#rickmas2023

“I asked him once. Something about making sure the castle was still secure. I don’t know.” Severus said as he ghosted his nose down my jawline. “You look cold.” I nodded against him and pressed my nose against his throat. “Ah!” Severus hissed as he pulled back. “You’re freezing!” I nodded.

“it’s freezing down here in case you didn’t notice Severus.” I teased. “I’m just about ready to turn into an icicle.” Severus pressed a kiss to my cheek and pulled me into his chambers.

“well then we’ll just have to warm you up.” He smiled at me. I laughed as he pushed my cloak off. “And find a way to keep you warm.” We set about undressing each other, stealing kisses as we went. Before long I was buried under the blankets of Severus’ bed, Severus laying on top of me. He had slid into me as soon as the blankets hit his back. “Fuck.” He breathed out as I ground my hips against his.

“sev. Please.” I whined, watching a drop of sweat drip down his nose. Severus leaned down to kiss me, moaning as I lifted my hips to meet his.

“So close.” Severus moaned. “So damn close.” I nodded and buried my head in his shoulder. “(Y/N).”

“Severus I can’t…” I groaned. I held onto him tightly as my orgasm washed over me. Severus moaned as he twitched in me.

“fuck. (Y/N).” He breathed out as he came. We laid there, sweaty bodies stuck together as we came down from our highs. “Told you I would keep you warm.” Severus teased when he had caught his breath.

The streets of Hogsmeade was filled with the bustling crowds of witches and wizards doing their holiday shopping as Christmas rapidly approached meaning that people were in a tizzy trying to purchase gifts for their loved ones.

And of course a treat for themselves.

Cheer and glee were on the faces of almost all of those who were bustling about spreading warmth in the cold air with just their attitude. All except one person named Severus Snape, who seemed to have had enough of people bumping into him as he tried to maneuver his way as swiftly as possible away from the crowd.

He should have known when he went out looking for a present for [Y/n] that he would face the tiring challenge of people. Yet he had been so caught up with preparing for the coming semester and his own experimentations that he had lost tracked of time.

And when she had brightly told him that she was excited that they would be sharing their first Christmas together in only a few days he realized he had proverbially dropped the ball.

On the outside he was his calm and collected self, agreeing with her as he was truly looking forward to sharing the holiday with someone other than himself. There was a small part of him that hated to admit that it in the past it was a bit lonely seeing all the people merrily celebrating.

Even when the Hogwarts staff tried to romp him in to their holiday shenanigans he was quick to get away not at all wanting to be invested in whatever they were up to. It was a way of punishing himself, as someone like him didn't deserve to have fun. Didn't deserve to have happy things because of what he had done and what he had caused.

[Y/n] though was having none of it when she came into his life. And he was grateful for it.

But he digressed.

That was on the outside, calm and collected as he usually seemed now and days. On the inside though he was quickly listing the things that he knew she adored and began to make a plan.

Oh yes, he would do his best to make sure the first Christmas they spent together was as lovely as his [Y/n].

First was to her favorite bakery where he was unsurprisingly met with a large line of people queuing up and waiting for their turn as it seemed that everyone had the idea to come at the same time.

An annoyance absolutely, but at least no one dared to talk to him while they were in line as he glared at anyone who seemed to want to make conversation. 20 minutes had passed and he had secured her favourite treats which included some pumpkin pasties that had extra holiday flavour in them as he had been told.

He had no idea what that meant.

A few cinnamon rolls that were topped with an abundance of sweet cream and a few more savory mini pastries that he knew she fancied.

Next was a trinket store, that she always gazed at when they walked passed though she never went in, only saying she didn't need more knick nacks laying around.

Well it was Christmas and what was wrong with a few more especially if the were useful and brought her joy.

So he went in expecting to find nothing yet he ended up coming out with a set of colour changing ink and quill, a trinket box for her little collection of rings and earrings in that played music while opened and also could sort the items for her. That aspect he found interesting thinking about what charm was placed on it to get it to do so.

And also he may have bought some dusty looking spellbook that he had never seen before which intrigued him along with self labeling potion bottle that showed what ingredients were in it.

Huh who knew that shop had so many things.

Pleased with his purchases he barreled his way through the crowd ready to finally be at home exhausted from all the pushy witches and wizard. Walking quickly to an alley way off the beaten streets of the village he took inventory of what he had making sure nothing was crushed or missing. Once he made sure everything was where he wanted, he apparated silently back home where [Y/n] was sitting in his wingback chair reading.

Well, that was until he suddenly apparated into the middle of the sitting room.

"Severus Snape! Merlin's beard!" she shrieked almost tumbling out of the chair being startled half to death by him. "I thought you told me no one can apparate in and out of the house? You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

His lips turned upward in a smirk at her words as he watched her get up from her seat and stalk up to him with a small pout.

"Hm yes I do remember telling you that," he answered matter of factly, leaning down and brushing his lips against her forehead causing her to grumble, "though I may have left off that I'm the exception. I did live here for years after all."

Pressing his lips against her forehead in a chaste kiss, he moved down and kissed her nose, before hovering over her lips waiting for her to move.

"You're the worse you know that," she mumbled shaking her head before closing the distance and kissing him showing him that she wasn't angry just startled.

"Mhm."

He kissed her softly before moving to her cheek and kissing her there making her giggle as he pulled away.

"Your lips are so cold darling here go put all those bags away," she started pausing only when she saw the amount of bags and being yet again surprised. He said he was going out potion ingredient shopping and from the looks of it he had bought the whole stock of them. "And I'm sure it'll take you a while Severus did you go on a shopping spree without me?! Oh never mind I'll make us some tea it should be done by the time you've sorted it all out!"

Without another word she was off leaving Severus with a pile of bags not even suspecting that most of the things were for her.

When she had come back out of the kitchen tea floating behind her she was surprised once more when she found a plate full of her favorite snacks sitting on the little table in between her chair and Severus'.

He had paid her no mind when she had come back, acting as if he was reading the new book her had purchased yet he was keenly aware of her presences. It was only when she had sat the tea down did she take a look at all the snacks that were waiting for them.

"Severus?" His name came out shyly as she wandered to his side making him put his book down and turn to look at her.

"Did you buy all of those for me?"

Her eyes twinkled in the warmly lit room and he nodded.

"Mhm I passed by the bakery you always go to and decided to stop by," he answered coolly as if he hadn't been squished in the shop when he got in. "Hopefully this is a good festive start to our almost first Christmas together?"

Grinning at him, [Y/n] leaned over the arm of his chair to plant a kiss on his cheek overwhelmed with excitement as she skipped over to her own seat. Plopping down she poured them both some tea and happily partook in one of the pasties groaning happily at spiced pumpkin filling.

"It's an excellent start darling," she beamed. "Thank you!"

A rare smile, well not so rare for her, appeared on Severus' lips at how happy she looked as she bit into the treat and he felt as happy as she looked at the thought of the cheer to come. It was nice to share such a time with her thought before going back to his book and relaxing in the ambience of the warm room and his warm love.

You had gotten used to being woken in the night with his requests. Working for Hans, living in this apartment while he worked on his plan, was an all hours kind of job. However, normally it was a sharp knock that stirred you, this time you did not wake at the soft opening of the door, or the lifting of the covers, but jolted into alertness as the weight settled into your bed.

“Sir?” You ask in a panic, please God let it be him and not some intruder.

“I require your assistance,” he used his normal answer and yet as he slunk across your bed the normalcy of the answer seemed not to matter.

“I’ll get some clothes,” you begin and try to leave from the other side, but his hands take your hips, clad only in some cotton underwear, and pull them back toward his own.

“That won’t be necessary. You are perfect as you are.” He answers calmly. Then his fingers start tracing patterns across the flesh of your shoulder blades above your camisole and you shiver to think what assistance he is asking for tonight.

You knew he was not a good man, in the moral way. He was not opposed to using violence to get what he wants. You yourself are here because he is blackmailing you. You would lose your law career if he told on you about your prolific shoplifting spree you went on after a bout of depression at the end of law school. How he knew about it, you were not sure. You had changed your name since then, covered your tracks as best you could. Yet the evidence remained, and with his folder of evidence your employers would also have no difficulty connecting the dots.

The fingers of a not morally good man swirling around the skin on one’s back, were complicated. On one hand, you were not an idiot, men like him often take what they want in this way. So your body tensed, too aware of being prey, all the nights you had slumbered here unmolested had lulled you into a false sense of security perhaps. On the other hand, he was a handsome man. Quite charming. Too many times you had felt yourself forget that he was a criminal, who was blackmailing you into helping him dot the i’s and cross the t’s on his plan. He planned on killing. You knew all of this explicitly and still there were moments.

Mornings of sharing cups of coffee, when he was not questioning you about the legal intricacies of different foreign bank accounts or corporate documents, sometimes he would just ask you questions about yourself and really listen to the answer. In those conversations you felt yourself forget who he really was. You cursed the little butterflies in your stomach and squashed them with the remembrance that he was your blackmailer.

“What do you want, Hans?” You ask, you need to be clear about what is happening here. To know what to expect. Are you being asked to pay the blackmailer with your body now?

“It’s funny… my plan… it’s all coming to fruition and now… all this waiting. It makes me unsettled.” He answers. It is not an answer.

“And… how can I help?” You ask the dark, his hand begins slipping up and down your waist and over your hip, on its way back he lets it go under your camisole. Your breath hitches but the hand stays near your waist, he doesn't move to grope you.

“The holiday… it makes me feel… lonesome. Funny how your childhood has a way of rearing its ugly head when you think you are so big and impervious to it all. So I find myself… seeking your company.”

“Christmas… is a strange time for a lot of people.” You whisper back, unsure what to say.

“Take off this top. I want to draw on your whole back.” He instructs in a whisper. His fingertips swirl again, under your shirt now. To say no, and be told it was mandatory felt too uncomfortable. You didn’t want to think of this as happening as part of your blackmail, so you lifted yourself up to slide out of the camisole without argument, telling yourself you wanted the handsome man to draw on your back anyway. You told yourself to pretend you had met him at a cafe. Come home with him of your own accord.

“So much…. Waiting… so much wanting… perhaps I am a child waiting for Saint Nicholas all over again. Only this time… I wait for a much bigger present. Freedom.” He muses as he maps out the planes of your bare back while you clutch the covers close to your chest. “Then again, I am sure you also… are restless… waiting for your own freedom. From me.”

“I was more restless in the beginning. Now I have accepted it. Just a few more days, and you’ll be somewhere in paradise and I’ll… go back to work,” you answer.

“Perhaps I shall send you a plane ticket… have you come so that I might do this in sun cream…” he muses.

“I’m sure there will be a lovely lady with a lovely back where you are going.” You try to shut this down, because just then your mind was too eager to jump at the chance. The idea of not working anymore was too pleasant. But you were too clever to jump at being the mistress of a criminal. You would live at his whim, feeling like he owned you. You would lose all the progress of your hard fought career, and what if one day he just called it off? Better not to dream at all.

“I’ve grown quite fond of you, this month.” His lips seem too close to your ear. “My clever girl. So helpful.”

“You are a very charming blackmailer.” You answer in a whisper, too excited about the change in his tone, the weight of his pressing hands, and how one has gone back to your waist and made the pilgrimage over your hip and down your thigh.

“Charming?” He did that laugh where he made a single grunt of chuckle in his throat and pushed air through his nose, it tickled your neck. “Charming enough… to ask for more? I confess, I came in here thinking if I can blackmail you to work for me, I can blackmail you to snuggle away the Christmas woe, the relentless waiting, and yet… I do confess I want more. But… I don’t want your body as blackmail. You’d have to give it of your own free will.” His fingers swirled over the fronts of your thighs, sending wanting to your core in their wake.

You did not know what to say, but the more his fingers made swirls of goosebumps as if they were the winter wind inside the warmth of your covers, the harder it was not to show your arousal inside your breath.

“Well… can I have my pretty lawyer for Christmas?” He was impatient, waiting for your answer, his fingers so close to touching your panties you were aching with the need of it. His beard scratched against your bare back, he was kissing you softly there between your shoulder blades.

“Yes.” You whispered. He ended your waiting, immediately. He cupped your sex and pulled you tighter against him, suddenly his hard cock pressed against you. Had it been there behind you the whole time, pointing, reaching, not touching?

You moaned. You were letting him, your blackmailer, do this to you. Where were your senses? His beard scratched you while his lips clamped down to suck on your neck. Pain twisting with pleasure, like what you should do, and should not do. You should not be excited by the man who has threatened your livelihood, not yearn for the stiffness that pressed against your ass.

His fingers wormed under your panties, feeling for your entrance and finding it quickly. He laughs into your ear from behind. “I didn’t know I was this charming,” he teases. “So wet…” he pushes in with two fingers, making you cry out. “Tell me… did your pussy get this wet when you were stealing?” He was bringing up a dark time, a bad memory, twisting it with your pleasure. There was no fighting how good his fingers felt inside you. “That’s why I chose you, you know. My little thief. I know that you know… the rush I am chasing.”

Your response was only sounds, wanton, craving sounds while he talked and plunged his fingers in and out, with every pass of them you felt yourself dripping around them, almost embarrassed by how eager your body was for him. “You try to be such a good girl now. Different name.. revised history… but I think helping me steal all this money…. Turns you on. I think you are excited.” He ground his excitement into you and you clenched around his fingers thinking about having it inside you.

He stopped, withdrew, and tossed back the covers, plunging you into the chilly night air. He sat up, pulled you over onto your back, eyes feasting on your breasts. “I’ve been wondering what’s under your clothes… what a beautiful canvas to shoplift on. I bet these nipples looked so pretty under stolen lace. I bet this…” He put his hand down to her core again and brushed a thumb over her mound “left lovely silky wetness right in the middle of every stolen pair of panties.” He hooked his fingers in and stole your last bit of clothing.

In the moonlight you saw he had on an open button down shirt on and a pair of navy blue boxers that tented in the middle. He saw you look, and smirked as he pulled the length from below the waistband, letting it go above, an eager rock hardness, bobbing up and down as he let the thing swing. He looked so good, so handsome, and partly undressed, that beautiful cock the cherry on top, you opened your legs for him.

He knelt between your legs and guided the tip into your folds, slipping it up and down, lubing himself in your excitement. Every time he rubbed your clit with it you couldn’t help but moan for him, making you sound whoreishly eager for his coming penetration. But you liked it when he smirked at your noises.

He lined up the tip and nestled it into your opening. He raised and lowered his hips with maddening slowness, easing the length of it inside you tiny bit by tiny bit, relishing in your gasps, your hips lifting, trying to take more of him than he would allow at once. “You are… a very…mmmm… good Christmas gift… my little thief… you are…. So wet… “ He slowly said while he fucked himself into you with such erotic slowness you thought you would explode when it reached his full girth.

“I bet when I’m long gone with all my money you will touch yourself to these memories. At your boring job. Your pussy will be throbbing around your fingers when you think about helping me steal all that money…” He told you, and you knew he was right. You had been enjoying helping him.

You were so swollen, so needy, every pass of his cock was scratching a desperate itch. You didn’t even know you needed it. Had wanted it. He put his hands under your knees and pushed your legs back, crunching your body up under him as he began fucking you faster. He must have sensed you were about to come, because he slowed to a stop with a mischievous look. “Let me catch up with you, naughty girl.” You moan at his teasing, as he goes slow again with a maddening rhythm .

“I like this.” He sighed over your face as casually fucks you, letting you stay on the edge. “Respectable girl with bad girl past still likes being fucked like a naughty girl, doesn’t she? Because that’s who you are… inside.” He has pegged you with deadly accuracy. It seems to give him pleasure to have caught out the truth about you. He speeds up again.

He’s too right, you haven’t felt so alive in months, and no man has felt as good inside you as this criminal mastermind does. It all washes over you. The feelings, the truths of it all, the pleasure more than anything. Then you are starting your climax and he is chasing his own, pushing harder and deeper into you.

It’s like being outside of yourself, watching him fuck you till he comes. How when he begins to feel his climax coming he abandoned his slow, talkative approach and tossed his head back in open mouthed pleasure as he slams himself in to the hilt over and over again. His breathy noises, his groans on the air, make your growing orgasm unbeleivably strong, your legs shake as he fucks you.

He pulls himself out only at the last possible second as his cock instantly explodes all over your curled up form beneath him. You enjoyed his grunts a little too much as he used his hand to spend the last himself across your breasts.

It was only after that you had your first kiss with the man. The damn butterflies came back. “I don’t think the waiting is going to be so hard anymore… with such a lovely distraction.” He smiled as he cleaned you. “Not with my little thief stealing my attention.” He teased.

You banged open the door, and slammed it shut by cheer force while running before you even released the handle. The winding, narrow steps were a death trap in your rush to get away. You were not going to stay for a lashing, for a rough yelling, for any punishment the upstanding man deemed fit for your actions — for your lack of knowledge about the very man himself rendering you unable to treat him correctly even. You didn’t even take the time to say goodbye to Mrs Garber, or inform Cook about you leaving. You just ran out into the snowy winter land outside as the winds whipped around, tossing about that very snow. While the clouds hid the warming rays of the sun, the sky was as grey as your trembling hands.

The night had gifted the world with another few inches of snow the stable boys were helping the other servants to shovel, but the servants’ side wasn’t cleared yet so your legs plummeted into the white cold to your mid-thighs. You shivered and hissed as your dress hiked up, the long underpants you wore upon your arrival were still up in your quarters. Your rush hadn’t allowed for more than your dress, shoes, and cloak to be put on.

You clumsily forced your way through the snow, not knowing where any paths were you only focused on reaching the tree line up ahead. It was far off, but you were determined to get away before anyone could get their hands on you. His gentle eyes still lingered in your head, the sweet warmth his voice spread through you, the slight scrutiny he’d viewed you with — as if he’d been trying to see beyond the soot and covering handkerchief. You’d never felt any tingle like the one he’d made your skin warm under. What was that even? A sudden lapse of judgement? A lust, like other men throw my way when they want to take advantage?No, that thought didn’t sit right with you. His gentleness was too clear, yet you knew nothing about him and you had met people like that before. Kind, caring, sweet — on the outside. Behind closed doors, that was a different matter entirely.

You feel forward, plummeting into the snow as your foot tripped on something. You were crawling forward a second later, determined to reach the trees, to hide among them and get away from the estate you had hoped would have been your salvation through the freezing winter. Now, well, you were even worse off than before. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I shouldn’t have tried so hard! I should have just told Mrs Thatch about the clog!

You reached the trees just as the sound of hounds filled the air. A foreboding dread filled you from within as you picked up the pace and nearly ploughed your way through the snow, your foggy breath heaving out of you while the hounds' yelps and howls seemed to turn louder. You grasped the first low-hanging branch of a pine and pulled yourself forward as the imposing trees sheltered you from the biting winds, the sounds of the hounds half drowned out as you dragged and pulled yourself forward until the snow lessened, burdening the branches above rather than the ground below.

A sigh of relief escaped you as you grabbed another branch and pulled yourself forward one final time before the snow only reached your knees. The relief was felt too soon while you sought to get deeper among the trees. You stumbled forward, snagging your foot on a hidden root below, only to grab a hold of another branch. It slipped through your numbing fingers, the pine needles like cutting blades — hardened by the cold — as they sliced at your palms while you ended up in the snow with a panted breath at the impact nearly burying your face in the white cold. Then you were pummelled.

The branch had been released with such force the tree swayed, its branches being freed of the heavy snow above before the sudden springing rippled through the nearest tree. Snow came crashing down in waves and you could do nothing but shield your face as the weight forced you to lay still — burying you completely without your cry of fear penetrating the deadly mass. Lord, no, you thought as you lay immobile with only a small bubble of air around your face thanks to your raised arms.

Why his chuckle echoed in your head, why the sturdiness of his body against yours filtered through the fear, why the gentle curiosity in his eyes shimmered before your mind's eyes you couldn’t tell. The echo of silver bells, the crackling of a fire, the swirl of dancing couples in wonderful dresses and beautiful frocks seemed like a hazy fog of a dream you’d wished for all your life and were now never to experience. Not even as an attentive maid blending into the scenery without anyone taking notice. In that foggy dream, keeping the horror of your grave of snow at a distance, he stood at the very centre and his eyes — gentle and sweet — were only on you. The tingling warmth in your numb fingers and toes felt as real as the crawling chill along your back while you struggled more and more to breathe and stay conscious.

⩤• Brandon •⩥

“Samson, search!” he bellowed, his voice travelling further than needed. Your dusty handkerchief held tightly in his harsh fist, the hound’s nose just having been buried in it before the other dogs took a whiff. The hound howled, setting the other dogs off with yelps and barks as they dove into the snow, the path your body had cut through it already starting to fill with the swirling snow the harsh winds threw about.

He had never been spellbound before. The way he had seen only your eyes surrounded by black ash ought to have discouraged any sensations within his chest but, alas, the wonder your eyes were and the manner you spoke with had taken him by such surprise his heart had no chance but to pound. He’d never thought sticking his head in a chimney while talking about Santa Claus would have lurched his entire body into a warm pounding. You had spoken so sweetly, your eyes those of someone who knew hardship yet prevailed. He was enthralled with the glimmer in them the second your eyes had connected in the dark of the chimney.

The hound howled again as he stepped out of the protective walls of stone, through the servants’ door, and felt himself sink to right above his knee in the snow. Remembering the disarray of your quarters, the discarded dress, the abandoned second undergarments that should have clad your body to protect against the snow — no matter the horridly tattered state of the thin fabrics — made his stomach twist.

He was not unfamiliar with the cold, the wetness, the dampness of melted snow, and how it would cling to one’s body. He had spent far too many seasons in service of the royals not to have experienced all sorts of weather and their respective challenges. And now you were out there, exposed and frightened given the horrendous look you had offered him before running away in a poof of swirling ash dust. There had been something wrong with that look, the dread of it — and the manner you had wrung your hands before you. what harm has befallen you before? Have hands been laid atop you for such a small thing as spreading ash?

He gave chase, following the loud dogs with servants following behind him with his heart in a harsh pounding. The snow wasted no time clinging to him, seeping through his clothes not suitable for the weather in the slightest. The only thing he’d done was drape a heavy cloak around himself while Mr Barkley had fetched the hunting dogs, his beloved hound at the helm of the pack. He was grateful for having taken that extra second to at least do that as the wind was bitingly cold, nearly clawing at his cheeks while the sky above seemed to darken by the second until the snow being thrown about was so thick the clouds above were no longer visible.

“Samson! Search!” he called, the hound howling back while your trembling shoulders filled his head. Something had been done to you, someone had hurt you for something akin to what had just happened and he could not fathom anyone harming anyone over cleaning, or stumbling, or not knowing the face of a man they had never before met.

Samson howled and came bolting back toward him, Christopher felt his heart stop as the dog kept sniffing the ground at his feet, searching for a fresher scent. The trail you’d left behind was gone, he could barely see an inch before him as the snow stuck to his lashes. He pulled out the handkerchief again, beckoning Samson to take a new whiff — the hound ignored him while sniffing the ground harder, burrowing his nose below the top layer before digging his way through the snow toward the trees Christopher knew lay not far away even if he could not see them.

“Sir Brandon!” Mr Barr called behind him. “Sir! The winds are too strong!” the man called over the howling of that very phenomenon of nature. “We shall find her! Or she will perish out here!” he called back, not stopping his trudge forward despite the snow gripping him nearly to his mid-thighs by that time. I shall not lose her to this storm , he thought while leaning forward to push through the snow faster, following the small dent after Samson and the rest of the dogs. “Sir! It’s too dangerous!” Mr Barr called, but he ignored it. He had faced danger, and the storm wrapping him up was nothing compared to the horrors of his past, or the pain contained within it.

They reached the trees and the thickness of the branches kept the worst of the winds at bay, the snow on the ground lessening for each step until it barely came to his knees and he could move faster. Samson’s howl up ahead caught his attention, he’d found something. Christopher barged forward, running despite the snow and whipping branches, until he found his dogs digging at what appeared to be a mound of snow created by yielding branches.

His heart leapt toward his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Are you in there? His mind had time to wonder before he lurched into action. If you lay buried under such heavy snow, had you any air to breathe? Had you broken anything? Were you crushed? To be buried alive had been one of his greatest fears back in the East Indies, and even before that. When he was a lesser man, fighting in trenches filled with muddy water that could have easily turned into a watery grave in the madness of battle.

He dug, and dug, and dug until his skin felt as if it would slide off his icy fingers and his nails crack with the cold. That was when your fingers appeared, icy cold and unmoving. His lungs stuttered on a sharp intake of air while Samson licked the fingers quickly. He dug with all his might just as the servants appeared behind him. “Dig, men! Dig! ” he demanded with such a dark rumble he barely recognized his frantic voice himself.

A frantic moment later you were dug out from the snowy grave he would not allow to become an eternal resting place. He dragged you too forcefully into his arms, wiping away snow from your cold face, smearing the ash further — hiding your face from him behind a blotchy mess of black and grey — but he could not have cared less as he saw foggy air part from between your lips. His shoulders sank with relief before he held you up and took off his cloak by interchanging his arms. You were tightly wrapped but unresponsive as he stood with Samson by his leg, his entire body wiggling with the motion of his tail as it wagged relentlessly from having found his target.

⩤• You •⩥

You shivered, a wet rag graced your forehead in a rubbing motion while the deep sigh of a woman echoed all around you. “Stupid child, why would you run in such a manner,” Mrs Garber nearly whispered, the familiarity of her voice softening the pounding of your heart. “And from the colonel no less, foolish girl.” You couldn’t tell if your mother’s long-lost friend was angry or worried, her voice didn’t let it slip through fully.

When your eyes blinked open she was leaning over you, and you were almost too warm. “Oh, Y/n,” she said while you blinked a few more times to clear your vision. “Foolish girl, you had me so worried!” she chided, but, perhaps affectionately so. “Mary?” you asked and she sighed but nodded. “Where-, where am I?” you asked as your eyes flicked about the glorious room as you tried to move your stiff limbs. A giant canopy of thick fabric was above you, the mattress beneath was the most comfortable one you’d ever laid upon, and the covers atop you felt lush — like silk, expensive silk.

“Oh, sweet child, you’re in—” “Mrs Thatch,” came that gravelly voice which sent goosebumps along every inch of your skin while your heart picked up the pace a notch as you turned your eyes toward the slightly ajar door. “Give me an occupation, or I shall run mad,” he continued so quietly it shouldn’t have been possible for you to hear the words. But his voice travelled far, even in such a low tone appearing to be far away given the echo to it. “Colonel, sir,” that shrill voice from the grand room before said. “There is little to do but wait. She is in good care with Mrs Garber, sir.”

Your eyebrows scrunched, he sounded anxious — it didn’t suit that voice at all to have such a tone. You found yourself wishing to hear that chuckle of his again. Perhaps you had a fever and were delirious? “You have had the master so worried, Y/n. How could you do such a thing to the good man?” Mrs Garber chided quietly but you couldn’t quite grasp the words. “Now, you lay here and I shall fetch the man before he drives himself to insanity. You apologise, you hear me? He is a gentle soul, I will not have you tormenting the respectable man with your nonsense behaviour. Your mother wasn't able to run away but that does not give you the right to bolt in such a manner.” Her eyes were harsh, nearly glaringly so, as she rose and tucked the cover all the way up to your chin before smoothing out your hair in what you believed to be an attempt at making you appear more decent.

Your heart pounded harder with each step she moved toward the door. When she pushed it open you sat up, the cover pooling around your waist while the nightshirt placed on you kept you covered from your collarbones and down. “She’s awake, sir,” Mrs Garber said and, not a second later, he was in the doorway. “Miss Y/l/n,” he said without taking so much as half a step into the room itself. His voice was that of relief, his gentle eyes warm in the glow of the hearth at the opposite end of the room from where you lay in a giant bed.

You felt your cheeks heat, your fingers gripping the cover atop your legs harshly while your eyes folded from his intent viewing of you. Your heart ran amok as he stood in figure-disclosing attire with his black frock coat nearly clinging to his waist while the shiny boots adorning his feet glimmered in just as black a colour.

“Miss Y/n/l? Are you fairing?” he asked while taking a step closer, making your head jerk up. “I-, I am,” you stuttered. “Sir, I’m-, I apologies, for my behaviour,” you continued while you endeavoured to remember what had happened after you lost your grip on the branch with slicing blades for pine needles. “Not a word about it,” he said as he began moving in, toward the foot of the bed. The light of the fire encased him in a glowing halo, making his hair shimmer and the glimmer in his eyes appeared brighter as his eyes held yours.

Why is my heart running rampant? I’m-, I’m all tingly all over when he views me. Your thoughts were uncertain but your body seemed to react in a wholly new way to the grand man before you. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice dipping lower. You could only manage to shake your head. “You were buried in the snow,” he said after a moment. His fingers curled around the footrest of the bed, his knuckles whitening at the force used. Your breath hitched at the sight, so alike hands around a riding crop used for lashings.

Your fingers began fidgeting, your hands wringing and rubbing atop the cover. The memory of the pain was far too fresh. “Miss?” he said, snatching your attention. “Are your hands hurting?” You stiffened for a second before you let go and grabbed the cover anew while shaking your head. “Did someone lay harm upon you?” You didn’t move, didn’t say a thing, only kept your eyes on his whitening knuckles. It was a common thing, after all. Masters laid hands upon their servants as they deemed fit, and you had time and time again ended up at the mercy of such wicked, cruel men and women were either fate or a coincidence.

Your breath hitched as he suddenly pushed off the bed frame, stepping around to stand at your side in less than three long strides. You shrunk into the mattress, his imposing figure hard to take so closely — yet, it wasn’t just fear of retribution that made you do so. No, no there was something else entirely imposing about him that you fought against so as not to be drawn in. If it were his handsomeness, the memory of his sweet chuckle, or those gentle eyes that now seemed to flare with something darker you couldn’t quite say. But he warmed you in places he ought not to have been able to reach at all.

“No matter,” he said quietly, a mere drawl of a whisper. “You are safe here, miss. No harm will befall you within my estate.” “S-sir?” you squeaked out, confused at his sweet words spoken in such a harsh tone. “Are you not to punish me?” you continued with a tremble to your voice that had far more to do with the warmth he spread within you than the question you’d just asked. His eyes flared before his entire face softened. “No, my sweet. No punishment shall ever befall you for breathing life into my heart with those eyes of yours.”

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Ugh, theses two... Gosh, I do love it when emotions are instant and soulmate-like 😩👏 And another cliffhanger it is - are we excited to see where this goes? 👀😘

I'm working as hard as I can to make sure I'm as early as possible posting and I'm going to start working on tomorrow's prompt right away, I have a little extra time today (aka I'm taking the time today 'cus I need it 😂) so perhaps I'll start working on Thursday's prompt too - tomorrow we're getting back to Turpin again anyway! 🥰👏

Q: If you had to choose between only listening to Christmas music and no other music or only watching Christmas movies and no other movies through all of December - what would you choose? 👀 A: I'd say I'd choose Christmas music - but, I love it and almost exclusively listen to Christmas music through November and December anyway 😂 Only watching Christmas movies would be harder 🙈

TAGLIST: @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight14 @caseydoodles98 @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @sunset90 @daddythanatos

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

Christmas was a time for family, so everyone said, but to Severus that only meant misery. Quiet, tense dinners in the Snape household were the norm; it was no different on Christmas Day, except with even heavier drinking from his father and maybe the odd card from a distant relative Severus had never met.

But there was one thing he loved about Christmas. Every Christmas Eve, his father spent the day at the pub with his mates for a “boys Christmas,” and his mother took him to the Christmas Market in Diagon Alley.

It was the one day a year that Severus got to go to Diagon Alley as a child. He and his mother would wander the streets, looking at the trinkets on sale that they could never afford, smelling the food and drink on offer, and some years Eileen even managed to save up enough spare change to buy Severus a treat.

He also got to visit the shops, to look in wonder at the apothecary and the bookshop. Severus was forbidden to go down Knockturn Alley, but that just made it all the more enticing, and Eileen more than once turned around to find him gone, running after him only to find him talking to some cloaked figure down the forbidden alleyway.

At Hogwarts, Severus learned enough of potions and magic to offer an under the table potion brewing service at school, and he saved every knut of it for Christmas time. For years Eileen had been saving to buy her son a cinnamon-dusted hot chocolate at the Christmas Market every year, but now he was finally able to buy one for her. He treated her to sweets too, and a gift, and she begged that it was too much for a son to treat his mother, but his stubbornness won out and for once in her life Eileen Snape smiled.

When Severus brewed his first successful Amortentia, it smelled like the old books of the library, a vanilla blancmanche, and cinnamon-dusted hot chocolate. He made a fortune selling love potions that year, especially with the school’s winter ball coming up, and for once he was looking forward to going home, because he would finally be able to treat his mother as she deserved.

It was only two days before the Hogwarts Express would take him home that Professor Slughorn pulled Severus aside after Potions class and delivered him the news that his mother had been found dead in her home, the muggle police were treating it as suspicious, his father was nowhere to be found and did he have somewhere else to go for the holidays or would he like to stay in the castle?

Although between a castle empty of Marauders and a home with his father he’d prefer the former, he had every year previous chosen the latter for the sake of his mother. He couldn’t bear the thought of her alone with Tobias at Christmas when he was at his drunkest, and he didn’t want to miss out on treating her at the Christmas Market.

But there was nothing to go back to now. Christmas was family, and as far as Severus was concerned, his family consisted of himself and his mother - and now, with her gone, he was alone.

 When he told Lily why he wasn’t coming home for Christmas, she showed him pity and sorrow, and though he would have said yes in an instant the invitation to spend Christmas with the Evanses was never extended.

And so Severus opted to stay at Hogwarts. For two weeks the castle was almost empty, save for him, one Slytherin girl a year above him, and two first-year Ravenclaws. There was a peacefulness to it - no Potter lurking around the corner to ambush him, no giggling girls gossiping in the library, no boisterous Gryffindors running down the corridors. It was everything Severus had dreamed of at school.

And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to enjoy it. He didn’t care for Christmas anymore. The one spark of joy that it had brought - that one trip a year with his mother - was gone with her, and he felt empty in the moments he was too exhausted to feel angry.

On Christmas Eve, Severus got out of bed only because his stomach had begun to growl at him for not eating for three days straight. He pulled back the curtain of his bed and turned towards the bedside table to retrieve his wand… and almost knocked over a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

He paused, his hand frozen in mid-reach for his wand. He looked around the room, as if someone would step out of the shadows and reveal their mysterious hot chocolate ways. But he was alone, just as he had been since the end of term.

He picked up his wand and cast charms on the mug, but he found no evidence of magic other than a warming spell to stop it getting cold.

The mug even looked the same as the ones from the market stall. In fact, if he wasn’t mistaken, it was the same one as from the market stall. The smell was unmistakable, the colour, even the way the cinnamon was sprinkled on top in the shape of a Christmas tree.

Severus picked up the mug and cautiously took a sip. It was the same!

On the table beneath where the mug had sat was a slip of parchment. In unfamiliar handwriting, it said:

Severus - Keep her alive.

That was it. No signature, no clue of who his mysterious benefactor was.

Keep her alive. That was what the note said. His mystery barista had only one message for him, one they felt the need to deliver anonymously, and he hoped they weren’t watching him now to see the tears falling down his face.

Whoever they were, they were right. He had to keep her alive. She was half of him, and he owed her everything. Next year he would go to the market, and he would have the hot chocolate with cinnamon, and he would remember her.