your bare arms only slightly covered with a silken scarf, and you ran. “Christopher!” you shouted with joy as the steed set off in another gallop, heading straight for you as you bolted down the slipper stone stairs with eager relief at seeing your husband anew. “Christopher!” you called again with laughter in your voice, dropping the scarf being tugged at by the wind. Your minty green dress bounced around your running legs and you were too overjoyed by his arrival to even lift it up from the snow below.

You dashed along the covered gravel, flicked open the back gate of icy iron, and laughed as he halted his horse with a whinnying neigh carried towards the cloudy sky above.

You were in his arms the next second. Oh God, how I have longed for you, my heart, you thought while his sturdy arms came around your waist and he lifted you up so your feet lost their contact with the ground below. “Darling, oh, my darling,” he murmured by your ear as one of his hands grasped your neck while the other arm and hand held a firm grasp of your middle part while he lowered you down gently, still pressing you against his taller frame.

“How I have missed you, my love,” he said by your ear in that baritone, rumbling voice that sent shivers along your spine while the tip of his hooked nose dug into your upper shoulder.

“I’ve longed for you with every beating of my heart,” you said as tears rolled down your cheeks when his musky, sweet scent reached your nose and mingled with the smell of horse and salty sweat. You inhaled as deeply as you could before a slightly choked laugh bubbled up from your throat.

“Let me view you, my darling,” Christopher said as he loosened his grip and leaned back, but your lower halves remained pressed against one another. His light grey eyes roamed your features while his cold hand came around to stroke your blushing cheek. He watched you with such reverence, such warmth and joy, your heart could scarcely take it for much longer.

Your eyes met his before they danced over his features, from the perfectly large nose to the marvellously thin lips you knew to be incredibly soft to the touch. “Beautiful,” he whispered and you slid your hands up from his chest to grasp his sturdy neck, pulling him towards you. “I love you,” you whispered, your voice a throaty sound as his viewing of you alone set your insides ablaze with unrelenting warmth. “As I love you,” he replied and dove in for your lips.

Your mouths crashed against one another, sealing you together while your tongues darted out gently to dance and caress each other. Marvelling in each others’ tastes and warmth, gripping and kissing each other oh-so-fiercely. He had come home to you, and not a minute too soon.

You whimpered as he groaned into your mouth. Longing and love mixing and tangling with each other while his large hands grabbed at your dress and neck, pulling you as close as possible. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough when there was fabric, or even air, between the two of you. Ever since your wedding day, he had been the one thing you could never have too close.

However, as your lungs began to burn and the heat within was unable to battle the cold air around, your mouths parted with a gasp shared between you both. His eyes hooked yours, yours refused to let go of the connection.

“How I have missed you, most grievously so,” your husband said with a calm severity to his voice that elicited the sweetest sensation within your heart. “As I have you, my sweetest heart,” you replied just as his lips widened with the most beautiful smile in tune with your own display of joy.

He reached for the reins of his horse, separating the two of you for a moment before you could wrap your arm around his. The coarse but soft coat he wore felt offensive to your bare skin as you so longed to grace each inch of his pale skin once more. You had no wish for propriety or sensible waiting, you wished to view each sliver of him and assert that he was indeed home and wholly yours once more.

“Why have you not written?” you asked as you crossed through the back garden. “Oh, my love,” he began, “I wished to do so, but I hadn’t the chance. My mind was fully occupied with returning to you, darling, and the postage services are nearly inoperable at Christmas time, swamped as they are.” Oh, that makes utter sense now that I think of it for a moment, you thought while you leaned further into your husband.

“I worried,” you whispered, the sensation slipping away fully along with the confession. “I apologies, my love,” he murmured and tensed his arm, the voice he spoke with bore the markings of guilt for a little moment but you tilted your head and beamed up at him. Simply happy he had returned, safe and sound, in time for Christmas.

“Colonel Brandon, sir,” said Anthony, the stable boy, and bowed deeply. “May I take your horse, Colonel?” he continued with a smile and Christopher nodded, a sharp motion of his head, while he held out the reins and Anthony smiled widely at him. “Welcome home, sir,” he said with another bow of his head. “Thank you,” Christopher replied and then the boy led away the horse just as the two of you began to traverse the stone steps up towards the open glass doors to the ballroom.

“We will make a mess,” you whispered while looking down at your slightly sodden dress and the almost wet slippers from the snow your body heat had melted. Your husband merely glanced down and smiled, a sly smirk that tugged one side of his mouth upwards in a most handsome way.

The next moment, you giggled out a shriek as he hoisted you up bridal style and stomped off the snow from his shiny black boots before entering the ballroom. “We cannot be making a mess of the floors when they shine so prettily,” he said in a low humming and you clung to his neck with a girly giddiness. You always adored when he carried you, making you feel as light as a feather and in perfectly capable hands.

“I know of something far prettier, that I would adore making a mess of, in due time,” he whispered and you gasped, your cheeks heating and your stomach tightening with cording nerves and warming softness. “Christopher,” you chided in a soft whisper, even if you adored his mischievous side. “But it will have to wait, I sense a large welcoming taking place,” he said as he stopped by the flickering fire in the grand hearth of polished stone and wrought iron. He sat you down on the padded bench before it, allowing your sodden dress and cold feet to heat up and dry with the fire’s help.

And, as if he had spoken a certain truth of the future, the ballroom began to fill with the Delaford staff who all wished to welcome their master home. You sat and watched as the staff, one by one greeted your sweet husband with smiles and warmth in their eyes.

He was a good man, and now, he was finally home once more. Within reach, to touch and view, to hear and be heard by. You couldn’t stop the tears of joy seeping out before they trickled down along your cheeks and dripped from your chin before you had a chance to swipe them away.

Your heart was overjoyed, beating harder and faster than at any moment in the past six months of his absence. My heart, my husband, my Christopher, your mind chanted as he greeted the last maid with yet another soft but somewhat withheld smile.

Then he turned towards you, a warmth colouring his eyes a darker grey. How you loved him, how deeply he had rooted himself within your heart. You were not whole without him, and you had dreaded spending Christmas without him by your side.

Now, as he took your hand, you were filled with such gratitude towards the heavens for bringing him home safe and sound to you. “My love,” he said as he kissed your knuckles with a twinkle in his eyes. “My heart,” you whispered in return and then he tugged on your hand, forcing you to move forward a step while he reached out and clutched you gently. He kissed you once more, with all the passion in the world but so seductively slow it told you he had all the time in the world to adore you. You came home for Christmas, home to me… You thought while your body turned soft and pliable in his gentle hold as his lips worshipped yours and the rest of the world with all its garlands, snow and flickering candles fell away.

He was home.

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A/N: Oh, I so hope you enjoyed this fluffy and light introduction to RICKMAS 2022! We have so much ahead of us and I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy every moment of this crazy month of daily fics!

MERRY RICKMAS DARLINGS! 💚

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“It’s quite rugged out there, angel,” you said quietly and Richard hummed his agreement. You glanced towards him, dressed in his finest red velvet set with intricate patterns stitched into the lapels of the coat and along all the edges with black silken thread. He matched your red dress and the black coat with an identical pattern but in a red thread instead.

It always warmed you when he procured clothes in matching sets for the two of you, close to shouting in the streets that you belonged together. This latest ensemble had been a First December gift, as he was too aware how you positively adored Christmas and all the little delights of December, of winter when there was joy in the air.

“How much further—” The carriage swerved, your hands surged out to find something to grip, your entire body tensing as the carriage seemed near to toppling. “Love,” Richard growled and reached out. His hand grasped yours just as a gasp slipped through your lips and the carriage ended up half askew — throwing you into him with its sudden halt.

You crashed into his stiff body, his arms enclosing you and tugging you down a mere second before you would have collided face-first with the carriage’s wall behind his head. You gripped at his shoulders, your body bent uncomfortably at the small of your back but cushioned by the many layers of fabric to your dress.

“Love, are you alright?” he gritted out as he grasped your chin and tilted your head, looking over your face. “I’m-, I’m well, love,” you replied as your eyes got hooked in each other and he exhaled before his features twisted into something of fury.

He sat you up with a firm grip around your corset-clad waist. “My lord,” came the hurried voice of your young butler, Mr Braham Stokes, who had been driving the carriage towards the estate where you would be celebrating Christmas with many of the wealthy, established families of London.

The door was pulled open at the other end of the carriage, the one raised up towards the sky at the slanted state of the carriage. “Are you harmed, my Lord? My Lady?” the usually happy man asked and your husband snarled at him. “We are fine, Braham,” you said as you grabbed Richard’s hand, staying him — saving Braham from any further of his rising anger.

Braham nodded with relief. “The dowel snapped at the strain, my Lady, but the carriage is stuck securely so it will not topple,” he said and you felt yourself pale at his words. Not even having thought of that. “How far do we have left?” you asked but the butler shook his head. “No, my Lady, you cannot walk there,” he said as if he had read your thoughts, “we need a replacement dowel or sled, my Lady.” Hell and damnation, we’ll be late, Richard hates being late.

What shall we do, angel?” you asked and looked towards your stoic husband who seemed to be keeping his anger caged at the turn of events, or perhaps at the idea that you could have been harmed. “Mr Stokes,” he said in a harsh tone, “you shall take one of the horses and ride ahead, find a stable and get a new carriage here. Quickly," he finished with and the butler, who you saw as more of a friend than an employee, straightened and nodded before he bowed and closed the door.

“What do we do now?” you asked as you heard him gallop away a mere minute later. “Here, love,” Richard rumbled out and lifted his arm while holding away the fur that had covered his legs. Your own lay on the floor from when you had been thrown forward so abruptly.

You moved over to his side of the carriage, cuddling in close against his side as he draped the fur over your legs and his arms around your shoulder — holding you tightly. It was already cold, despite all the clothes you were wearing and the slightly warmer air inside the carriage than the windy outdoors.

Richard’s lips graced the side of your head while the wind howled outside, slamming its force against the carriage. “Are you truly alright, love?” he asked gently while his thumb stroked up and down along your coat-covered arm. You nodded while you looked up at his harsh features that softened when there was only you and him. “You took the brunt of the force, angel,” you whispered as you laid your hand against his chest, twisting ever so slightly to rest your head atop his shoulder. The velvet of his thick coat was soft against your cheek.

≪⁕≫

Time moved slower and slower as the temperature dropped when the clock crept past four, given the darkness beyond the carriage’s windows. You were shivering despite the many layers of fabric, the furs, and Richard’s closeness. His hand was toasty warm when he stroked your chilly cheek though. It made you hum.

“You’re cold, love,” he whispered as he kissed the top of your head. “I’m fairing,” you managed to push out and he huffed. Clearly seeing the lie in your words instantly. “You never did learn to lie, my sweet little darling.” “I never had to learn,” you whispered while you clenched your jaw to keep your teeth from clicking against themselves. You tried not to think about how his words were affecting you, that he was heating you up by merely being close and speaking in such terms with that baritone voice of thunder that was heard clearly no matter how low he spoke.

You pressed yourself closer. “Love?” he asked and you peered up at him through your lashes. “You make me warmer,” you said gently, sheepishly, shyly. Still not quite secure enough in your own sensual thoughts, and sexual wants, to speak the words you were truly thinking.

“Something you want, little love?” he seemed to nearly purr as your eyes were far too open for him to read. You swallowed harshly, your breathing turning shallower. “Angel, please, do not…” “Do not, what? All you need to do is ask, my love.”

Your cheeks burst with heat, your stomach tightened, your thighs clenching together at the offer — the heat in his dark voice that tempted the carnal side of you. “We can’t, not here, not now,” you breathed and lowered your gaze in an effort to hide how badly you wished for him to touch you, warm you, alleviate some of the tension in your body that had been building the last hour being stuck in the still carriage.

“There is nowhere I will not have you.” “Richard,” you exhaled as your core tightened further. You wanted him, wanted his touch and the warmth you knew he could build within your body. The way he could ignite the furnace within your soul, burn the blood in your veins.

He turned halfway around and leaned forward, bending his back and turning his face up towards yours as his hand found the many hems of your multi-layered dress. You stiffened as his hand slid up along your stocking-clad legs until the sliver of bared skin was reached, where your garters held them up. He rose along with the motion of his hand and shimmied his fingers inside your underwear while the huge dress forced his arm to be bent at an awkward angle but neither of you cared.

Your skin burned at his touch, your heart sped up while your pulse rushed in your ears. Goosebumps from the exposure to colder air slid over your skin and raised the fine hairs all over your body. But the chill mattered far less than the heat his fingers elicited.

“Richard,” you panted out as his fingers found your slick opening and his thumb graced your clit before he began to circle the sensitive nub. You moaned and melted into him and the carriage’s seat. “You are exquisite, love,” he murmured by your ear, perfectly aligned with your head from the bent angle. “Angel, please,” you said with need in your voice that he, and only he, elicited each and every time he touched you with such sweet adoration — with worship in his eyes and voice.

He gently, slowly, measuredly slid his thick finger inside of your heat. Your back arched, your legs spread further to welcome him. “That’s it, little sweetness of mine,” he growled by your ear as he thrust his finger in and out while circling your clit perfectly. “Ooh—” “So sweet, so warm,” he murmured before his mouth claimed yours, swallowing the moan bursting from your throat.

He picked up the pace and slid a second digit within you, pumping in and out while his thumb worked wonders on the most sensitive spot on your body. You were panting, moaning and struggling to breathe from the pleasure he offered while your tongues danced and the windows fogged up further.

“Let go,” he growled against your swollen lips and altered the rotation of his thumb, forcing a shuddering gasp out of you as you saw stars from the sudden tensing of every nerve and muscle in your body. “Richard, please, please, yes—” A shiver raked your body and you convulsed around him, the orgasm hitting you so hard you could do nothing but hold on to his rigid thigh by your side. Your nails dug into the smooth fabric and he snarled a semblance of your name as he slowed his hand and kissed your exposed throat, slanting his lips up and down along the pulse point while you writhed from the pleasure. The biting cold had nothing on the nipping of his teeth. It sent shivers of pleasure through every limb of yours.

“Love, you are beautiful like this. Dishevelled and all rosy,” he said and the way his dark voice vibrated through you nearly set you off anew as his fingers thrust lazily in and out of you as the last of your trembles subsided and left you in a warm bliss of satisfaction.

Your hand slipped up as you tried to straighten only to draw a growl from him, your fingers touching the rigid bulge beneath his pants. He was hard beyond belief. “Feel what you have done to me,” he whispered darkly while your fingers tentatively laid themselves over the outline of his cock. The hitched breath he drew sent a shiver along your back. “All you, love,” he snarled with need and you stroked him outside of his pants while he released your dress and straightened up. He raised his hand to his mouth and sucked off his fingers, causing your eyes to widen but you were unable to look away from the glorious sight he was, licking off your slick from those thick fingers that had been inside you a mere moment ago.

“Let us not make a mess of the carriage,” he said gently while he placed the hand he had just pleasured you with atop the hand you were stroking him with. “But you haven’t—” “Oh, I will. Tonight, when they are dancing and laughing, I shall hear you cry my name as I take what is mine.”

Your heart banged against your ribs, your core heating once more at the carnal lust in those words — in his voice. “Until then, I shall enjoy the lingering taste of you on my tongue, little sweet love of mine.” “Richard,” you sighed as he draped the furs over you anew just as the sound of hooves and chiming bells reached you a moment before the door was pulled open and Braham appeared with his usual smile, announcing a new carriage had been procured.

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A/N: So, yeah, this was warming - wasn’t it? 🙊👉👈 I hope you enjoyed the first Turpin fic of RICKMAS 2022 - would you like a continuation of this perhaps? 👀

Please do consider supporting me with a coffee over on Ko-Fi if you are enjoying RICKMAS so far, love. Each coffee will go towards my writing! 🥰💜

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It was his last chance perhaps, and he wished with all his heart he could just have plucked up the courage to ask you to the dance weeks ago but he never dared, not even when you studied with him or walked to class together while you talked his ear off about the whole ordeal.

There was only one set of attire left for him to wear, hidden away in his trunk. He’d never imagined he’d ever wear it when Lucius had gifted it to him. Then he had imagined himself dressed in it for the first ever date with you, that he never dared ask for.

After all, what would you think if the misfit with an abnormally large nose and usually greasy hair asked someone like you out on a date? Yet he had dreamt of it many times, wondering what it would feel like to be with you. It made his stomach clench with nervous knots. But I’m going to do it. Tomorrow I am going to go to that infernal ball even if I do not have a bloody date and I am going to ask you to dance with me. I really am going to do it. And then they’ll all laugh at me… Won’t they?

≪⁕≫

His hands were shaking while adjusting the black bow tie around his neck. He could hear the chatter from the Great Hall but had yet to gather enough courage to go in, he’d be forced to soon or the doors would close and it would all start without him. He needed to sneak in undetected and hide away in the back until the dancing had started.

He smoothed his hands over the emerald green fabric of his tuxedo one more time and tugged on the lapels a bit even if they laid perfectly. Here goes, he thought and began to sneak towards the Great Hall.

Somehow he managed to get in undetected as everyone was busy looking at the spectacular decorations and the array of girls dressed up in beautiful dresses. Severus only had eyes for one girl though, dressed in a billowing purple dress with no other adornments — it took no focus away from your beautiful face but rather enhanced everything about you. He almost lost the capability of breathing when he spotted you in the middle of the crowd on Carmichael Vance’s arm, one of the popular boys with a charismatic smile and perfectly proportionate features only elevated further by his tanned skin and short, tightly curly hair.

You were smiling widely while he spoke with you and Severus could only watch, hidden at the edge of the room. That it hurt so badly within him to see you laugh and chat happily with the handsome boy he could do nothing about. Of course he’d ask you… The handsome Gryffindor boy going with the pretties, kindest… I had no chance at you anyway.

Headmaster Dumbledore stepped up on stage and spewed out some happy speech about friendship and ‘good fun’ while Severus focused only on the back of your head. His eyes never left you despite the growing sense of what a fool he was for dressing up, for coming to the ball, for daring to even think of asking you for a dance. He was most likely some charity case for you, because you’re too kind…

The music kicked off and the four leading couples, two students from each house mixed together, lead the first dance. You and Mr Vance were of course one of those couples and there was no denying the two of you danced splendidly together. Both of you from wealthier families, undoubtedly having been taught proper dance from a young age and so you appeared to easily fall into a steady pace with each other.

You were too beautiful while smiling widely, as you seemed to always do whenever he spotted you around the school. Less so when you’re with me…

He watched, from afar, while the dance floor filled with students of all ages — dancing, smiling, laughing people that he shared nothing with. So, as the music grew louder and the time ran forward he slowly removed himself, edging towards the doors while still watching you laugh and smile so brightly it nearly hurt his heart. You never smiled like that when you were with him. And he still did not understand why you sought him out for study hours, or late dinners.

“This was a stupid idea,” he whispered to himself as Mr Vance twirled you around. He turned his back on the Great Hall and the Christmas-like decorations all in silver and white while his shoulders slumped and he glanced down at the expensive clothes he’d adorned in some foolish hope he’d finally be brave enough to step up. That perhaps, with his hair washed and tied up in a ponytail with string — just a few errant strands framing his face — and the costly clothes he’d be something more worthy of your attention. That for one night he could have been someone else, anyone but the pour half-blood that had absolutely no business even looking in your direction.

The music faded as he stepped out on the courtyard, dragging out his winter cloak from the little bag with an undetectable extension charm to it tied to one of the belt loops of his pants. The wind was gentle but cold, the sparkling snow crunching beneath his shoes as he walked towards the bridge where he knew he’d be alone.

At least the other gits were too occupied with the ball to torment me. And, I got to see you dance… He sighed and stopped at the middle of the bridge, watching out from one of the many arches. He felt more alone in the world than ever before.

“Severus!” He jolted, the sound of your voice coming from far away. I’m delusional too. Fantastic.

But, the sound of thudding steps in a run reached him a second later. “Severus!” you called again and he turned to see a flurry of purple fabric moving towards him before his eyes got snagged by yours. “Y/n?” he asked, his breath fogging over and your smile shifted. The wide, sparkling smile that was beyond beaming turned small and your features turned more lax. “What are you doing out here?” “Nothing,” he said as you stopped right before him. Your cheeks were rosy, and your bared shoulders and arms were covered with goosebumps.

“Why did you leave?” you asked while reaching up to hug yourself. “Why would I not?” “I was waiting for you,” you said and he arched his brow at you, not knowing what to think of that. “Why didn’t you ask me to dance?” you continued and his cheeks heated. “Why would I? I wouldn’t want to ruin your night.” “Ruin my night?” “You looked happy, when you are with me you never smile like that so why would I—” “Are you a complete idiot or playing the fool?” you interrupted and he jolted at your harsh words spoken in a light voice.

You stepped closer, shivering and trembling in the cold and he could not stand it. “You’re freezing,” he muttered and removed his cloak only to drape it over your shoulders. “So warm,” you hummed and pulled it tighter, he could have sworn he heard you inhale a little bit deeper before sighing. He could not help but adore the view of you in his cloak. “But honestly, are you so dense?” you continued while looking up at him. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “I even wore your colours,” you murmured, as if you were nervous and he couldn’t understand why your voice shifted in such a manner. “What do you mean, my colours?” “Well, look at me…”

He had done so all evening already so there really was no need but he did as you asked and looked you over while you held open the coat. “You’re very pretty,” he said. “But you always are.” “Ugh, Severus!” you said and stomped your foot while rolling your eyes. “What?” “You really are such a thick-head sometimes!”

He blanched at the comment, not the kind he usually got thrown at him. “With you, I don’t have to smile like that, there’s no need for me to pretend and be someone I’m not,” you said and his back straightened at the severity in your voice. “I don’t have to constantly laugh and smile, you know my cheeks hurt every evening from that!” “Y/n, what are you on about?” “Ugh, Severus! I like you! I don’t know how much clearer I can make it? I feel like a bloodhound! Always hunting you down, always forcing my company on you, always trying to talk to you and get you to just notice me! It’s like, the one guy I have always fancied doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. And there I was—” you yelled while pointing towards the castle “—seeing you at the edge all the time, watching me constantly and you never even bothered to talk to me.”

He didn’t know what to say. You weren’t wrong. He always struggled to talk with you, always found it hard to look at you as his heart would go rampant and he wouldn’t be able to focus on whatever the two of you were talking about. “Severus, don’t you like me? At all?” you asked quietly and he had to look at you when you sounded so hurt. “I like you…” he whispered, barely able to get the words out. “I-, I got all dressed up like an idiot too, thinking if I could just look like someone else, someone worth your time for just an evening you’d-, I don’t know, something.” “Sev…” you whispered while smiling softly up at him. “I don’t want any of this,” you continued while reaching up to tug the string from his hair, allowing it to fall freely in its usual black curtains.

“There’s no need to dress up, just because of some folly holiday. I just want you, the everyday you. Not this yule ball version of you.” “You think Christmas a folly holiday?” he asked while his hands clenched, in an effort to stave off the shaking from how close you were. “I love Christmas, but I think it’s folly to change who you are for something momentary. Like kids being good the last week before Christmas in hopes of receiving more gifts when one should be kind all year round. And you’re a wonderful grump dressed in black and purple all year round,” you giggled out as a small smile tugged on his lips. Something warm slipped inside of him.

“Sev, please, won’t you give me a chance?” you asked and his heart did a somersault. “You mean-, as a-, a—” “As a couple, Sev. I like you, I really, really do. And I’m tired of having to pretend that I’m fine when I’m not with you…” The honesty in your voice made his hands reach out instinctively, taking you into a tight embrace despite the fear blaring in him that there was no way beautiful you could be willing to be with someone like him. “I’d like that, Y/n.” “Severus,” you said against his chest and reached around to hold him just as tightly.

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A/N: This was short and sweet, a little on the simpler side of things but still, so cute 🤭🥰❤ I hope you're having a fantastic Friday (or whatever day when you read this) and that you remember to treat yourself with kindness ❤

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“Shit,” you hissed as a bullet flew by, gracing your cheek with a burning wetness left behind. “Mein perle,” Hans snarled and reached for your arm to pull you back behind the wall, tucking you against his chest. “I’m fine,” you said but leaned a little closer to him. “If they’d stuck with the fucking plan this wouldn’t—” “Later, perle.” You sighed and allowed the nickname to centre you, gracing the string of smooth white pearls around your neck with trembling fingers.

The first gift he ever offered you had never left your neck; the past four years they had been a constant companion. Long before Hans ever allowed you to become his companion.

“Go!” Karl shouted from the other end of the hallway and Hans spun you around, shoving you forward before releasing your arm. You glanced over your shoulder, running towards the alternative exit, and your breath hitched as Hans stepped into the opening and unleashed bullet after bullet as you escaped. That had been the only condition he’d had for you to join the heist; ‘You escape, meine perle, no matter the situation’.

The man never put anyone before himself. Not his brother, not his son, not his former wife or his parents. None. Until you came along. Sacrificing your life in all manners but death, for him. For the criminal you fell in love with who has no idea who you truly are. A pearl, perhaps. In an oyster shell? No. More wedged between a shark’s teeth.

The door banged open, the maintenance corridor seemingly going on forever, and the damp air of underground parking hit you. The squealing of tires sounded out and the brown van came to a halt just before slamming into you. Your heart raced, the taste of iron in your mouth as you reached for the handle but you couldn’t open the door. Hans was still in danger, and you loved him. No matter what. Even if your job was not to fall in love with him, but to swindle him. You were good at that, damn good at it.

“Fucking hell,” you snarled with a sigh and pulled open the door, chucking the bag with cash into the van and turning to go back in. But the door bangs open anew and he’s there, all collected in the midst of the chaos, but the gleam in his usually cold eyes sparked to life the moment he laid eyes upon you.

“Let’s go!” Karl bellowed anew, the blond brute was annoying and aggressive but good with guns and heavy lifting — no brains either for that matter so total puppet material. “Perle, are you harmed?” Hans asked when you reached each other as Karl, Jan, and Alex clambered inside the waiting van driven by Stefan; who was shouting in German to move their giant asses. You only nodded at his question and grabbed his hand, tugging him into the van with you.

The doors were slammed shut and you sped off, losing two men wasn’t a bad outcome given the shit-storm it all came down to. Fucking idiots, you thought while your jaw clenched. Warm liquid still seeped from the wound on your cheek but it was the only mark on you. Jan was raving about being shot, Alex whined about his leg and Karl grunted about something in German you couldn’t understand in his strange accent spoken so oddly.

Hans grabbed your face, twisting you to look at him in the midst of the chaos within the van as it zoomed through the downtown area, swaying and swerving. “Darling, look at me,” he said firmly but calmly. You hadn’t realised how hard you were breathing, how harshly your heart was beating, how erratically your body was shaking until it was grasped by his still hands.

“You did well,” he said in a low tone, “meine perle.” “Hans,” you whispered and grabbed the lapels of his suit, “this is fucked up.” He chuckled at that, you smiled, and Stefan swerved into a tunnel. Hans held you tight with one arm and took the brunt of the hit against the side of the van with the other.

“It’ll be a fucking miracle if we get out of this,” you gritted. “It’s Christmas, perle. It’s the time of miracles.” “Hans,” you snickered at his joyfully teasing voice with the light German accent.

His voice was definitely one of the reasons you ended up falling for the man you were supposed to strip of everything. If I do, you thought, I’d be as alone as ever again. Stuck at a desk, doing fucking paperwork for the other agents, again… Spending Christmas alone, with a fatty pizza, again… Being on the run from everything is even better than that.

“We’re out,” Stefan said and slammed the brakes. “Careful, Stefan, calm, if you please,” Hans scolded in a fashion that should have been for a three-year-old, not a hardened criminal— yet it had a profound effect with the deepness of his voice. “Apologies, sir.” “Everybody out,” Hans declared and everyone switched cars while the sound of sirens began to echo through the tunnel.

“Karl, Jan, that one. Alex, Stefan, that one,” Hans said and you all split into three groups with equal parts of the money between the cars. You all drove away, Stefan and Alex kept going forward while your car and the one with Karl and Jan drove back the way you came with a good distance between you.

“Down,” you said when the blue lights came into view and Hans crunched down, his legs folded on the car floor while he laid himself as flat as possible against the leather of the front seat, obscuring him from view by passing vehicles. “Cheek,” he said and you raised your arm, fisting your hand and leaning your cheek against it while propping the elbow against the side of the door, making yourself look as bored as possible as the police drew ever nearer at an alarming speed. Good, then they haven’t stopped the others ahead, you thought and exhaled slowly.

They zoomed past while you drove at the speed limit, watching the road casually. “You are tantalizing,” Hans said and you felt him watch you with a smile. “You play your part so well, meine perle.” The police cars passed swiftly and you felt yourself breathe a little easier. “Acting, Hans,” you smiled and winked at him without moving your head. He chuckled and remained down as light filled the car when you exited the tunnel.

≪⁕≫

“This is nice,” you said as you stepped out of the car with stiff legs. Hans seemed unaffected by the long drive despite him being in a very uncomfortable position for the first hour. “The best for you, meine perle,” he said and smiled, his teeth and thin lips framed by a tightly groomed beard. “You’ll spoil me,” you said and he chuckled. “Perhaps that is the point.” “What, you think I need spoiling to be with you?”

Those words struck something within him, you could see it in the darkening of his eyes despite the night hugging you tightly with its moonless darkness. “Babe?” “Do you not?” That struck something within you in return. “No.” I don’t need to be spoiled, I need-, your fucking time and effort. And I am so fucked. “You are lying. I can see it in your face, Y/n.” “I’m not lying, it just hurts,” you deflected and slammed the car door shut. It was too easy to fall back into the role you had practised for half a year before you tried to approach the man you were supposed to help the Government take down, before you fell in love with the criminal that is. I’m in deep doo-doo as they say…

“I am sorry, meine perle, I did not mean it.” “Oh yes you did, babe. You meant it, don’t go all soft on me now, Mr Criminal Mastermind.” “You were the mastermind behind this,” he said and stepped around the car to help you with the bags from the back seat. “Yeah, look how well that turned out, the twins are dead and we’re all split up with everyone after us.” “Well, perhaps it is only fair the twins are dead since they, how did you put it, fucked up your plan?” You laughed at his words and it scared you how good it felt to be praised by him in any manner. Sure, he was just a thief, but not just any thief. He was Hans Gruber. A master thief, hunted by agencies in several countries and wanted for most things between kidnapping and theft.

“Come on, let’s get you inside.” You nodded at his words and you both carried two bags each into the little house tucked away between trees with a cute little white fence around it and small potted plants covered by a dusting of snow along the edges of the stairs leading up to the little porch that had yet to be shovelled.

The door creaked shut behind you and you shuddered. The cottage was cold and dark. “I’ll get the fire going,” you said and kicked off your shoes. You quickly stacked the hearth and got the flames to lick the wood while it cracked and popped from the sudden shift in temperature.

“Meine perle,” Hans said standing next to you. You rose and stepped into his arms. “Don’t worry, babe,” you said and squeezed his upper body while he kissed the top of your head. “I am not worried, you were shot, I’m furious.” “That’s sweet, but it’s just a scratch.” “Marking your beautiful face, darling.” “It’s just a face.” “No. It’s your face,” he said harshly. “I think it suits me.” He scoffed at that but remained quiet.

Standing there, while the cottage slowly warmed up with bags of stolen treasure by the door, you had the oddest of blissful sensations. With Hans, you weren’t alone. With Hans, you were adored and cherished. Not only did he love you and frequently worshipped your body but he also listened to you. Unlike other men you had dealt with he fucking listened when you spoke and took your words seriously. That he had allowed you to plan this heist was the highest of praise from the man who never relinquished any of his control, to anyone.

“I love you,” you said sincerely. “Perle, I love you as well.” And I have to tell you who I am… Knowing you would most likely be killed by his gun once the truth was set free who could really blame you for wanting to hide it a little longer? Being dead would be better than being left behind again…

His phone chimed and you released each other so he could answer it, speaking in German with whoever was on the other end. You understood what he said, having studied German for a few years when you were younger, but you didn’t stick around to listen. There was no need to spy on him any longer. Not now when you wanted to be with him, to leave everything else behind.

You sighed and headed to the little kitchen, rummaging through the fridge for something to cook up only to resort to the pantry where you found a few cans of soup and some stale bread. You sighed and decided to work your magic on what little you had.

Once the bread was chopped into squares you shoved them into the little oven and began boiling the minestrone soup while setting the table simultaneously. Hearing Hans walk around, opening the bags and rummaging around the contents while you grabbed the oven mittens.

You grabbed the hot baking sheet out of the oven and turned towards the table to set it down only to startle at Hans standing in the doorway, his gun trained on your heart.

The crispy bread flew all over the floor as the baking sheet clattered against the wood when it slipped your fingers along with the oven mittens you had never put your hands in but merely used to grasp the baking sheet. Your ears were ringing while your heart seemed to tear itself apart within your chest.

“Perle,” he said sweetly with a grin. “Hans?” you asked, your voice weak from the pain within rather than anything else. “You thought me an idiot?” “What? No, why would I—” “I know who you are, what you are, Y/n.” You swallowed past the lump in your throat. This is the end, then…

Your shoulders sank down, your body hardened while you felt the warmth and joy he had birthed within you dull, die out in your eyes. It was heartbreak, in so few words and less actions even. You couldn’t look away from his beautiful eyes though, the icy glare kept you hooked. Perhaps you just wanted to view him for as long as possible though? Knowing soon he would be gone, one way or another everything would be gone.

“You deceived me,” he said. “Yes.” “You tricked me,” he continued. “Yes.” “You played me for a fool,” he snarled. “No. Never a fool, Hans,” you said quietly.

The gun cocked and you shivered as tears rimmed your eyes and spilt down your cheeks. “Why are you crying? You never cry, perle,” Hans said with exasperation, perhaps even some hurt in his dark voice that accentuated his German accent further when his emotions were strong. “Heh,” you chuckled while smiling in a defeated manner, “you’ve never seen me cry, Hans. I’ve cried countless times, before and after meeting you. In secret, knowing despite everything I would end up here. Knowing no matter what, I would end up right here,” you breathed out while resigning yourself to your faith. Not wanting to fight him, not willing to hurt him even to save your own skin, which had never been a problem before him as none had ever spared you anything.

“I took this job, hoping to finally make something of myself, knowing this was a suicide mission everyone else had declined. I’m good at what I do, good at acting, being anyone but myself is so much easier,” you said calmly, remaining still with just the tears dripping from your chin. “You wouldn’t know, being yourself so freely…” The confessions tumbled out, freed by the knowledge it would all be over soon.

You chuckled and snivelled, shaking your head while hugging yourself. “And then I go and fall in love with you. Like my life couldn’t be more of a mess I had to fall in love with a criminal mastermind knowing full well the moment I confessed I would be dead, one way or another.” “There is only one death,” Hans said, his voice eerily even. “No, Hans. To you that may be true, for me it’s not. If you shot me, I’m dead. If you leave me, I’m dead. If you were to be killed, I’m dead. Death comes in different forms, your version of it being just one of those haunting me.”

He looked at you as if you had grown two heads. Of course you wouldn’t understand… You’re Hans Gruber. “You made me believe, and it was all lies,” he said coldly, his grip on the gun hardening. “You want it to be lies, you know it’s not. You know I would have slammed you a year ago at the jewellery heist if it would have been lies. But I wiped the cameras and cleared the alarm with the police while the rest of you hid,” you said calmly, something leaving you — rendering you unable to fight or call upon any strength while your heart broke into millions of pieces over his dismissal of you. The ease with which he threatened to take your life.

“If anything, Hans, you’re the liar.” His eyebrows shot up at that. “I’m a thief, of course I lie,” he said. But you shook your head. “Fifteen minutes ago you held me tightly, telling me you love me and here you stand willing to shoot me without a second thought. I love you, but you… You do not love me, I should have known better than to fall for you. But my heart decided, I had no say in it, it was all you. God, I’m so stupid… To think the one person who made me feel-, feel cherished and wanted in earnest is the liar always deceiving everyone yet my stupid heart told me I was different, that you were different towards me. Insignificant, unwanted, Y/n.” What a fucking joke I am.

Hans ground his teeth, his jaw tensing and ticking with the motion while new snow began to fall beyond the little kitchen window and the soup boiled over behind you. Your tears flowed freely, you were unable to stop them while your knees began to tremble. Hans’ eyes hardened, zeroed in on your tears with disgust written all over his handsome face that you had spent countless evenings kissing, admiring, stroking.

Your ears rang while your knees hit the floor. The bang of the gun overpowered your senses. But there was no pain as your palms slammed down against the uneven floorboards below. On your hands and knees, you panted with your eyes cinched shut, waiting for the pain to come before death would sweep you away.

But it never came.

When you dared open your eyes they saw no blood below you. You exhaled shakily and sat back on your haunches. You were alone. The revving of an engine from outside kicked you into gear and you bolted through the cottage, swinging the door open just in time to see the red tail lights disappear in the distance. You broke down, wailing and crying while sinking down on the porch, holding on to the door’s handle while the forest beyond swallowed your tormented screams as you died without ceasing to breathe.

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A/N: Well, this was heartbreaking 👀 I kinda feel like it can’t end like this though, I mean, it’s Christmas - like Gruber says - the time of miracles. Right?

Taglist: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky  @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @snowblossomreads @leah1243 @reinekefoxart @reiketsunomizunomegami @lokisbjchn

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