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muiitoloko · 1 day ago

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So bit of a cliche one but any Rickman character discovering that y/n can sing and is completely enamored with her as he watches her. After finding he can’t get her out of his head and wants her so badly now so he confronts her? Personally I imagine the scenario with Obadiah Slope but literally any character of his works imo

Title: To Possess an Angel

Summary: Obadiah Slope will stop at nothing to claim the choir singer who has captured not only his ear but his very soul.

Pairing: Mr. Obadiah Slope × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Obsession.

Author's Notes: I didn’t follow your request to the letter, but I hope you enjoy the story anyway! I must apologize in advance for any inaccuracies—I’m not very familiar with The Barchester Chronicles or the details of the Anglican church, so there might be some mistakes. Thank you for understanding, and I hope it still brings you joy!

Also read on Ao3

The soft murmur of the congregation died away as the prayer concluded, and Obadiah Slope sat stiffly in his pew, his tall, thin frame leaning slightly forward as he glanced toward the choir loft. His hazel eyes, usually sharp and calculating, wandered with disinterest over the assembled singers. The performance of the choir was a routine part of the service, and Slope had never found much to appreciate in it. Music, like most things that did not directly advance his ambitions, held little appeal for him.

But then, a voice rang out, clear and pure, rising above the other singers like a ray of sunlight piercing through heavy clouds. It was almost otherworldly, an angelic sound that seemed to suspend time itself. Slope’s eyes snapped upward, drawn irresistibly to the source of the voice.

There, in the midst of the choir, stood you.

He recognized you immediately—the quiet daughter of devout anglicans, always modestly dressed and unassuming. Slope had exchanged no more than a few perfunctory words with you in all his time at the church. You were polite, reserved, and wholly unremarkable—or so he had thought. But now, watching you sing, the air around you seemed to shimmer with something extraordinary.

Your voice carried the hymn with such grace and emotion that the other choir members seemed to follow you instinctively, their voices blending into the harmony you shaped with ease. The congregation sat in hushed awe, but Slope hardly noticed them. His focus was entirely on you.

If angels truly sang, Slope thought, his hazel eyes widening slightly, then surely it must sound like this.

He had never truly looked at you before, not beyond a cursory glance. Your beauty was quiet, unadorned, and entirely devoid of the artifice he often found among the women of Barchester. Your hair was simply styled, your dress plain but neat. You came from no wealthy or influential family, had no striking feature to catch a man’s eye—until now. As you sang, your face lit with a serene joy that seemed to transform you into something luminous.

Slope’s breath hitched as he watched, transfixed. For the first time in his life, he felt… powerless. It was an unfamiliar sensation for a man so used to manipulating others to suit his needs. The calculated thoughts that usually occupied his mind—how to advance his position, how to gain favor with the bishop—were gone, replaced by something entirely foreign and unsettling. Desire.

It wasn’t a crude lust, though that simmered somewhere beneath the surface, unbidden and undeniable. It was something deeper, something that tugged at the edges of his carefully constructed persona. He wanted to possess the source of that voice, to claim for himself the woman who could bring such beauty into the world.

When the hymn ended, the church fell into a silence so profound it was as though no one dared disturb the lingering echo of your song. Slope remained motionless, his hazel eyes still fixed on you as you bowed your head modestly, retreating into the anonymity of the choir once more.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. How had he never noticed you before? How had such a remarkable gift been hidden from him? His mind raced, thoughts colliding as he struggled to make sense of the emotions surging within him.

As the service drew to a close, Slope found himself lingering in the aisle, his gaze following you as you filed out with the other choir members. He wanted to speak to you, to hear your voice again, but words eluded him. For a man who prided himself on his eloquence, it was a humbling realization.

“Miss,” he finally managed, his baritone voice softer than usual as he stepped toward you.

You paused, turning to face him with a polite but puzzled expression. “Mr. Slope,” you said, your tone even and courteous, though your eyes flicked away, as though hesitant to meet his gaze.

“You…” He hesitated, then plunged ahead, his thin frame towering over you but his demeanor oddly hesitant. “Your voice. It was… exquisite.”

A blush rose to your cheeks, and you looked down, your hands clasping nervously in front of you. “Thank you, Mr. Slope. I’m glad it pleased you.”

“It did more than that,” he said, his hazel eyes glinting with something intense and unreadable. “It… moved me.”

You glanced up at him then, your modesty warring with curiosity. “I only wished to glorify God,” you murmured.

“And yet,” he said, stepping closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur, “it is you who has left me enchanted.”

The words hung between you, daring and bold, and Slope realized with a start that he meant them. For the first time in years, his ambitions and schemes felt distant, unimportant. All he could think about was you—your voice, your unassuming beauty, and the way you made him feel utterly, completely alive.

As the days passed, Slope tried to focus on Eleanor Bold. It made sense—marrying the wealthy young widow would elevate his position and solidify his influence within the church. She was a key piece in his carefully laid plans, and yet… you lingered in his thoughts like an echo he couldn’t silence.

He scolded himself for that moment of weakness in the church. What was I thinking? he chastised himself, pacing the narrow confines of his bedroom late one evening. The room was dark except for the flickering light of a single candle, casting long, restless shadows on the walls.

You weren’t wealthy. You weren’t connected. You weren’t important.

And yet, Slope couldn’t forget the sound of your voice, how it had filled the church with something transcendent. He recalled the way your hands had rested lightly on the choir rail, the soft curve of your fingers, the subtle gleam of light on your well-groomed nails. He stopped pacing and stared at the ceiling. Nails? he thought, aghast. Good Lord, man. Have you sunk so low as to fixate on a woman’s hands?

But there it was. He couldn’t deny it. Those hands—gentle, expressive, beautiful in their simplicity—had become a torment to him. He clenched his fists, trying to banish the image. Eleanor was the one he needed to think about. Eleanor, with her fortune and her position. Eleanor, who would bring him respectability.

And yet Eleanor did not sing like an angel. Eleanor’s laughter, when she deigned to bestow it, was polite and restrained. She did not have your luminous joy, your quiet strength, your—stop this, Obadiah, he thought fiercely. Eleanor Bold is the key to everything you want. She is the path forward. You are not some lovesick fool.

But as the nights stretched into a lonely parade of sleepless hours, your voice continued to haunt him. When he closed his eyes, he saw the way your lips had moved as you sang, the slight quiver in your throat as you reached for a high note. He felt a hot flush creep over his face as the thought lingered too long. He was ashamed of the carnal stirrings you awakened in him, a man who prided himself on discipline and self-control.

“God help me,” he muttered, pressing his palms to his eyes. He could picture you now, your hands folded in prayer, your head bowed in reverence. The modest slope of your shoulders beneath your plain dress. The way a single strand of hair had slipped free from your coif and rested against your cheek. You were not worldly, not flirtatious, not even aware of the effect you had on him—and that only made it worse.

His thoughts turned darker, more vivid, as he lay alone in his narrow bed. He imagined what it might feel like to stand close enough to you to hear your breath, to brush his fingers against yours as you handed him a hymn book. What would your voice sound like if you whispered his name? Would it tremble? Would it soften into something private and intimate? His hand clenched the sheet as a shameful heat built within him.

No, he told himself again and again, but the battle was becoming harder to fight. You were nothing to him, a distraction, a temptation. And yet you had taken root in his mind like a stubborn weed, entwining yourself around his thoughts until even Eleanor’s considerable fortune seemed dull and lifeless in comparison.

The next Sunday, he avoided looking at the choir loft during the service. He forced himself to focus on his duties, to exchange polite words with Eleanor afterward. But even as he spoke to her, the sound of your voice echoed in his memory, and he found himself glancing toward the door, wondering if you had already slipped away.

That night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he whispered a single plea into the darkness: “Why must you torment me so?”

But the answer never came, and his restless thoughts spiraled deeper into the forbidden territory he could not seem to escape.

His mind wandered treacherously, conjuring images he should not entertain—images of you, your hands grasping at his coat, your nails scratching down his back, leaving marks as you cried out his name.

Slope bolted upright, his breathing shallow, his tall, thin frame trembling with unspent tension. He ran a hand through his disheveled brown hair, slick with sweat. This madness had to end. He could not endure another sleepless night, tormented by desires he could not suppress.

Grabbing his coat, he flung it over his shoulders and stumbled out the door, not even bothering to put on shoes. The cold cobblestones bit into his bare feet, but he barely felt them. His hazel eyes burned with a mix of desperation and determination as he marched through the quiet streets of Barchester, the faint glow of oil lamps guiding his way.

Your house was not far, though each step felt like an eternity. When he finally reached it, he hesitated for the briefest moment before rapping urgently on the door. The sound was sharp and insistent, shattering the stillness of the night.

After a tense pause, the door creaked open, revealing your father’s stern, sleep-rumpled face. He squinted at Slope, taking in the sight of the disheveled clergyman. Slope’s coat was wrinkled, his hair unkempt, and his bare feet painted a picture of a man who had abandoned all pretense of propriety.

“Mr. Slope?” your father said, his voice laced with incredulity. “What on earth are you doing here at this hour?”

“I must see [Your Name],” Slope blurted, his baritone voice uncharacteristically raw and trembling. “Please, sir, let me speak to her.”

Your father’s brows knitted into a frown, his expression hardening. “It is highly inappropriate, Mr. Slope. Whatever business you have with my daughter can wait until morning. Go home.”

But Slope stepped forward, his thin frame taut with urgency. “I cannot wait, sir. I… I wish to ask your permission to court her.” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, pressing on. “No, more than that. I wish to marry her.”

Your father’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, clearly taken aback. “Marry her?” he echoed, his tone incredulous. “Mr. Slope, you’ve hardly spoken two words to my daughter in all the time you’ve been here. This is absurd!”

“It is not,” Slope insisted, his hazel eyes blazing. “I have seen her, sir. Truly seen her. She is unlike anyone I have ever known—pure, angelic, a beacon of light in this wretched world.” He took a shuddering breath, his thin chest rising and falling as though the weight of his words might crush him. “I am not a man prone to sentiment, but she… she has awakened something in me I cannot deny. I burn for her, sir.”

Your father’s face darkened, his lips thinning into a disapproving line. “Mr. Slope, you are speaking of my daughter, not some object of your infatuation.”

“She is no mere object,” Slope shot back, his voice rising. “She is salvation itself! I would do anything to possess her, to make her mine. I would dedicate every waking moment to her happiness, to ensuring she wants for nothing. I would—” He faltered, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper. “I would worship her as she deserves.”

Your father shook his head, his disbelief evident. “This is madness. You’ve lost your senses.”

“Perhaps I have,” Slope admitted, his voice trembling with emotion. “But if madness is the price of loving her, then so be it. I will not leave until I have your blessing.”

The two men stood in silence, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, your father spoke, his voice firm. “You will leave now, Mr. Slope. Return when you are in your right mind, and perhaps we can discuss this further. But tonight, you will not see her.”

“I beg you, sir,” Slope said, his voice breaking as he fell to his knees on the doorstep. “I cannot endure another night without knowing she might one day be mine. Let me prove myself worthy of her. Let me—”

But the door slammed shut, cutting him off mid-plea. Slope knelt there in the cold, his coat slipping from his shoulders, the harsh reality of rejection washing over him. Yet even in his despair, his resolve hardened. He would not give up. Not until you were his, body and soul.

As he stumbled to his feet and turned back toward the darkened streets, a single thought burned in his mind: You will be mine, no matter what it takes.

#alan rickman #alan rickman x reader #mr obadiah slope #obadiah slope x reader #obadiah slope

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starlight-sev · 20 days ago

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A View From Above (Severus Snape x Reader)

Or, that time you shared New Years Eve with a kindred spirit.

A/N: Happy (belated) holidays! I hope this season treated you well. This is a gentle, fluffy one, a hug in writing form to anyone who may find the holidays to be a struggle. It’s not always an easy time, and I’m thinking of you ❤️

The cold night air bit at your cheeks as you nestled yourself further into the nook of the Astronomy tower. It may have been cramped, and not to mention near freezing, but it had one of the most beautiful viewpoints in the entire castle.

And not to mention the quiet. This was the only place you were able to clear your head properly.

“You��re not off at the party with the rest of the staff.” The sudden remark nearly made you jump, despite being quietly spoken. You shifted in your little corner, looking up to find Severus standing a few feet away. He wore his trademark stern expression, but for a split second you could’ve sworn he was biting back a smirk.

“I thought you were a student, the way you’re all crammed up in there.” Severus nodded to your little corner, and this time a tiny smile did make it to his face. “I was ready to take points away and send you to detention in the morning.”

You snorted, pushing yourself up out of your corner to properly greet your coworker. While you wouldn’t go so far as to call Severus your friend (he’d have your head if you did, probably), you felt… comfortable around him. It was more than could be said about the other staff.

“Drew the short straw and got put on patrol, I guess?” You asked, stretching your legs a little as you moved to lean against the guardrail of the tower. Severus followed suit as he settled in beside you, scoffing.

“They’ve come to know over the years that I never attend Dumbledore’s bloody holiday parties. Since I don’t go, I get patrol duty. It’s become… an unspoken rule.”

Severus paused, gazing curiously at you.

“Had I known you wouldn’t be attending tonight’s party either,” he continued slowly. “I would’ve volunteered you for patrol tonight.”

“Why?” You retorted with a small laugh. “Missing out on the festivities now, after the fact?”

“No,” Severus drawled. He rolled his eyes at you, but you caught the small huff of a laugh that left him. “It would be nice to celebrate the new year in peace. Alone. Like you’re doing now.”

“Well…” you thought for a moment. “You can stay here with me. I won’t say a word, it’ll be like you’re alone.”

As you looked out at the lake, you caught Severus turn to gaze at you properly out of your peripheral vision. Heat crept up to your cheeks, and you kept your gaze on the water below.

“You went away for the holidays.”

You blinked in surprise, finally turning to meet Severus’s gaze.

“I’m surprised you noticed I was gone.”

He nodded. “But you came back early. classes don’t start for almost another week.”

Despite the constant statements, your co-worker’s dark eyes were filled with questions. You usually appreciated Severus and his matter-of-fact nature, but things were feeling… too close.

“My family.” You sighed, not wanting to go into too much detail. “The holidays are hard. I go visit because I have to, but this year was too much.”

You braced yourself for more questions, but to your surprise Severus simply nodded.

“The holidays are godawful.” He murmured.

“Is that why you never go home for Christmas and New Years?”

Severus pressed his lips together in a thin line. Now he was the one to keep his gaze on the lake below.

“Let’s just say, I’ve burned many bridges over the years.”

You gazed at him, watching the way memories of his past left a murky darkness in his eyes. You shuffled over a bit more, instinctively wanting to provide some sort of comfort, to let him know you understood. To your surprise, Severus didn’t step away.

“Want to know why I come up here?” You asked softly. Severus raised an eyebrow in question.

You beckoned him back over to your little corner a few feet away, and crouched down to the small window.

“Here, squeeze in,” you murmured, tucking your knees in and wrapping your arms around your legs. Severus glared at you skeptically.

“You’re much smaller than I am.”

“Oh, stop it. You’ll fit. Come on. Just tuck your legs in a bit.”

A ragged sigh and an unintelligible grumble later, Severus was crammed into your little spot beside you. You were surprised at how warm he was, despite the cold air that drifted around you.

“See there? Down there, to the right?” You pointed through the window to a far-away cluster of tiny lights. “It’s a village. Right at midnight, they set off the most beautiful fireworks. From here, they’re so small, it’s like watching them from space almost. It’s nice, without all the noise and chaos of actually being there.”

You glanced quickly at the time and smiled. “It’ll be midnight soon. Not much longer now.”

“You can’t- argh, my leg-” Severus cut himself off as he shifted positions, trying to fit beside you comfortably. Your knees knocked together and you tried your best to shuffle in further to give him a bit more space. Your hands brushed together as a result, and you fought to ignore the way your heart jumped.

“You can’t see this from anywhere else more comfortable?” He asked, his voice strained. You couldn’t help but let out a small giggle.

“No. The lookout doesn’t stretch this far. If you’re lucky you’ll maybe catch one or two fireworks if they go astray, but this is the only place where you can see them all.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you, save for Severus shifting every now and then to keep his legs from cramping up as he sat beside you.

“Have you ever been kissed on New Year’s?” You murmured softly, resting your hand against your cheek. The look of surprise on Severus’s face mirrored your own feelings as you realize what you just said. You expected Severus to scoff at you in his usual tone, but to his surprise he shook his head.

“No. I suppose going to parties would’ve certainly helped with that, however.”

You held back a laugh, only to let it bubble up as Severus glanced at you with perhaps the only warm smile you’d ever seen him show.

“And you?”

“Yes,” you answered softly. “But it was… odd. It felt forced. We were both drunk.”

“How romantic.” You laughed once more at the sarcasm that was evident in Severus’s reply. “You’re really selling the tradition from how you’ve described it.”

“You’ve really never been kissed at midnight?”

“Was my first answer not clear enough?”

Despite the biting reply, there was laughter in his eyes.

“No, just… I’m surprised, that’s all. It’s something everyone should experience just once.”

“So is getting hungover, but you don’t see me scrambling to experience it ever again. Besides, who are you to talk? You just said your New Year’s kiss was awful.”

“I never said that!” You protested, only to receive another signature glare. “It was just…”

Severus snorted. “Certainly wasn’t good, from the sound of it.”

“Okay fine,” you sighed, running your hands over your face. “It wasn’t good. But it wasn’t awful either.”

“Sure, whatever you say.”

You laughed, elbowing Severus teasingly. To your surprise, he nudged you back gently.

“I’m glad it was you that found me up here.” You murmured, pulling your knees a little closer to your chest. Severus gazed at you, smirking.

“Why? Filius or even Minerva would’ve enjoyed this spot. At least they would’ve fit.”

“Not that.” You rolled your eyes. “It’s just… you’re the only one I feel I can be myself around. Like now. I’d never be able to talk about this kind of thing with anyone else.”

Severus gazed at you silently, his eyebrows knitting into a tiny frown as he processed your words.

“Sorry. That came out of nowhere.”

“Don’t apologize.” He replied softly. He didn’t say anything more, but there was a comforting warmth that filled his eyes. No words were exchanged, but you felt as though you understood.

A tiny spark flashed in the corner of your eye, and you glanced out the window as tiny fireworks bloomed in the distance.

“Oh.” You gasped softly. “We missed the countdown. It’s midnight.”

“Mm. So it is.”

You turned your gaze to Severus, whose gaze was fully absorbed in the fireworks. The conversation from a few minutes earlier ran through your mind, and you leaned forward to press a tiny kiss to Severus‘s cheek. He gazed at you, bewildered.

“Happy New Year.” You managed to squeak out. The shock faded from his eyes, and it was replaced by that familiar warmth as he softened. Severus dipped his head respectfully in acknowledgement.

“Happy New Year.”

The two of you sat together in silence, watching the fireworks. Then, to your surprise, Severus tapped your arm lightly.

“This, us tonight, stays up here?”

To your surprise, it wasn’t a statement. You could see there was a bit of nervousness in his eyes. You nodded.

“Yes. Of course. This is our secret. Why do you ask?”

The air felt heavy for a moment as Severus paused in thought, before closing the already-small distance between the two of you. He pressed his lips softly to yours, caressing your face with both of his hands. In the back of your mind, it hit you that he was gentle and calculated in literally everything he did, not just potions. It made your head spin, and your heart race.

The fireworks were over by the time the two of you pulled away. Severus let his gaze fall away, but you caught his hands in yours before he could pull away completely. You squeezed his hands reassuringly to let him know it was okay, and he returned your action with a kind smile.

“Hopefully that… wasn’t as awful as your last New Year’s kiss?”

You let out a giggle, and felt a rush of pure joy run through you as Severus shared your laughter.

“That was, by far, the best. And hopefully not the last?” You added shyly.

In response, Severus leaned in and kissed you again.

#snape x reader #severus snape #snape imagine #harry potter #harry potter imagine #severus snape imagine #severus snape x reader #alan rickman

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