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toothfa-1-ry · 3 months ago

Text

POINT OF VIEW OF LOVE

Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry, home of ex lovers y/n l/n and remus lupin who suck at the "ex" part

Or, in which,

Everyone in hogwarts is convinced that the two of you are (still) inlove with eachother

GENRE: Fluff, slight crack fic? Second chance romance + idiots in love

PAIRING: Professor! Remus lupin x Professor! Reader

FEAT: Hermione Granger (no 1 shipper), severus snape (the most lowkey shipper), Dumbledore (the most highkey shipper), Harry potter (the most confused person in the room), ron weasly (himbo king) minerva McGonagall(da legend)

A/N: probably the longest fic I ever wrote :p. pls do reblog!!!

Surprisingly unlike most new teachers in hogwarts who often drop the school after their first year of teaching, you somehow managed to stick around

(rumours say that ever since professor slughorn, the previous potions teacher left hogwarts and snape began teaching, all teaching positions were cursed and no teacher managed to stay in hogwarts for more than one semester)

(all students believe that snape brought the curse along with his greasy hair when he began teaching in hogwarts)

(good thing you were quite good in handling curses and hexes ;>)

Perhaps because you also used to be a student in hogwarts back in the days of your youth, you knew the will of the ever changing staircases and the ways through all the hidden and not so hidden corridors

All hogwarts students were baffled when they found out that you and their professor snape used to be classmates

They could all swear on merlin's beard that they were all very sure that professor snape and professor McGonagall were of the same age!!

("bloody hell! who would have thought that nasty professor snape and our lovely miss l/n used to sit in the same classes together" -ron weasly, merely 5 seconds before getting bonked in the head by professor snape)

It's was no secret that all the students of hogwarts adored you, regardless of which house they belonged too, you had a way of weasling into even the most frigid of hearts

But nevertheless, the students often wondered about your kind and sweet nature towards them, truthfully you couldn't help but be reminded of your days in hogwarts and ofcourse your dear friends, some of whose children's were now attending the school

After all, not many of your friends were still present to this day, not many of them found their so called happy ending, and yet their children still manage to find a way to smile

You wanted to protect that smile. The very same smile that used to be etched in your friends faces

It did make you feel a little old sometimes though, who knew even the snooty lucius malfoy, your senior of 4 years at hogwarts would find love and have kids

And yet here you were, still single as a Pringle, your last relationship was years ago, your last real relationship was... it was actually when you used to study in hogwarts, but that too was ages ago

You had simply given up. You had better things to do other than reminisce about your past, the past that never managed to manifested into your future

You had a lot more important things to do!

Such as conduct a quick checking in all the compartments of the hogwarts express, just to make sure that all the students are acquainted and to check up on any first years who may be facing any problems

You walk along the train, knocking on the compartments before being graced with cheerfull greetings and questions on how your holidays was

You move on to the next apartment and the next without wasting much time, much wanting to sit quietly in your own compartment as soon as possible until you heard a loud cry of terror

"Dementor! Dementor!"

You immediately rush down the train, running as fast as you could while your fingers grasped you wand tightly

Crap! You totally forgot about the new security regime being added to hogwarts

Dumbledore had written to you about it during the semester break, although you didn't quite share a positive sentiment towards the addition you also didnt really have much of a say on it

By the time you reach the compartment your relieved that damage control has already been done by who seems to be a new professor whose face was turned away, only seeing the back of his head showcasing messy light brown hair which you felt was oddly familiar

"Harry! Are you alright?" You kneel down as you try propping the boy up whose mouth was currently being shoved with chocolate

"The chocolate helps, I swear" the man says before he pauses and takes a quick deep breath

You almost take a double take, staring into the eyes of a stranger who you knew a little too well

"Y/n" remus lupin breaths out your name like its air, so naturally that you almost forget about all the missing years between the two of you

He says it so naturally that it makes you feel like he just said it yesterday, you almost don't find his face foreign as if the two of you never went your separate ways

As if the two of you never left eachother

You stiffen, you can't help it, infront of you is probably the only man you've ever loved in the entirety of your life, the very man who couldn't stay with you, the man who left you,

the very same man still looked at you the same way, as if you were as beautiful as the day he found you, as if you were as beautiful as the day he left.

"Remus" you mutter out, your eyes glued to his

there's a silent battle going on, one that only perhaps the two of you could recognise. A inner turmoil in both of your hearts

Do I love or hate the fact that you're here?

Do i embrace you or curse you're for standing infront of me?

Do you still think about me?

Did you ever think of me?

"Wh-what are you doing here?" You break away from the trance first "why are you here?"

You only halfway realise how harsh it sounds but you don't care, you didnt know whether to care, you didnt know what to feel

"Lovely seeing you too y/n, you look the same like the last time I saw you"

He says it in such a way only remus lupin could say, with so much sincerety and integrity, it makes your mouth go silent

"I heard that you were a teacher in hogwarts" he pauses "it suits you, i remember you talking about it"

Ofcourse he remembers you talking about it, you remember it too. You also remember him saying the exact same thing as he did years ago too

"It suits you"

"Thanks" you don't know how to respond, with remus lupin you never really did

"But then again, i suppose whatever you did would suit you"

The same thing again, you swear it's like he never left

"You didn't change at all" you blurt out without thinking much

Remus chuckles, an awkward warm laugh, shaking his head slightly so that his slightly curls would bounce

"I dont know whether you mean it as a compliment or not"

"You know what I mean" you say again without much of a hesitation, you catch the look in remus's eye

"I do, don't I?"

Your breath hitches, again

"Uhm professor? I mean professors?" Hermione interrupts with a slightly confused face which she tries to mask

At least she's trying to hide her confusion, the other two boys in the compartment looked as if though someone told them that Monstrose Maggie's were a better quidditch team than Holyhead Harpies

Ron especially was left with his mouth slightly opened being simply utterly baffled at what was going on,

first, their apartment was seemingly attacked by what seemed to be ghosts with ice powers,

second, ron was still trying to get over the fact that harry was passed out erstwhile shaking like a wet dog and

third, probably his favourite professor and the professor that saved his best friends life were stuck in a staring battle

You look at dazed boy sitting on the floor, remembering what had happened "Oh harry! Sit up, sit up"

Remus moves towards the bestecked boy, brushing against you as he helps harry sit on the seat of his compartment.

He groans slightly as he stands up, you throw a quick glance at him before turning your attention to the three teenagers

"Are you three alright? Harry? still feeling a little woozy?" You ask while remus breaks another piece of chocolate handing it to him "munch one, cmon"

"Erm yes" Harry takes the piece of chocolate "thanks- professor er" he looks at remus

"Professor lupin-" "the names lupin-" both you and remus say in the same time, before turning to look at eachother resulting in you quickly turning your head away

The three teenagers watch curiously (hermione) confused (harry) totally completely befuddled(ron)

"You haven't changed at all too y/n" remus says, half amused, and half of what almost seemed like relief

"Well, there's a limit to how much a person can change in a span of only a few years" that might cut a little deeper than intended, but remus's face looks like he understands where you were coming from

"Sorry i-" you begin, feeling a little guilty. wringing your hands "it's great seeing you..its been ages. I guess i just wasnt expecting to see you"

Remus smiles, his eyes crinkling while he did so, lines forming near his eyes which weren't there from the years in which you remembered him from

Godrick, it really has been a long time

"I know" he says in a all knowing tone that somehow didnt seem arrogant or conceited at all, you kind of missed it "I should have written you a letter or something"

"Yea" you blink "or something"

It was at this point when you realise that it wasnt only the two of you in the compartment, there was 3 other teenagers who were gawking and trying their best to make a connection between you and the other man who still remained quite unknown to them

"Uhm right" you turn away from remus, slight pink tinting your cheeks

Remus also seemed to realise this, shoving his wand into his pocket

"I better go check on all the other compartments, just in case" he says while moving out of the compartment

"Yes! You do that" you don't look at him, not quite

"Hey y/n?"

"Hm?" You turn to him, hands fiddling with eachother

"I'll talk to you soon?"

The same brown hair, same brown eyes, a coat that seemed a little too old to still be worn, the same sturdy ebony wand, and a older version of the same scarred face you often wondered about

You nodd

"Talk to you soon"

"What in the good name of gandalf was all that about?" Ron says appalled, as if though he just witness a crime worthy of a death penalty

Harry shrugged while nibbling on the rather large piece of chocolate in his hands

It had been a while after both you and Professor lupin or whoever he was left their compartment, albeit professor lupin looking a little ditzy after seeing you and your face being tinted a faint shade of pink

"I swear on my life" Ron points at scabbers, the old dirty rat that seemed way too scared for an animal who was safely locked up in his cage

"I swear on scabbers life! I have never seen professor l/n act like that"

Hermione rolled her eyes, scoffing

Are boys really this dense?

Harry and ron turn to her expectantly

"Well?" Harry asked

"Isn't it quite obvious?" Hermione folded her arms, her hair tossing behind her as she did so "it's so completly obvious! It literally happened infront of your eyes"

"What did? All I saw was two adults staring at eachother for like 30 minutes straight" Ron said raising his hands

"I mean" Harry added "30 minutes might be a bit of a stretch-"

"Honestly!" Hermione interjected loudly "don't you two get it?"

"Get what?"

Hermione finally losing her patience, bend down slightly, in hushed whispers, turning to see if anyone else was around, as she hissed into the ears of the two boys

"Oh" Harry blinked, unsure of what he was suppose to do with such information "Oh well, er" he looks at ron "I dont think davies is gonna take this news well"

"Poor guy" Ron announced with a rather sad face "Roger Davies is gonna lose his shit if he hears about this" shaking his head sympathetically "bluds got a bloody massive crush on professor l/n yknow"

"....ew"

Hermione granger was the brightest witch of her age. She wasn't bragging about her intelligence or wit, it was merely just a fact

She knew all the ingredients needed to brew the draught of living death, she memorized all the steps needed to brew the draught of peace

She studied all the uses of the mandrake root, she knew the uses of a bezeor and where to find one

She likes to be sure of what she knows, so sure that she can bet on it, she knows what's right and what's wrong, she can swear on what she knows and what she doesn't.

And Hermione Granger swears that her DADA professor and her astronomy teacher were inlove with eachother, she was so very positive about it

She had read alot about love, watched movies about love (please don't ask her to explain how a movie works, she already explained it thrice to Mr weasly)

she saw love in her parents whenever they talked with eachother, she saw love in the way molly weasly would reprimand her husband back when she spend the holidays in the burrow

She was the brightest witch of her age and she swears, that professor Remus lupin was (rather tragically) inlove with professor y/n l/n.

"Professor" hermione raised her hand up in an instant, rather proudly too, she knew the answer to your question almost perfectly

You nodd, urging her to speak

"Sirius is the brightest star in the night sky, its name deriving from the greek word which means scorching or glowing"

"Yes well done miss granger" you signal her to sit down "five points to gryffindor"

"Next class we will be charting and mapping some major constellations present in the northern hemisphere while using the help of sirius" you announce to your students "your all excused to go to your next class"

Immediately all students rush out, most of them grabbing their things in a hurry and running down

"Why is the astronomy tower at the top of the building and the potions classroom all the way in the dungeons?" Seamus finnigun huffed to his friend dean who nodded earnestly

"Snape would do anything to find something to pick on, cmon we don't wanna be late!"

Hermione lingered a few seconds, hiding behind the door as all the students fled downstairs, getting ready to use her time turner when suddenly,

"'Busy?" A deep voice came

You look at the tall man standing awkwardly at the door, you can't help but stiffle a laugh

"What are you doing? Standing about just like that?"

Remus scratches the back of his head while he comes into your classroom, rather carefully too as if he was worried he would break something

"Library" remus responds to your question with a slight swagger as Hermione listened intently from behind the wall

She knows she shouldn't listen, its bad to eavesdrop on other people's conversation, what would her mother say? But after what she witnessed on the train? She couldn't possibly miss out on this

"Library?" You question with a upside down smile "it's been ages since you've been to hogwarts and you still choose to hang out in the library?"

So hermione's hunch was right after all. You both did know eachother when the two of you were younger

"Well, its not like i hung out in the library alone you know" remus quipped quickly, you almost smile

"You can't teach an old dog new tricks y/n" remus says it so casually, it makes you look up to him, for a split second there was a sense of recognition inbetween the two of you

You cough, "but still.. hanging out in the library? I guess your still a nerd"

Remus raises his eyebrows "a nerd? Excuse me but I'm not the one here teaching astronomy" a smirk plays on his lips

You gasp in fake offense while remus raises his hands up in surrender "I apologise, too harsh?"

"Way too harsh Mr lupin"

The both of you crack into soft smiles and longing looks, Hermione could have sworn that if this were one of those "muggle' movies her mom and her used to watch back at home, there would be "kiss me" by sixpence none the ritcher playing in the background

"It really has been very long remmy"

Hermione's mouth forms an o shape

'Remmy' huh? Already on nickname basis are we?

"It has been quite some time y/n"

Cmon professor! Up your game a little!

"Is that all you have to say to me? After all this time?" You don't look away, your eyes piercing through remus, making him feel seen, too seen

"I- I've got too much to say" remus confessed "too little words to use"

You purse your lips, looking down on the parchment of paper on your desk

"Do you think you'll always have too little words to say? You don't have any words to spare me for now?"

His lips part, slightly open, remus realises that his sweather is quite worn out, there's a certain itch that won't go away, the colour a little too washed away, the strands fraying away at the hem of his sleeve

He has thought about this very moment for a very long time, almost every night, every day. Practicing what he should tell you, how to tell you

And yet he doesn't say anything, he cannot.

The lump in his throat is far too big to swallow, the pain in his chest pulsating through each and every vein present in his body

He fears if he opens his mout, he might swallow you whole, selfish and angry and dangerous. All things you were not, all the things you didjt deserve.

He wasn't safe to be around, his edges too sharp to be able to curve around and you were too kind to know better

The silence is overwhelming, slightly, like water droplets falling on an already filled cup

Hermione questions herself, for the first time.

Perhaps she is wrong, perhaps the two of you aren't inlove. Maybe the two of you once were and maybe that's all it was. Ashes of the past, remains of what once was

Instead, Remus walks next to you, wordlessly, quietly, and yet his actions remains defeaning against the silence that seemed to engulf the two of you

You snort, you can't help it

"Hey, you do realise we can use magic right? I don't need your help carrying those things down"

Remus nevertheless picks up a box of telescopes and other tools "we both know you were going to carry these by hand" he stated with certainty, giving you a knowing look

You resort the urge to roll your eyes

"You know me that well?" There's a slight challenge in your voice

"No, i know you enough" remus says softly, as if that itself was a sin for him to commit "im afraid that i might like to know you even more"

Silence. The wind blows, the pale blue curtains flowing as the charms hanging on the roof play a soft chime

Your unsure of what to say, how to react, the truth was painfull. But it was the truth

Finally you whisper back

"im afraid I might end up letting you"

Hermione quickly shuffles with her time turner, she has already wasted so much time listening to a conversation that wasn't even hers to listen but she ends up hoping for one thing

She hopes to find someone who would look at her the way remus lupin looked at you

Severus snape had his reasons for disliking remus lupin, you knew them too and like the decent person he knew you were, you respected his choice.

He guesses your fine, better than most actually, he doesn't like you or anything don't get him wrong.

Even back in his student days he never really talked to you much, lest it was you greeting him goodmorning whenever the two of you had classes together

But he guesses that he doesn't dislike you, your alright, your one of the few decent people that he knew in hogwarts. He doesn't mind you that much

Which is exactly why he didn't approve of remus lupin,

Perhaps back then he wouldn't have cared as much as he did now (don't get him wrong, he doesn't care about you)

but he supposes that you could do much better (he doesn't really have a valid reason he just doesn't like remus that much... again for certain specific reason)

"Lupin" severus cannot help but sneer a little as he says the name, greeting an old not very comforting face

"severus" remus nodds in acknowledgement, walking inside the potionmasters room "I suppose you know why im here"

"I do" severus rummages about to find a bottle, handing it, the air was always tense between the two, but it felt thicker tonight

"I'm surprise you came back" severus interrupts the silence "im surprised you came back at all"

Remus stops, thinking for a while "you do realise that i could say the same thing to you? Hogwarts is the last place i imagined you working"

Severus frowns, looking up at the scarred man standing infront of him

"Does she know?"

Remus stiffen for a second before answering "Yes, I suppose she does"

"Ah" severus announces like it was nothing a big of a shock "I suppose the two of you were always... close"

"What are you trying to instigate here severus?" remus snaps before stopping himself "i apolagise- i didn't mean to"

Severus shakes his head, stopping remus "the full moon is awfully close, i suggest you take care of yourself and those around you" carefully using his words

Remus stared at the bottle of Wolfsbane in his hand before placing it on the table with a thud, snape raised an eyebrow

"I never wanted her to know" remus says bitterly "it was never her burden to share, no one's burden but mine"

Severus clicks his tongue

"I almost didn't come back, i never planned to come back to hogwarts"

"Then what made you" curiosity got the better of the sneering man

Remus looked down, he let out a pathetic excuse of a chuckle "I guess I simply wanted to see her. I wondered if she ever thought about me too"

Snape doesnt say anything at first

"How pitifull' snape muttered while he moving around his room, his cloak swooshing alongst each movement

"Yes" remus murmers "I suppose so"

"Your a miserable excuse tonight lupin" severus gave a brief look towards the man infront of him "I suggest you get some rest"

"I suppose I am rather miserable tonight" remus throws his head back "the upcoming full moon is making me act strange, look at me confiding such matters to you"

Severus merely grunts

"I apologise severus, something has gotten into me tonight"

"Theres no need to do such things lupin, simply show yourself out"

Remus thanks him for the wolfsbane once more before heading out

"Professor lupin, before you go"

Remus turned around, the eye bags around his eyes much deeper than usual, his posture slightly more bend than usual

"Regarding miss L/n...im sure she thought fondly of you too, much more than you realise" Snape coughs "that is all, goodnight" slamming the door shut.

Severus walked away from the door, wondering what was wrong with him that night, what made him say such things to remus lupin of all people but ah, alas he had forgotten, the two shared one thing in common

They were both miserable,

both miserable, pitiful and pathetic for the love that they once had

Oh yes, they both loved and were loved

Now,

if you ask albus dumbledore, headmaster of hogwarts for many years now and counting, whether it was correct to place bets on his students than he would respond to you with a slight chuckle

Of course it was a little incorrect, but then again, he hadn't won a bet in years and he was dying to prove Minerva McGonagall wrong

"I'm telling you albus" the older women pulled down her glasses, giving a withering look at the bearded wizard "im afraid we might be getting too old with this"

"Minerva, afraid that I might break your winning streak after all?" Came the reply, his blue eyes twinkling

Minerva McGonagall frowned "you may be one of the most famous wizard of your age albus but you are hardly capable of placing correct bets"

Minerva knew that she was right.

She had been winning all the bets with Dumbledore for the past many years, successfully guessing and pairing students up.

She placed a bet on Molly and Arthur Weasly when they were once students at hogwarts,

she even predicted James Potter and Lily Evans budding romance (although she was a little worried when lily Evans refused to give in, luckily there was a turn of event in their seventh year much to Dumbledore's dismay)

She may not be the most famous wizard of her age unlike her counterpart, but she did rather have a good hunch when it came to romance (just keep that information between her and albus though)

"Well then" Minerva gave in, rather easily too "is this about your wager on Mr potter again?"

Albus shaked his head "no, it isn't, although I am immensely confident about mister potter and miss granger"

Minerva held back a scoff "Oh yes, you'll see soon that miss granger and mister potter aren't nothing more than friends, it baffles me albus! How your the smartest wizard of all time and yet you can't see that your bet should be on ms granger and mr weasly!!"

"I will not argue with you about this matter minerva" albus quickly said

"Well, atleast you didnt place your wager on ms granger and mr malfoy" Minerva tutted "what on merlin's beard is slughorn on i wonder"

"Minerva thats not the point, im talking regarding our miss y/n l/n and-"

"Remus lupin" McGonagall finished the sentence "Well theres no point on placing a bet on them, its obvious the two are made for eachother"

"Er- Oh well I was actually gonna say-"

Minerva deadpanned "Who were you going to say other than professor lupin albus?"

"Oh well of course" albus continued, hiding the fact that he was slightly flustered "our dear severus of course!"

A loud laugh escaped Minerva's lips, leaving the much older wizard slightly dumbfounded

"Oh albus" the woman wipes a tear away, a thin smile etched on her lips as she patted the headmaster

"I hope you prepared to lose you bet once again"

Albus Dumbledore usually never second guessed himself, he was sure of his words, his plans and especially, his bets (even though he has been in a losing streak for the past 50 years)

But after seeing such confidence in Minerva McGonagall, he was now rethinking every single thing he had witnessed so far

He was sure, absolutely positive that there was something going on between you and severus.

You seemed to be the only person severus tolerated,

Whenever you wished him goodmorning, he would always respond you back cordially

Amd albus is pretty sure that you served the boil peas to severus and not to remus lupin today during dinner tonight,

that has to mean something right??

Roaming around the school after hours was not a new thing to the old wizard, walking around the corridors and hallways as the stars glistened over head

He hears a muffled voice, continued with what seemed to be a rather private, almost confidential meet up

Noticing you and remus standing across eachother, the space between the two of you negligible

Well !!

It's none of his business, dumbledore guesses and that he has no reason to pry on such a conversation

And yet he found himself standing quietly from a distance rather much too invested in such private affairs

After all curiosity was his biggest trait

(Please forgive the old man, he simply wants to win a bet after such a long time)

"You left your lesson plans, again" you say, shaking them slightly "quite unlike you actually"

"I was coming to get them" remus waits "what makes you say that?"

"I might have thought that you left them on purpose" albus watches you shrug,

"What if I did?"

Ah!, realisation hits albus. Perhaps Minerva was right once again

"We've got to stop meeting like this, it might give the wrong impression"

"And what impression exactly are we giving?" Remus's voice rings in your ear, almost haughty

You attempt to glare at remus although your efforts are in vain as there in no heat behind it. Remus knows it too, he has a soft grin on his face

You turn to leave, exhaling slightly just before remus says, too casually "you still do that same thing with your nose when your annoyed"

You stop midstep.

"You scrunch them a little before you look away, just like back then"

For a moment neither of you speak

"And you still hate boiled peas"

Dumbledore silently comforted himself after the loss of another bet, perhaps he should stop placing bets with Minerva

"You still look after me" remus tilts his head "perhaps giving the wrong impression?"

You groan, despite the warmth in your eyes and the smile that struggled to escape "your impossible"

Remus softly shakes his head, your eyes plastered on him "your collar is still crooked, do i have to fix it?"

Remus's hands fly to his collar,

You glance up to the man you once knew, feeling all to familiar to him once again

Albus watches as you hold remus's collar in the most gentle way possible, as if though he were a precious glass doll that you were afraid of scarring.

Remus finds it a little ironic

Your fingers delicately moving alongst the nape of his neck while he muttered something to you

Your simply standing there, he's not stopping you in any sense at all, watching him with an insufferable fond look that albus remembers from back in your days as students

Why hadn't he noticed this before?

"I would have thought that you'd learn how to do your collar properly by now" you huffed, the tall man leaned in closer to you, for your comfort and ease

"I guess I got used to you fixing it for me"

You hum "you hate people touching you"

Remus lupin looks at you, a slight smile playing on his face "i suppose that makes you the exception"

Albus holds back his gasp

You sigh while finishing adjusting his collar, breaking away from him

"You're quite literally impossible"

Remus chuckles, his eyes never breaking away from yours "you like it, you still do"

"You" you point your finger at the tall man "are quite frankly delusion, might i suggest a visit st mungoes and check your head"

Remus takes a step closer, he's grinning, it makes him look younger, you think,

"Am I? Delusional?"

Albus feels like bursting out of his hiding spot, feeling like a quidditch commenter watching the most highly anticipated quidditch match of all time

But then- you laugh, its small, a little reluctant but a real laugh. And instead of walking away you simply look at remus with the same softness that has always been there since your hogwarts days

Albus turns his head away, giving the two of you space, deciding that he had seen enough

He wonders why in the world did he not catch it before, were his hunches always this bad?

"Well?" A flat voice came from a corner, Dumbledore couldn't help but chuckle knowing all too well who it was

"Minerva!" Albus smiled "I was hoping to bump into you"

The grey tabby cat transformed into a frowning women with a "I told you so" look on her face

Albus sighs "I believe you have won the bet once again"

The women suppresses a smile "Yes, I believe so too"

"Am I really that dense Minerva?"

Giving the older wizard a scathing look "im afraid so professor"

"Oh...but rather refreshing to see young love blossom in our very halls is it not?" Albus dumbledore says with a satisfied look on his face

"I hope they would atleast pretend to not be too distracted with their work" Minerva remarked

"Oh minerva" albus tutted "Have you never been in love before?"

Minerva McGonagall threw a look at the headmaster

"Now all we must do is wait for the inevitable" albus proudly said "I should begin drafting a speech for their wedding should I not?"

Minerva sighs shaking her head, her voice wavering but she knew better to discourage Dumbledore "Oh yes professor, you do that"

Dumbledore gleams while walking back up to his office, he may have lost the bet but he was a sucker for happy ending, especially for his students

"Oh Minerva!" Did I ever mention?"

Dumbledore calls the tall women before he goes up into his office

"Mention what professor?"

The wizard gleams, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, Minerva wasnt sure if she was going to like what she was about to hear

"I once placed a bet on you and tom riddle back when you were a student here"

Minerva McGonagall paused, not even blinking, not even breathing

Dumbledore chuckle "Oh well, let's just hope for the best for miss y/n and mr remus lupin shall we?"

(A few hours later, filch recieves the fright of his life when he finds professor McGonagall is still standing in the hallway frozen)

When your called into dumbledores office in the middle of the night, the last thing you expect is to see the convicted felon sirius black and a tired, freshly scarred remus lupin

After Dumbledore filled you in with the recent events that took place and after the sirius was safely escorted to much safer place,

you found your arms resting on remus whose body remained slumped on a bed in the infirmary

The hospital wing was dimply lighted, madam pomfrey busy tending to the three teenagers (harry, ron and hermione) leaving you with the scarred man

Your eyes wander around his body which was covered in bruises, cuts, scars and a deep gash along his side from his recent turning.

You tend to his wounds, your hands shaking slightly while you moved with precision and a look of gentleness in your eyes which remus did not missed

"It might sting a little" you warn, while dabbing the cotten pad soaked in antiseptic to his cheek

Remus flinched slightly but does not move nor say anything, only nods slightly.

He had always been like this- quiet, composed and never one to complain. But you could feel the tension in him, the way his shoulders stayed rigid under your touch, the way his eyes darted around you, looking at you everywhere but at your eyes

"It doesn't hurt?" You ask in an attempt to lighten the mood but your voice wavers just enough to betray your feelings

Remus notices it without missing a beat, his body softening on hearing the vulnerability in your voice

It's all for him, it's all because of him

"It's not the cut that hurts y/n. It's the fact that yours still the one tending to them even after all these years"

You still for a moment- memories of late night study sessions and hushed conversations. You tending to his scars at midnight after every turning while the rest of the marauders watched with a knowing smirk.

Memories of the past seemed to dance infront of your eyes, flickering like candles and flittering like ghosts.

The quiet estrangement between you and remus, the way the two of you parted ways so easily- but here he was. So close to you, yet you have never felt further from him

"Maybe some things don't change" your murmer under your breath, your fingers brushing against his skin for longer than necessary

Remus smiles, its a wistful and rather melancholy smile

The both of you felt the weight of all the unsaid words between the two of you, it lingered liked the fog on a misty morning, just like the lingering glance remus always gave to you

"It's not that bad you know" remus mutters "your looking at me like I'm going to drop dead"

His voice is rough , deep and slightly slurred, still recovering from from the disorientation from his shift, he keeps his eyes closed, though his sharp breathing tells you that the pain is no less than real

You look up, a small frown tugging your lips "you always say that, but here you are, covered in cuts and scars" your tone is light but theres a hidden edge of concern that was undiscernable

Remus chuckles softly, though the sound is strained "i'm alot tougher than i look, have a little faith in me won't you?"

Your fingers linger around his face, your touch soft, slightly cold against his flushed hot blooded self.

Remus tenses from your touch, but relaxes almost immediately. You can tell he's holding back more than just the pain, you just didn't know what.

"I could have helped you, i was always willing to help you, you know that don't you?" Your voice betrays all the concern and worry you had been holding back, your voice breaking,

Remus doesnt meet your eyes, not at first, his expression distant and struggling to find the words

"I didn't want to hurt anyone" he finally says, "especially you, i never want to hurt you"

"I know" you whisper gently, your hands move towards his "but that doesn't mean you have to do it alone"

For a moment he remains silent, it makes you think whether he even heard you at all. His fingers curl into the edge of the cot, jaws clenched tight.

But then he moves his hands towards yours too, slowly, hesitantly, almost scared.

But he missed it, he missed your touch all too much to no longer deny it. He missed you

"I dont want to hurt you" he repeats again like a confession. His voice fragile and vulnerable

You look at him, the weight of his gaze holding you in place before you finally utterly "you won't"

Your afraid remus would pull away, push you away, retreat back but he doesnt.

He let's you finish bandaging him, let's you hold him, letting you do what you've always done, even when the two of you were no longer together: care for him

And even when your done he doesn't pull away, you meet his eyes again, once again feeling the weight of all the unsaid words

"I'm scary" his voice is barely a whisper "and dangerous, and frightening. You don't deserve to go through all of that"

You smile faintly, leaning towards him, brushing against lock of his his hair away from his face

"Remus lupin, you eat your toast burned to crisps, you have your coffee so black im convince your taste buds are dead, you have memorized lines from random horrible plays I have never heard of before"

your hands holds his face with utmost care

"Trust me" you smile, your tone teasing if not for the warmth in your voice "you couldn't scare me even if you try"

For a brief moment theres nothing but the sound of breathing, two people who had never really let eachother go. Though remus doesnt say it, the way his hands holds your waist, and the way he looks at you, speaks louder than words ever could

"Next time, let me help you"

A smile tugs on remus's lips, twitching in a rare crooked smile "ill try to remember that"

"And don't leave, i dont think i can bear it if you disappear from me twice" you whisper

"I wont be able to stay away for long even if I tried" remus whispered back like a solemn vow "I'll always come for you, ill always find my way to you"

Your hands still linger on one another, gazes still intact, though no words are exchange it is not necessary, the soft smiles tugging both your lips are enough

For the first time in years, it feels like the two of you are on the same side once again.

"Hand me the galleons you owe me albus" Minerva reaches her hand out, an eyebrow raised

"Oh Minerva, must we hurry? I'm well aware you won the bet but-"

Minerva McGonagall cleared her throat loud and clear

Severus snape rolled his eyes and sighed, muttering under his breath about "childish behavior"

Albus dumbledore sulked "im going to go bankrupt if this keeps on going on"

Minerva suppressed her smile, despite feeling proud of her achievement "do you still want to go on with the bets albus? Unless your afraid of losing once more"

Severus frowned "must you encourage such behavior professor McGonagall?"

"I'll win the next bet, just you wait and see minerva" Dumbledore said, despite his initial complain, repeating what he had been saying every time for the past 50 years since he had been losing

"mr cedric diggory and ms cho chang" Minerva announced her next bet, folding her arms, her head held high

Albus watched with a broad grin "Minerva, i might have to prove you wrong there!"

Minerva watched with eyebrows raised

"It's obviously ms cho chang and mr roger davies"

"Oh dear" severus groaned

Minerva covered her mouth, turning away to laugh, confident that she had won before it even begun while albus dumbledore began listing the reason for his belief

"Mr Roger Davies and ms cho chang were practicing quidditch together and may I mention that it seemed a rather private meet up with only the two of them-"

"Isn't mr Davies the captain of the ravenclaw quidditch team and ms chang the seeker of the quidditch team?" Severus reminded the older wizard

"Yes but severus your missing the point-"

Severus Snape raised his hand, he had heard enough, pinching the bride of his nose he excused himself, he had better things to do than involve himself in such trivial childish matters, especially those that involved the life of silly hormonal teenagers

He walked out with a whoosh of his cloak, seemingly ready to slam the door, just when-

"My bet is with minerva" he curtly announced before promptly slamming the door shut

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snowyslytherinowl · 5 months ago

Text

A Love Paid in Galleons - Part 2

PAIRING: Severus Snape x Reader

SUMMARY: Knowing that no one would ever want him, Severus hires a prostitute to help him lose his virginity. But what he doesn't anticipate is that he'll give his heart to her as well.

Part 1 here

This part is heavier and less smutty than part 1, but it ofc includes a happy ending. 🫶 WARNINGS: IMPLIED SEXUAL ABUSE AND DISCUSSIONS OF PROSTITUTION (no graphic descriptions of either, however).

18+ DUE TO SEXUAL CONTENT; MINORS DNI!

*GIF isn't mine; credit to @smilingformoney

“G’morning,” you mumble into Severus’s back. He didn’t hear your footsteps as you climbed down the stairs. He has to stop himself from jumping at the sudden contact, but he soon relaxes. Nothing beats the feeling of your arms snuggly wrapped around him.

“Hello, darling.” Severus tries to discreetly hide the sliced food and basket. He can only hope that you didn’t see anything on your walk into the kitchen.

“What’re you making?” you ask, your voice still heavy with sleepiness. You pull away from him to pour yourself a steaming cup of coffee, freshly brewed by Severus. Your eyes drift to the minced ham and plucked grapes resting in bowls on the counter.

He nervously chuckles and pulls the food toward him in a poor attempt to conceal his plans. “Lunch. For later, of course.”

“Mmm, I hope you enjoy it.”

He picks at his cuticles and looks at the ground, too shy to look you in the eye. “Well, er, this is a picnic for the both of us.” When you only stare at him, he nervously adds, “As long as you do not have a busy schedule for the day.”

Severus is surprised when you tear up and throw yourself into his arms. “Severus…. You really made this for me? For us?”

“I… of course,” he says. “There is nothing I enjoy more than spending time with you.”

“Oh, Sev.” You pull back from the hug and kiss him. He wraps his arms around you and melts into the kiss, pouring his heart out to you.

You keep him close even when you have to break for air. You twirl his hair with your fingers and rest your head on his shoulder, your breath tickling his ear as you whisper, “I love you.”

Severus drifts from his dream into a groggy haze when he feels something wet on his neck. He first internally groans, wishing that the dream lasted for at least another minute. And then he panics, wondering where he is and what is happening. Then, he remembers the events of the previous night and relaxes. Even though he usually hates waking up in the mornings, this one is different: he has you here. Sunlight pours in from the window and shines on your face and messy hair. You move closer to him and press another wet kiss to his neck. Severus shivers.

“Good morning, Severus. How you’d sleep?” Severus looks around and takes in more of his surroundings. One of your legs is sprawled over his legs and you’re tightly hugging his middle. He naturally gets flustered at even the briefest of touches from you, yet his most recent dream has left him extra sensitive to your touch. He tries to push away thoughts of the dream now that he has the real you in front of him, but he can’t ignore the pang in his heart.

“Pleasantly. How was your night?”

“Excellent.” You nuzzle your nose in the crook of his shoulder and lazily kiss his neck once more. Severus relaxes in your embrace and your soft touches, feeling no rush to get out of bed. It seems that your touches aren’t aimless, though. One of your hands slowly caresses his chest and down his torso until you reach the hem of his pajama pants.

Your hand isn’t even anywhere near his cock, but he struggles to stifle a whimper. You pull back so that you’re facing him, a lazy grin on your face. “Did you dream about me last night, Severus?”

He doesn’t know whether he’d be more embarrassed to admit that he had overly affectionate dreams about you, or to lie and say that he dreamt of inappropriate things. “Er… I… did,” he stammers, hoping that you won’t ask for specifics.

You light up with curiosity. “What were they like?”

“Well…. they were… relaxing,” he replies, trying to dodge the question.

“Oh? What did we do?”

“Er…” His mind goes blank, partially because he doesn’t know what to say and partially because he can feel your fingers playing with the hem of his pajama pants. You pull back the band of his pants and stick one finger inside while you aimlessly tap your other fingers. His face heats up as you continue to gaze at him expectantly.

Seconds drag on for an eternity before you finally laugh. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me.” You go one step further, stretching back the elastic of the boxers and slithering three fingers inside. His breath hitches when you move closer to whisper into his ear, “I just hope that you dreamt only good things about me.”

“Of course I did,” he breathes. An angel like you can only produce heavenly dreams.

You grin and slowly start to massage his cock. Severus groans in delight and allows his eyes to flutter closed, wanting to savor the moment and likely the last touches he’d experience from you. Without thinking, he rests his head on your shoulder and buries his face against your chest. He breathes in the dampened scent of your perfume and the orchid body wash you borrowed from him, trying to memorize this exact scent.

You touch him like you’re in no rush either; your fingers stroke his length and you press wet kisses to the exposed parts of his neck and face. It doesn’t take long before he’s fully hard and throbbing in your hand. You swipe your thumb over the precum now beading at the tip of his cock, spreading it up and down his length. And while he wants to drag this out, your touch is too gentle and he becomes desperate for more friction. He instinctually shifts his hips to press closer to you and thrusts himself in your hand.

Your lips pull into a smile at the sound of his whimpers and how the slightest of touches turn him into a desperate man. Embarrassment flushes his cheeks, yet his heart and body show no desire to maintain his dignity. His hips rut more erratically, begging for you to squeeze tighter and rub more aggressively. A desperate “please” escapes his lips and his fingers clutch your forearm.

You oblige to his desires and stroke his cock with more gusto, even slithering your other hand into his boxers to massage his balls. His balls tighten and his manhood twitches, waiting for sweet release. He begs his body to hold on for a moment longer, to stop being so sensitive, to not embarrass him by coming so soon. But he’s too weak to hold himself back. Severus presses his lips against yours as he shakes and cums all over your hands and his boxers, his moans drowned out by your lips.

His body reels from your caresses and the warmth of your embrace, stuck in a state of utter bliss. He wants to stay here with you forever, even if it means never getting up from this bed.

You nuzzle your nose against his and then into his hair to peck more lazy kisses. Severus can’t tell how long you stay pressed against him, but he’s disappointed when you pull away and stand from the bed. He feels an urge to pull you back into bed and cuddle against you, keeping you here for as long as he can. There’s also a strange look in your eyes; you gaze down at him in silence for an awkward amount of time before you speak up. “I’m going to wash my hands,” you say quietly.

“Okay,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes follow you from the bedside table and to the sink until you close the bathroom door behind you. Severus spreads himself out on the bed and sighs, trying to prevent his mind from drifting into the inevitable yet horrible thoughts he doesn’t want to confront.

Once you finish cleaning yourself, he slips into the bathroom without saying a word to you. He pulls down his pants and winces at the sight of his cum-stained underwear, feeling like a pathetic teenager. He peels off the rest of his clothes and starts a warm shower, wanting to erase the signs of how pathetic and sensitive he is. Yet his hands ghost over his hips, neck, and hair, remembering the feelings of your soft hands all over his body. Control yourself, Severus has to tell himself when a lump forms in his throat.

But Severus struggles to keep himself together. He changes into clean underwear, pants, and a dark green T-shirt and looks at himself in the mirror. He looks at his crooked nose, his greasy hair, his sallow skin, the bags under his eyes, and the lines already forming on his face. So miserable, so pathetic. But as he continues to stare at himself, he sees something new in himself. He looks more relaxed, the usual tired and resentful expression in his eyes mixed with a new emotion: joy. How can he cope with your parting when you’ve made him happier than he’s ever been before? His eyes fill with tears and he faces away from the mirror, blinking them away.

After he pulls himself together and erases the evidence of his tears, he goes back into the bedroom. He discovers that you’ve done his bed and neatly placed his sleeping clothes and the pajamas you borrowed into his laundry basket. He frowns when he sees that you’ve changed back into your original dress. It’s colder than usual this morning and he doesn’t want you to shiver.

“If you prefer, I can give you a shirt to wear.”

You shake your head. “But I won’t be able to give it back to you.”

“Do not worry about that.” He pulls out a black T-shirt from his closet and hands it to you. “You may keep it.”

You fiddle with the soft fabric and avoid looking at him. “Severus, thank you.”

“You are welcome.” An awkward silence engulfs the room until he asks, “When must you leave?”

“I have to be back at the brothel by nine, but I want to leave fifteen minutes early if that’s fine by you. I want to have time to get ready for work.” He looks at the clock. 7:25. Less than an hour and a half. Severus feels like he might be sick.

“They ask you to work this early?”

“No. I work two jobs. This isn’t my primary job.”

Two jobs? Why would you work as a prostitute if you have a second job? And if you start your second job shortly after nine, then that must mean you barely have any time for yourself. Even though he desperately wants to cherish your presence for these last two hours, he knows that he should give you a break.

“I will go downstairs to cook us breakfast. You may stay here and do as you please. I will notify you when the food is prepared.”

“It’s all right. I’ll come down with you.” You smile and put a hand on his shoulder. Severus tries not to immediately crumble.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes. I can help you cook too.” You gesture to the door, expecting him to lead the way. Severus obliges and brings you to the kitchen, secretly internally soaring at the thought of spending more time with you.

Severus rummages the fridge for half-decent breakfast food. Sausages and eggs are the best that he can come up with. The bruised fruits he finds in the back of the fridge will have to do. Now he wishes he had gone grocery shopping to buy better food for you.

When you ask him what you can prepare, he directs you to brew the coffee. Once the coffee machine stops whirring, you turn to him. “What else can I do to help?”

“Nothing. You may sit.”

You instead lean against the kitchen counter, standing much closer to him than expected. So close that he can feel the heat radiating off your body. “Are you sure? You’re already doing a huge favor by cooking.”

“Nonsense. You are my guest. I do not expect anything significant of you.” All he wants to do in these last moments together is to serve you, to make you feel cared for.

“Alrighty then.” You watch as he cooks, how he moves effortlessly as he flips the pan and slices the bruises off the fruit. Years of cutting potion ingredients have given him swift fingers.

Severus tries not to get flustered at your gaze or proximity, but it’s so hard when he can see your little smirk in the corner of his eye. He steadies his hand on the knife, trying to conceal his nervous shaking. Then, he stops himself from jumping when you nudge him and say, “You’re quite the talented cook.”

Severus looks up at you mid-slicing and pauses, the knife hovering above a strawberry. Your hair is still messy from sleep. Part of your shoulder is showing from your askew shirt. Your face may be plain after washing away the makeup, but you look utterly beautiful in the sunlight softly illuminating your face. He can see the natural pinkish hue of your lips and how bright your eyes are even without eyeliner or mascara to accentuate your features. He has to look back down at the cutting board before he looks even more like a fool.

Your smile grows into a smirk when you see red tinting his cheeks. “You’re quite cute, too.”

Severus coughs from the embarrassment. “That is hardly the right word to describe me.”

“I disagree. You get flustered easily and you’re so sweet. Those two traits epitomize cuteness.”

Sweet? You know nothing about him, nothing of his past. If you knew how he used to be a Death Eater, what he did to Lily, hell, even what he was like as a student, you would never call him sweet in a million years. What a blessing it is to have someone around who has no knowledge of him.

“While I am certain that your intentions are pure, I would not describe myself as ‘sweet’ either,” Severus scoffs, despite the warm and fuzzy feeling he’s experiencing because of that word. He plates the food and guides you to sit at the table all while avoiding your gaze.

“Well, I don’t often come across men who are as kind as you,” you comment with a shrug.

Severus looks up at you and you give him a lazy smile. But he can tell from the slight sag of your shoulders and the tired look in your eyes that your comment is more than a compliment for him; it attests to what you’ve been through. He knows that you’re a prostitute, yet the full scope of your reality hasn’t hit him until you made that simple comment. What happens to you behind closed doors? You may be understanding and kind to him, but is that the kind of treatment that’s afforded to you on a daily basis? You may be cheery around him, but do all of your clients get that same reaction out of you?

Severus likes to think that he’s treating you well. Yes, he provided you with clothing, allowed you to sleep on the bed, and cooked breakfast for you. But does doing those things really make him better than the other men who solicit you to feel better about themselves? He treated you as he should: like another human being. Yet how many nights have you gone to bed with an empty stomach, woken up with a stiff back from sleeping somewhere unideal, or abandoned like rubbish?

He feels as though his heart is being squeezed by a fist. A kind soul like you doesn’t deserve any of this. “I cannot imagine what you’ve been through…” Severus chokes out.

Although Severus is usually a master at hiding his emotions, he can barely control himself around you. His inner turmoil must be clearly reflected on his face because you bite your lower lip and frown. You reach across the table and take his hand in yours. “Severus, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty.”

All of this feels wrong. You’ve spent your entire time here comforting and pleasing him. Even now, you’re comforting him after he became upset about your life. He wonders how you can stay so calm and be so sympathetic with him, and he can’t help but yearn to know more about who you are outside of this context.

There is one question about you that pops into his mind. Knowing that it’s likely too sensitive to ask, Severus’s words drag as he says, “May I ask you a question?”

Your thumb gently swipes over his hand. Even in these circumstances, the simplest touches from you are pleasant. “Of course. Go ahead,” you reply, encouragingly.

“I apologize if this is too personal, but I would like to know.” Severus continues hesitantly, “If you have another job… why do you also work as a prostitute?’

You look down and poke at your sausage, but thankfully, you aren’t taken aback. “One of them is my dream job. Unfortunately for me, that one doesn’t pay well and the income I make varies by week. The other, well…”

You pause and sigh before continuing, “Prostituting isn’t the… ideal job or something that I enjoy, but it pays well in proportion to how many hours I work. I need to spend as much time on… my other job as I can. I take on as many clients as necessary to cover the remaining expenses that my other job doesn’t cover. I usually only need to take on a few clients on the weekend and I’m free.”

Another pang pierces his heart. There has to be some other way for you to make money other than prostituting. “Do you have anyone to support you?”

“No. I don’t have many friends and my parents never cared for me,” you reply sadly. You slump in your seat and pick at your food without actually eating. Your sociable, sweet demeanor is gone.

Severus understands how you feel, to be trapped in a situation you don’t exactly desire without anyone caring for you. His father never loved him and his mother was too preoccupied with protecting herself to help him achieve a bright future. Even now, Severus doesn’t have anyone who truly loves or cares for him.

The reminders of his loneliness bear down heavily on him, but Severus takes it upon himself to squeeze your hand in reassurance. “I am truly sorry to hear this. I have experienced something similar myself, albeit that it doesn’t involve prostitution.”

“Really?” You perk up not because you are happy to hear about his own struggles, but because you’re happy that perhaps someone else finally understands you.

“Yes. I am the Potions Professor at Hogwarts.” His earlier hesitation to reveal his identity is long gone. After all, you just opened up to him about something very sensitive and private. The least he can do is confide in you and he has a feeling that you won’t go around telling his secrets.

“I took up my post at Hogwarts to honor an agreement I made with someone. Truth be told, I did not have a dream job in mind during my youth. My parents never encouraged me to think highly of myself or my capabilities, yet I knew I did not want to work with petulant students.” Severus tenses as he thinks of his parents, Dumbledore, Lily, and that dunderhead Harry Potter. “I have been stuck working at Hogwarts for approximately a decade now and am forced to clean up the messes of the rest of the staff and students. I dread the thought of returning there once this summer ends.”

“Hey, at least you have the rest of the summer to yourself,” you say, trying to cheer him up. There’s no humor or happiness in this conversation, but you continue, “At least look on the bright side. Only the best wizards and witches are hired to work at Hogwarts, so you must be incredibly intelligent.”

“Do not flatter me,” he scoffs, yet your compliment has made him feel better. Severus has always prided himself on his intelligence, but to hear you praise him like that, he feels even more special.

“It’s the truth! I was never good at brewing Potions. I’m pretty good with Charms though.” You pause and consider something. Then, seeming to have the same trust in him that he has in you, you continue, “I own a bookstore in wizarding London. I write and produce my own illustrated and charmed children’s books. It takes a long time to draw everything and even longer to test out what combinations of charms will produce the best effects.”

You sigh and shake your head. “I still haven’t made it big, though. It’s hard competing with Flourish and Blotts and there are already thousands of children’s books. It’s just disappointing because I’ve spent all my savings on buying that bookstore.”

“Do not worry. It is simply that your time has not yet come. I have full faith that you will find success soon.” As if to convey his conviction, he tightly squeezes your hand. He has never read your books or seen your store, but he just knows that there is something promising about you. You deserve all the success in the world.

“Thank you, Severus. You’re very kind.” To his surprise, you reach across the table and peck a kiss on his cheek. He presses a hand to the spot where you just kissed him, hopelessly wishing that the feeling of your lips against his cheek will stay with him forever.

You two start digging into your breakfast before it can get cold. Severus listens to your plans for the shop for the day and your complaints of children who try to steal books when they think you’re not looking. Dealing with annoying children is something that he can definitely relate to.

After you finish eating, you pour yourself a cup of coffee. Severus notices that you stand still in front of the brewer for longer than what’s necessary and even when you turn around, your hands are gripping the cup too tightly. “Do you think that we could just sit on the couch for a bit before I go?”

Severus looks at the clock on the wall. Only fifteen minutes remain until you must leave. His heart begins to beat rapidly. How hadn’t he noticed how fast the time was flying by?

“Yes. That is fine.” Severus pours himself his own cup of coffee and sits on the couch. He’s surprised, yet pleased, when you scoot over and settle against him, your head resting on his shoulder.

The time again moves by in silence. He doesn’t know what to say and perhaps that’s for the best. No matter what he may speak about, he’s afraid that his voice will choke with emotion. He can’t bear to look at you either, especially as you idly twirl his long hair with your fingers. Tears are already threatening to form in his eyes, his muscles are tense, and he can’t rip his mind off your impending departure. He’s at least thankful that you’re not snuggled closely enough to hear his heart racing in his chest.

You suddenly break the silence when you quietly comment, “Breakfast was great.”

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” he responds without looking at you.

“By the way, you should wear dark green more often. You look awfully cute in it.”

There you go, using that word again. Severus meets your gaze and notices you biting your bottom lip, smiling at him. Just your smile causes his heart to skip a beat and he has to look away from you before he gets too emotional.

“Thank you,” he says, not protesting this time. He does make a note to buy more dark green clothes, though.

In what feels like seconds, the clock indicates that it’s now your time for departure, 8:45. Severus hopes that you won’t notice the time on the wall or tell him you don’t want to leave either. A solid minute goes by without you saying anything until you sigh and untangle yourself from him. “I’m really sorry, but I have to go now.”

“I… I understand,” Severus concedes quietly. You two stand from the couch and head towards his front door, the place where all of this truly started.

But the full threat of your departure doesn’t totally sink in for Severus until you place your hand on the doorknob. At that moment, he breaks into a full panic. These are the very last seconds he’ll ever spend with you. He’s never going to see you again, never going to learn more about you, unless he solicits you again or finds your bookstore. But after everything you said about prostituting, it doesn’t feel right for him to do that. It’s not guaranteed that he’d be able to find your shop either.

This is too much to handle. His blood runs cold, his heart is now hammering, and he’s frozen in place. He has no idea how it happens, but his lips start moving. “I simply want to mention that I meant what I said earlier. I truly believe in you and your future success.”

You turn around to face him. His gaze bores into you as if he’s memorizing what you look like. He must get one last good look at you. Your messy but smooth hair. Gentle eyes. Soft lips. The curves of your jaw and cheeks. The way that your eyebrows are curved. He stores it all in his mind, hoping to never forget a detail.

“And I hope that things will work out for you, too.” You look at him for a long time before adding, “Maybe you can start a potion shop if that’s something you’d be interested in.”

Open a potion shop, start a career in the Ministry, or work at Hogwarts for the rest of his life, it doesn’t matter. No matter what his future holds for him, he has realized one thing about it: he could truly be happy only if you were a part of it. As much as he hates to think that he’s given his heart to someone he’s known for less than a day, he knows that that is the reality. Yet there is one thing that will never become a reality: his desire for you two to be together. Your kind words and actions only occur because of your friendly affection towards him. He’s sure of it.

“Perhaps,” he replies idly.

You two look at each other for an awkward amount of time until you break the silence. “I guess I should go now.”

“Yes… you are right.” When you turn the doorknob, Severus quickly interjects, “Allow me.”

Severus opens his front door onto the street. Sunlight shines brightly and the sky is a beautiful blue. He wishes that he could spend such a beautiful day with you.

You two look out at children biking on the road and parents adjusting their briefcases before heading to work. “It would be best if you apparate behind the house,” he hesitantly suggests.

“Yeah.” You make no effort to move except for the turning of your head. “By the way, thanks for everything. Especially the food and the clothes. Your kindness means a lot to me.”

You briefly touch Severus’s arm and he has to quickly blink away the tears that form no matter how many times he tells himself to stay in control. This is it. You’re leaving. You’re finally leaving. The only person that has made him feel alive, made him feel valued and heard, is leaving. How can he ever cope with this separation? When Severus climbs into bed every night, his mind won’t be able to settle into sleep because he’ll constantly think about how you slept against him. Whenever Severus sits in his desk chair, he’ll always think about how he gave himself to you there. Whenever he enters his study to create his lesson plans for the following year, he’ll instead be reminded of your first kiss. Whenever he sits at his dining table to eat breakfast, he’ll always wish that you were sitting across from him, holding his hand and telling him secrets that you’ve never told anyone else. The memory of you will be too painful for him to bear, but he doesn’t ever want to forget you. An odd concoction of desperation, sadness, shame, confusion, frustration, anger, pain, and love all run through him.

Perhaps Severus is delusional. Perhaps this is the moment, out of all the moments in his life, that he’s completely lost his mind. But Severus notices something that sparks a dangerous sense of hope in him: one of your feet is on the pavement and the other foot is on the wood floor of his living room. You don’t want to leave either. And does he see a look of longing in your eyes? Did you place your hand on the doorframe to steady yourself or because you’re subconsciously tethering yourself to this place?

But behind that longing, he can also tell you’re in pain. In pain because your bookstore is struggling. In pain because you barely ever make enough to make ends meet. In pain because you have to prostitute tonight yet again. In pain because you have no one that cares for you. In pain because your life feels meaningless.

At that moment, the moment that you move to fully step out of his house and turn to walk down the alley, Severus has an incredibly impulsive thought. He knows that he has to do something. Not just for him, but more importantly, for you. He can’t allow you to suffer any longer.

“Wait!” he shouts after you. You stop and turn to face him, but you avoid his gaze.

“I deeply apologize if I am overstepping. However, I must ask you this before you leave, or else I will regret a missed opportunity for the rest of my life.” Severus is so arrested with fear, panic, and self-consciousness that he has no idea how his lips move or how he even forces his words out of his mouth. “I would like you to live here with me. I will cover all your financial expenses and support your store. You will not have to prostitute anymore.”

He takes both of your hands in his and holds onto them for dear life. The tears that he’s been trying to suppress have won out. They now flow freely down his cheeks and drip onto his shirt. He must look pitiful and pathetic, but he’s too overcome with emotion to control himself.

“I do not ask for sexual favors. I do not even ask that you pursue a romantic relationship with me. All I ask for in return is your companionship.” Severus is barely able to choke out his last sentence. “Please… I cannot bear to be alone any longer.”

Your expression is unreadable. You stare at him in silence for such a long time that he convinces himself that this was a mistake. You would never want to stay with him. He’s a disgusting man who does not understand boundaries. He must remind you of a desperate dog tied to a post, pathetically begging his owner not to abandon him. He’s so ashamed, so embarrassed for even asking you that he’s ready to run back into his house, shut the door, and cry for the rest of the day. That is until you throw yourself into his arms and kiss him.

Severus stumbles back from the impact but most importantly, the shock of your actions. You don’t need to say a word for him to understand that you’ve not just accepted his invitation to live with him, but that you want to pursue a romantic relationship with him. The new development fills him with such joy and giddiness that he wraps his arms around your waist and squeezes you tighter than he knows he should. And as demented as it sounds, he revels in the way your body shakes with sobs and how he can taste the tears now streaking down your face. Yet what he enjoys the most is how you kiss him with such intensity that this might as well be your last kiss. Thankfully, though, this will be the first of many kisses that you two will share.

You kiss each other for so long and with such intensity that by the time you separate, it’s a real possibility that you both might pass out. You laugh at his red face and cheeks and rest your forehead against his. “I would love to live with you. And I would also love to be your girlfriend if you’re willing.”

His heart soars to the heavens. Never in a million years did he think that he would have a girlfriend, let alone that it would be you. He responds with such enthusiasm that he trips over his words. “Girlfriend? That would… I… er… that would be more than I could dream of. Yes. I want to be your boyfriend.”

“You’re so cute.” You press a kiss on his cheek and step back. “Look, I want to run back into your house, but I still have to check in at the brothel and let them know that I’m quitting forever. And I still have to tend to the bookstore for the day and get ready. But I’ll come back here tonight at six, on the dot. I promise.”

“That is fine. I will see you at six.” These nine hours waiting for you will be the longest nine hours of his life, though every passing second means that he is one second closer to seeing you again.

“Great. See you soon!” You peck one last kiss to his lips and then walk down the alley, apparating away.

Severus has plenty of ideas of how to pass the time before you come back, but there is one thing that he’s most excited for: getting groceries and buying a second pillow just for you. And with you around, his house will finally become a home.

#snape #severus snape #smut #reader insert #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x you #severus snape x reader #snape x y/n #snape x reader #snape x you #hp #hp fanfic #angsty snape #angst #fluff #fluff and angst #happy ending

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professorsnape394 · 7 months ago

Text

Day 10: Dream Come True

Pairing: Severus Snape x ex-student

Rating: 🥵 ?

Prompt: Dream

Summary: Severus reunites with an old student of his and she is determined to live out her teenage dream.

A/N: Loved writing this one!! Hope ya'll have as much fun reading it as I had writing it.

Warnings: ex-student and teacher hooking up.

Word Count: 3170

Credits to Gif Creator

Severus had always loathed Lucius Malfoy’s elaborate parties. He threw them multiple times a year, celebrating every possible occasion, and Severus almost always declined the invitation. While he would know most people in attendance, Snape wasn’t one to socialise and a party was his idea of literal hell. However, given that Lucius was the closest thing Severus had to a friend, he made a point to show face at one event each year; often staying for no longer than an hour or so and spending most of the time hauled up in the kitchen alone. Which is where he happened to find himself tonight.

Having already circulated the crowds earlier in the evening, Severus was simply buying time before he made his goodbyes and returned home to the peace of Spinner’s end. The drinks and food were set out on a banquet table in the drawing room of the manor, meaning he often had the kitchen entirely to himself to drink bottle after bottle of FireWhiskey alone.

This evening seemed to be following the same suit as usual, until his tranquillity was disturbed by the entrance of a familiar young woman and her absolutely foul mouth.

“Fucking disgusting shit. Who the fuck does he think I am. And why the hell is it blue?” She muttered to herself, staring deeply at the electric looking cocktail in her hand. She made a direct bee line for the sink and dumped the entire contents of her glass down the drain.

Severus couldn’t help but let out a small scoff of approval at the girl’s words. He, of course, recognised her from her time as a student at Hogwarts. Not only had he been the Head of her House, and Potion’s Master, he often found himself telling her off for her bad language at the risk losing points from the other professors. Severus himself didn’t mind it so much, in fact he found it rather amusing, which must explain why he was no where near as irritated as he usually would be by the disturbance.

“Professor Snape?”

The girl stopped in her tracks, eyeing the Potion’s Master appreciatively. Her tone had dropped to an almost sultry timbre.

Severus remembered now why he always seemed to be giving the girl into trouble. This particular young woman had not been nearly as discreet with her girlhood crush as she may have expected. It had been obvious to him that she acted out in his classes simply to get a rise out of him, and best-case scenario she would earn a detention, prolonging their time together. The latter Severus did not indulge, the last thing he needed was a hormonal teenager making heart eyes at him from across the classroom.

From the way she looked at him now, the young witch had yet to grow out of her school-girl crush. Feeling the effects of the sheet amount of alcohol he had consumed; Severus couldn’t resist raking his eyes over the woman’s figure in return. She was after all, no longer his student.

While her bad habits still remained, her appearance had changed a lot in a few short years. Her hair was longer now, darker too; she wore it down as she always had, allowing it to flow down her back like a waterfall of obsidian waves. Her previously baby face had been replaced by much sharper features; high cheek bones and a defined jaw line, lips that sat in a permanent perfect pout, painted a deep shade of red that only enticed him further. The dress she wore, tight and black, displayed her curves from ever possible angle, the lowcut neckline drawing his eyes to the exposed swell of her breasts.

“Miss Y/L/N.” He stated simply, not allowing his voice to betray his less than appropriate thoughts.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” She sauntered toward him, swaying her hips with each step.

It wasn’t lost on her that her old professor had just been checking her out, in fact she welcomed it. Since her crush on him first developed in her fifth year, she had long since dreamed of running into him again after she graduated. It pleased her to know that now they were reunited, he seemed to appreciate her just as much as she did him.

“I could say the same for you.” He raised a single eyebrow at her, his eyes never leaving her body as she approached.

“Not sure why.” She shrugged, settling against the kitchen island opposite him. “I’ve been at every party this year. Draco keeps inviting me.”

“As his date?” The simple question drew a wide smile from Y/N.

Was Severus Snape jealous?

“I assume so. But if he keeps making me drinks that look like the result of a chemical reaction, he doesn’t stand a chance.”

Severus scoffed again, amused by her words.

Y/N watched as took a long sip of his whiskey, draining the remainder of his glass.

“What are you drinking?”

“FireWhiskey.” He said plainly.

“Mind if I join you?”

Severus glanced at the woman out the corner of his eye as she came to lean on the cabinet next time him.

“Be my guest. However, this is the last of this bottle.” He said, as he filled his glass. “I’m sure there’s more in the next room, if you feel like re-joining the party.”

“Not particularly.” She huffed, folding her arms over her chest only to further accentuate her breasts. “Draco’s been fallowing me around like a lost puppy all night, I could really use a break.”

“And if I asked you to leave?” He tested, pining her with a stern gaze.

“I’d say tough. You don’t own this space, I have just a much right to be here as you do.” She never had yielded to his dominance.

“Well then.” He outstretched his arm to her, offering up his renewed glass of whiskey. “You might as well enjoy yourself while you’re here.”

Y/N accepted with a smile and a wink. Severus remained stoic, attempting to seem unfazed by her gesture. Y/N always knew Severus would be a tough nut to crack if this day came. But after years of dealing with a pining Draco, she could use the challenge.

“Why are you hauled up in here anyway? Avoiding someone?”

“Everyone.”

Severus couldn’t peel his eyes away from her mouth as she drank form his glass, her crimson lips staining the rim of the crystal. He felt his pulse quicken when her tongue darted out to collect any remnants of the amber liquid from her lips.

“Everyone?” She looked at him inquisitively, returning the glass to him. “Then why come at all if all you’re going to do is hide away in here the whole night.”

“Lucius is a friend. The least I can do is show face, but beyond I have no interest in attending these infernal events. So, I simply wait it out in here until such time as it is appropriate to leave.”

“Does it never occur to you that had you to actually venture out into the crowds, you might meet someone to help pass the time. A woman perhaps?”

Severus laughed into his glass, being careful to avoid the spot her mouth had just been. He knew this was her way of testing him, unfortunately he couldn’t help but fall for her bait; hook, line and sinker.

“I have no interest in any of the woman beyond that door.” His eyes finally met hers, their intense gazes boring into one another. A challenge to make the first move.

“What about those within this room, professor.” Y/N dared to venture.

That final word shook Severus back to reality; the sudden realisation that he was entering dangerous territory with a former student had him eager to make a swift exit.

“I think that may be my queue to go.” He set his now empty glass back on the counter.

“Wait. Stay for one more.” She pleaded, gripping his bicep in one last desperate attempt. It worked, Severus hesitated at her touch.

“It may have escaped your notice, Miss Y/L/N, but not only is the bottle finished, but so too is my glass. There is no ‘one more’.”

“I know where Lucius keeps his private stash. Draco and I would break into it all the time when we were younger.”

Despite his brain telling him it was time to go, Snape couldn’t resist the appeal of the young woman in front of him; her doe like eyes begging him to stay. It was obvious she was just as enticed by him as he was of her. And the fact remained; she was no longer his student. Still, it seemed wrong somehow.

“That would explain all those parties in the Slytherin common room I was forced to disband.” Severus raised a questioning brow.

“Guilty.” She smirked.

“You know those were the bane of my life. Dealing with drunk and hungover underage students wasn’t exactly how I planned to spend my weekends.”

“Just be grateful I was smart enough to avoid you, I can be quite the handful when I’m drunk.”

Severus didn’t know when she had gotten close to him again, but he wasn’t opposed to the way her hand rested on his chest as she fidgeted with the button of his robes.

“Show me.” He swallowed, nodding down to her.

Y/N led Severus through a door in the kitchen, to a wine cellar in the basement. In the corner of the room stood a solitary shelf of finely-aged whiskey, worth more than two teenagers could have even comprehended.

Snape watched on as the woman struggled to reach the top shelf where the best whiskey was kept. He made no attempt to look away when the hem of her dress began to slowly rise over the curve of her ass. He no longer felt so guilty checking her out down here in the dark.

“Clever girl.” Severus purred when Y/N handed him a dusty bottle for him to inspect. “These are what you stole?”

Y/N bit her lip and looked down guiltily.

“I don’t think we realised how expensive they were at the time. We just wanted to have a bit of fun.”

“Mmm. You always were trouble.” He eyed her once more.

“Still am.” She winked again.

Y/N led Severus back to the kitchen, leaving no trace of them behind besides the empty space on he shelf she had no intention of filling.

Despite the kitchen being full of glass and crystal ware, Severus opted to pour another singular glass for the two of them to share.

Y/N watched on fervently as Severus brought the glass to his lips, this time placing his mouth directly over where her lips had been. God, how she wished to know what his lips felt like on her, what he tasted like.

“Good?” She continued to look up at him, practically drooling now.

“Delicious.”

Y/N watched in awe as her ex-professor absent-mindedly run his tongue along a small part of the glass.

Without thought, Y/N brought a thumb to his mouth, brushing the pad gently across his bottom lip.

“Lipstick.” She explained. “Can’t have you leaving here looking like that, people will talk.”

“And what, exactly, will people say.” Severus closer to the young witch, his inhibitions slowly fading which each gulp of alcohol.

“They’d think you were with a woman.” She started, her voice now barely a whisper. “Of course, they wouldn’t know who at first. But seeing that colour on your lips, they’d begin to speculate. And when they saw me follow you out of here… We’ll they’d put two and two together, and jump to a whole lot of conclusions.”

“What sort of conclusions?” He passed the whiskey to her, allowing him to move closer still, their bodies close enough to touch.

“All kinds of things. The most obvious being that we kissed, but their minds wouldn’t stop there. Two people, alone in the kitchen at a party, we could have been up to anything in here.” With every word she spoke she drew Severus in closer, her lips calling to him like a siren to a sailor. “They’d assume we kissed. Maybe, we made out. But ultimately, they’re going to think we had sex. A teacher and his ex-student. How scandalous. There would be rumours about us; what we did in here. They’d say I seduced you with my body. They’d say you got me drunk. They’d say we fucked right here in the Malfoy’s kitchen, all while Draco searched the party for his supposed date.”

The mention of Draco began to boil Severus’ blood, he wasn’t oblivious to how close the pair were and he knew, if given the chance, Draco would have Y/N for his own. He wasn’t about to let that happen.

“Then let’s give them a reason to talk.” Severus stated firmly.

With his permission, Y/N threw herself at Severus. Her lips crashing to his hungrily. Like a starving hyena finally eating after being denied it’s prey for so long.

Practically throwing the whiskey glass aside, Y/N wrapped her arms around Severus’ neck, pulling her body closer to his. Severus felt his way around her; one hand coming to rest on the side of her face, the other gripping her rear possessively. The two became deaf to the world around them. Passion taking over as they devoured the other breathlessly.

Letting himself get carried away in the moment, it never occurred to Severus to move to a less public location. All sense of propriety gone with the taste of her lips.

Gripping her by her thighs, Severus lifted Y/N onto one of the kitchen cabinets, positioning himself between her open legs. Feeling the hardness of his cock at her core, Y/N let out a strangled moan.

Severus broke for breath, kissing his way down her exposed neck and chest, occasionally nipping at her pale white skin. Seconds before Snape was about to rip off the woman’s dress and fuck her in the middle of the kitchen island, footsteps and voices grew louder as they approached.

“Have you checked the kitchen, Draco? She can’t have gone far.”

“Not yet father, I’m just about to look.”

“Shit.”

“Fuck.” The pair swore in unison.

Y/N quickly jumped from her spot on the counter, making sure to right any clothing that may have gone awry. Severus let out a frustrated snarl at being torn away from Y/N.

“I’m going to kill that di-“

“Y/N?” Draco called out upon entering the room.

Neither Snape nor Y/N made an attempt to move away from the other.

“There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“Sorry Draco.” Y/N replied through gritted teeth. “I ran into Professor Snape. We we’re just catching up.”

“I see.” The younger Malfoy eyed them suspiciously. “My father is about to make an announcement, he wants everyone to gather in the drawing room.”

“Of course.” She smiled falsely, making to meet Draco by the door.

“Here.” Severus stopped her, clenching his jaw and handing over the almost full glass of whiskey. “You’ll need it.”

“Thank you.” She grinned, lingering when his hand brushed against hers.

The three of them exited the kitchen and made their way through the manor; Severus taking a different route from the others, letting himself get lost in the crowd.

As soon as he was out of her sight, Y/N started to panic that she had missed her shot at the one thing she had been dreaming about since she was 15 years old. Draco had interrupted what was easily the hottest make out session of her life and now there seemed to be no chance of her and Snape actually finishing what they had started.

“What were you and Snape doing in the kitchen for so long?” Draco finally broke the awkward silence that had developed.

“Hmm. Oh, we we’re just having a drink together and chatted about all those times you and I pissed him off with our parties in the common room.”

“What are you drinking? What happened to the one I gave you?” He didn’t even seem to be listening to a word she was saying.

“Erm… I finished it. Sev- Snape poured me a glass of his whiskey.”

“That’s unusually kind of him.” Draco’s intense stare burned a hole in the side of her face.

“I suppose.” She shrugged. “I guess he just likes me.”

Draco didn’t get the chance to object before his father’s voice echoed through the room.

Zoning out after Lucius thanked everyone for coming, Y/N immediately began scanning the crowd for her beloved professor.

Having no luck even after the party commenced, Y/N downed the remains of her drink and followed Draco as he led her into the hall for a more private conversation. Backing her against the wall, Y/N had no way to escape the agony she was about to endure, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed.

“Y/N.” He began with a deep breath. “As you know, we’ve been best friends since our first day at Hogwarts. Our families have been intwined since before either of us were even born. We’ve had our fair share of fun together; both as friends and otherwise.” He hinted towards the few drunken nights where they had casually hooked up. It had meant nothing to Y/N, clearly Draco did not feel the same way.

“This year I have felt our relationship has evolved past friendship, and I think it may be time we take the next step. I like you, Y/N. I want you to become my girlfriend, officially.”

“Draco…” She sighed. They had been over this before, she wasn’t interested in being anything other than friends, he just couldn’t take the hint.

Before she had a chance to break the bad news to him a shadow fell over the pair; Severus Snape towered behind Draco, slapping a large hand on his suited shoulder.

“I’m afraid, Mr Malfoy, I do not believe Y/N is interested in pursuing a relationship with you.”

“Professor Snape.” Draco puffed his chest out, trying hard to hide the look of intimidation evident on his face. “With all due respect I don’t think this has anything to do with you.”

Severus moved the boy aside with ease, positioning himself between his two former students.

“I suggest you leave now, Malfoy, before your feelings get hurt.”

Severus did not warn him again. Instead, he took the opportunity to take Y/N in his arms and pick up exactly where they left off.

“Oh, thank god.” Y/N gasped, clutching at him desperately.

Just as passionately as before, Y/N captured Severus’ mouth with her own, pulling him in by his robes until their bodies were backed up against the wall.

“Want to get out of here?” Severus mumbled against her mouth.

“Fuck yes.”

Ignoring a dumbfounded Draco, the Potions Master and his former student made their way out of Malfoy Manor unable to keep their hands off one another.

Y/N’s dream was finally about to come true.

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ms-snape · 7 months ago

Note

Ok I have the sweetest idea! Can you please write severus with a female reader who is just fascinated with his long hair and asks to style it for him, nothing crazy but you know bows like lucius or braids

Title: For me?

Warning: None, just pure fluff

Words Count: 1000+

Masterlist

---

In the dimly lit corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where shadows danced in the flickering candlelight, Y/N flitted through the halls like a vibrant breath of fresh air. As the Herbology professor, she was well-versed in nurturing both plants and the students who so often found themselves enchanted by her passion. However, it was not just her lessons that captured the attention of those around her; it was the way she lit up at the mere mention of Severus Snape, the brooding Potions Master with a heart as deep as the dungeons he called home.

Severus, with his raven-black hair that cascaded like a dark waterfall, was a source of quiet intrigue. Though he preferred solitude, he found solace in Y/N’s company. Her laughter echoed like music, warming the cold stone walls of the castle. But there was one aspect of Severus that Y/N simply could not resist—his hair. To her, it was not merely an accessory but a canvas, a tapestry waiting for her gentle hands to weave magic into it.

“Severus, please,” Y/N implored one evening, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they lounged in the cozy confines of their shared place. A fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow that illuminated her face, highlighting the way her cheeks flushed with excitement. “Just let me style it once! I promise you’ll love it.”

Severus raised an eyebrow, his usual expression of stoic annoyance morphing into mild amusement. “I do not believe that would be appropriate, Y/N,” he replied, his voice low and measured, though there was an undeniable softness to his tone. “My hair is not a toy for your amusement.”

With a dramatic pout that could rival even the most skilled of performers, Y/N crossed her arms, her lower lip jutting out in a way that made her look irresistibly adorable. “But it would be so much fun! And you have such beautiful hair! It deserves to be styled, not left to hang limply like a neglected broom.”

Severus fought to suppress a smile, the corners of his mouth betraying him. She had a way of disarming him, of stripping away his defenses with her infectious enthusiasm. “It is merely hair,” he muttered, attempting to maintain his facade of indifference.

“But it’s your hair,” she insisted, her voice rising slightly in excitement. “It has character! Just think of the potential!”

He sighed, knowing full well that her stubbornness would not easily be swayed. “Y/N,” he began, a hint of exasperation creeping into his tone, “I hardly see how this is—”

“Just once!” she interrupted, leaning closer, her eyes wide and pleading. “For me?”

For a moment, the world outside their bubble faded away. Severus felt the weight of her gaze on him, filled with an earnestness that tugged at something deep within his chest. He took a breath, allowing himself to be swept up in the moment. “Fine,” he relented, the word escaping his lips almost against his will. “But only for a moment.”

Y/N’s face lit up with unrestrained joy, and in that instant, all of Severus’s reservations melted away like snow beneath the sun. He could not deny her anything when she looked at him like that.

“Yay!” she squealed, her voice a melody of delight. She quickly ushered him to a nearby chair, her hands moving with purpose as she began to untangle the strands of his hair. As her fingers slipped through the silky locks, Severus felt a strange mixture of vulnerability and warmth. He was accustomed to being the one in control, yet here he was, yielding to her playful whims.

“Your hair is so soft,” she remarked, a hint of awe in her voice. “Have you been using that conditioning potion I recommended?”

“Perhaps,” he replied, feigning nonchalance even as he felt his heart rate quicken at her touch. The way she concentrated, her brows slightly furrowed, made her even more endearing. He watched as she sectioned his hair, her movements precise and graceful.

“Now, let’s see,” she murmured to herself, her focus unwavering. “A braid? A twist? No… I know!” With a burst of inspiration, she began to weave his hair into intricate patterns, her fingers dancing like a skilled artist. Severus felt a surge of warmth at her dedication, each tug and pull both comforting and invigorating.

As she worked, they exchanged soft, teasing banter, laughter spilling from their lips like the most precious potion. Y/N’s enthusiasm was contagious, and soon even Severus found himself enjoying the process. She recounted tales of her students’ antics in the greenhouse, her expressive gestures painting vivid images that made him chuckle despite himself.

“I’ve decided this is the look you should adopt,” Y/N announced triumphantly, securing the final braid with a delicate ribbon. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, her eyes sparkling with delight.

Severus caught his reflection in the nearest mirror, and for the first time, he saw something different—something that spoke of connection, of warmth, and of a world beyond the cold, dark potions and brewing shadows that had long defined him. “It appears I have been transformed into a woodland sprite,” he remarked dryly, but the corners of his mouth betrayed the fondness he felt.

Y/N clapped her hands, bouncing on her heels. “You look incredible! I can’t believe you ever doubted this.” She stepped forward, her fingers brushing against his cheek as she leaned in, eyes softening. “I love seeing this side of you.”

In that moment, the air crackled with an unspoken truth. Severus felt an overwhelming swell of affection for her—how she brought light into his otherwise somber existence. Her laughter filled the silence he had grown so accustomed to, and he couldn’t help but admire the way her passion made even the darkest corners of the castle feel alive.

“Perhaps,” he began, the words feeling foreign yet exhilarating on his tongue, “I could tolerate such transformations more often, provided it remains… just between us.”

Y/N beamed, her joy radiant and uncontained. “Deal! But next time, I’m trying out a crown braid!”

As she leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, Severus felt the weight of his walls crumbling further. In her presence, he was not merely the Potions Master; he was something more—something hopeful, something cherished. Together, they sat in the soft glow of the firelight, a tangle of hair and heart, weaving a bond that transcended the very magic of the world around them.

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sevilynne · 10 months ago

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"B—but... Snivellus is a death eater..."

Listen here, you little shit. For Severus, he got neglected by BOTH parents (and it was implied that he was abused both physically and mentally as well.), gets bullied by two boys because he wanted to go to Slytherin (who sneers back and ends up getting bullied), almost gets killed and Sirius nor Remus gets any consequences other than detention (Really? Is his life worth detention and not Azkaban?), James flexes it to Lily and Lily starts believing James over the victim, Severus accidentally calls his bestfriend a mudblood over the heat of the situation (Lily was about to smile, when James literally used scorgify in his mouth), loses the person thay cared for him the most compared to others (Which Lily isn't even a good friend, so his life is messed up), with Remus and Sirius not maturing (Sirius still calls Severus "Snivellus", and Remus and Sirius spreading lies like "Severus was jealous of James" or "Lily never hated James," when it's the other way around!!! James was jealous of Severus because he existed and Lily was his best friend!

Now his blood supremacist friends are basically recruiting him, and helping him on the way! Basically, the "bad side" is his good side! They are the only ones who "cared" for him when he needed help! He was a death eater for a reason, and people manipulating him because he was vulnerable is a reason.

The audacity of stans trying to make a hotter version of Severus—Regulus? Regulus is basically a walmart Severus but Timothée Chalamet dressed up in wizard robes! If Regulus was told as ugly, nobody would boohoo care about him.

Y'all only hate Severus and love Regulus because J.K. Rowling never made a Marauders era movie! Regulus is basically a blood supremacist with Voldemort shrines and posters who'd call Lily a mudblood! While Severus is basically bullied on a daily basis.

You guys got to see Severus's good and bad things! Like him "bullying" children, but saved the wizarding world. Literally, maybe he targeted children, but so did Minerva! Minerva literally targeted Neville and locked him outside of the Gryffindor common room when there's an apparent psycho killer, and humiliated him infront of everyone! But we all never see that because we are in Harry's POV, she favours him—she only took points and she was apparently fair because Harry's BIASED!!! Just like how all Slytherins are portrayed because of Hagrid and Ron!!! She favours Gryffindor just like how Severus favours Slytherin, except she takes big points away (which is from Gryffindors she doesn't like) and when she's infront of the professors!

Severus is a morally grey character, and Regulus? We basically time skipped him, we skipped all of the bad things he has done while we never skipped Severus's, that's why you don't have a bad opinion about him, but really! In the Marauders timeline, Regulus was a Voldemort fanboy while Severus literally had stuff happening.

This is why you don't hate James Potter, you guys basically skipped HIS timeline and moved to Harry's, which Severus is portrayed to be this big bad bully until DH! And that's why Harry "Snape's #1 Biggest Hater" Potter's vision changed to "Snape's #1 Biggest Defender", just like how his vision changed from "My father is a great man" to "I fucking hate my own father".

But you guys are so deep into these fanfics like CR (Crimson Rivers) or ATYD (All the Young Dudes) that you all forget about canon lore! He physically assaulted, sexually assaulted, and mentally exhausted Severus! We're not throwing the SA word around, because lets think of this:

———

Lily let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but her wand being ten feet away, nothing happened.

“Wash out your mouth,” said James coldly. “Scourgify!”

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Lily’s mouth at once; the froth was covering her lips, making her gag, choking her —

“Leave her ALONE!”

James and Sirius looked around. James’s free hand jumped to his hair again.

It was one of the boys from the lake edge. He had black hair that fell to his shoulders and startlingly onyx eyes.

“All right, Snape?” said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature.

“Leave her alone,” Severus repeated. He was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. “What’s she done to you?”

“Well,” said James, appearing to deliberate the point, “it’s more the fact that she exists, if you know what I mean...”

Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn’t, and neither did Severus.

“You think you’re funny,” he said coldly. “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave her alone."

Behind her, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Lily was beginning to inch toward her fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled.

“Bad luck, Prongs,” said Sirius briskly, turning back to Evans. “OY!”

But too late; Lily had directed her wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood.

James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Lily was hanging upside down in the air, her robes falling over her head to reveal skinny legs and a skirt.

Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter. Severus, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though he was going to smile, said, “Let her down!”

“Certainly,” said James and he jerked his wand upward. Evans fell into a crumpled heap on the ground.

Disentangling herself from her robes, she got quickly to her feet, wand up, but Sirius said, “Petrificus Totalus!” and Lily keeled over again at once, rigid as a board.

“LEAVE HER ALONE!” Severus shouted. He had his own wand out now. James and Sirius eyed it warily.

“Ah, Snape, don’t make me hex you,” said James earnestly.

“Take the curse off her, then!”

James sighed deeply, then turned to Lily and muttered the countercurse.

“There you go,” he said, as Lily struggled to her feet again, “you’re lucky Snape was here, Evans —”

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like him!" (Severus is canonically a Mudblood because he has dirty blood—Muggle blood)

Severus blinked.

“Fine,” he said coolly. “I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your skirt if I were you, Evans.”

“Apologize to Snape!” James roared at Evans, his wand pointed threateningly at her.

“I don’t want you to make her apologize,” Severus shouted, rounding on James. “You’re as bad as she is.”

“What?” yelped James. “I’d NEVER call you a — you-know-what!”

“[...], walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.”

He turned on his heel and hurried away.

“Snape!” James shouted after him, “Hey, SNAPE!” But he didn’t look back.

“What is it with him?” said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him.

“Reading between the lines, I’d say he thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,” said Sirius.

“Right,” said James, who looked furious now, “right —”

There was another flash of light, and Evans was once again hanging upside down in the air.

“Who wants to see me take off Evans’s skirt?”

———

Now, let's see if this isn't messed up. This is humiliating! Why did Severus leave his female best friend when she was being PA'd and SA'd by a male! Why did he take out his wand too late? Why is he such a coward?

Gender roles do matter in this context, no matter if Severus considers this as SA or not, it's SA and he got his pants stripped down, but it doesn't matter, he's a boy isn't he?

If this was Lily, everyone would care, but no! It's greasy, slimy, old Snape, and he's a boy.

Sirius nor James used dark spells, but they were pretty much using hexes so it doesn't matter—they are basically baby DE bullies but Gryffindors.

Stop attacking Severus and start thinking about this, because he was just a boy.

A lot of people (Not all) cared for Harry when Myrtle basically tried to SA him, why not Severus? He was stripped infront of the whole school! (Not invalidating Harry's trauma), this is just so messed up.

#severus snape #pro severus snape #harry potter #marauders era #i fucking hate james potter

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shrimpalbuspotter · 2 months ago

Text

Severitus fic where little Harry, around 7 or 8, is an avid reader of fairytale books because he can imagine himself in another world. He loves all the ones about Knights saving Princesses from tall towers, and although he'd never call himself a princess, it was always his favourite scenario to imagine getting saved by a Knight in Shining Armour. One day he writes his own fairytale, where a Knight saves the young Prince from a troupe of evil monsters who had kidnapped him as a baby, and slaughtered his family. The Knight is everything Harry wants in a Dad personality wise, but he also had to look badass, so Harry drew him like the illustrations in his book, sharp boned men with long blonde locks and beautiful blue eyes, but instead gave him black hair and black eyes, so he could scare off all the bad guys. You know, all that good stuff. Harry adores the story so much, and he begins imagining his Knight whenever he's scared.

Upon a series of events which could cause Severus Snape to be sent for a Welfare check, because Dumbledore insisted a friendly face would help ease Petunias mind, Harry is met face to face with a man who has a shocking resemblance to his Knight(a little more grouchy looking than expected, and he'd imagined more luxurius hair, oh, and the nose was a tad big, but Harry had just been drawing dots so he couldnt complain), and coincidentally shows up at a time where he was getting seriously reprimanded by a red faced Vernon, who had a folded over belt in hand.

Harry is convinced Snape was actually his Knight, and from some unknown force he'd imagined him into existence. Meanwhile we have Vernon now screaming at Snape, who was ignoring him to focus on his conversation with a Sour faced Petunia, detailing why exactly he was here.

But anyway. More shit happens and basically Harry is taken away from the Dursleys by Snape and the whole fic is him following Severus around and calling him "Sir Snape", accepting everything about magic because it just further explains how he magicked his character into reality. He's also truly convinced he's a Prince, because Snape takes him directly to Hogwarts, a humongous castle, and everyone is treating him with utter importance. It's just meant to be fluffy okay but I think it'd be interesting if the POVS switched and with Severus it's alot darker, because at the point where he does care for Harry he's going through a whole "I can't look after him and work with the Dark Lord its too dangerous" thing, and it's just crazy whiplash jumping between the povs with Harry being filled with joyous fairytale whimsy and Snape going through the horrors. He's basically acting like a Knight through pov, because he's taking all the hits and Harry is allowed to just have some fun for most of it.

For endgame it'd be rather normal adoption or blood adoption so the wards stayed up. Thats probably my favourite route for a Severitus fic to go. It would be self indulgent as hell if I decided to write it.

OK thanks for my coming to my presentation

#harry potter #hp #severus snape #severitus #i love little Harry and late 20s Snape trying to exist around eachother

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writingpandagoth · 2 months ago

Note

Idea for request. Some woman flirt with Severus and y/n is jelaous. Severus handles the situation well and show Y/n that she is the one.

(If you write smut, he can show her at home in bed how he love her 😈, but it doesn’t have to be)

uffff!😭

I am telling you I was shaking and screaming and had about three mental breakdowns writing this but I have done it. (I am sorry)

After years I actually wrote real smut again.

I hope it is enjoyable.😅😂

This story contains sexual happenings

This is only for those of age so anyone under 18 I have loads of other stories you could read please fo not read this one.

Authors Note: contains a dumb bitch who is trying to steal our man, Possessive behavior, Marking, Unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, oral (female receiving) basically just some good hard fucking (again Im sorry). There is also aftercare because I don't do sex scenes without proper care afterwards.

My Only One

The dungeon quarters are always quiet in the early hours—before the castle wakes, before the halls fill with adolescent chaos. Down here, it’s just the low crackle of the fireplace and the gentle clink of mugs as you set two on the small table.

You’re in on of Severus's robes, hair pulled up haphazardly, sleeves rolled to your elbows. Steam curls from the teapot. The scent of bergamot mixes with something faintly smoky—Severus’s blend, always sharper than yours.

A pair of arms snake around your waist from behind.

You don’t need to turn to know it’s him. The way his hands settle—firm, steady—says everything. Not a request. A claim. You lean back into him with a small, content sigh.

“You’re up early,” you murmur.

His voice is rough with sleep. “Didn’t want you leaving the bed without me.”

“You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

You smile.

His lips brush the side of your neck, not quite a kiss—just enough heat to make your breath catch. One of his hands slides over your stomach, fingers flexing possessively through the thin fabric of your robe.

“Severus,” you say, soft but amused, “I’m trying to make tea.”

“You’re always trying to do something,” he mutters. “Just stand still for a moment.”

You do. And he holds you, cheek resting against your temple, arms tight around your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

This is what most people don’t see—the version of him that’s quiet and warm and a little selfish when it comes to you. Not the fearsome professor, not the sharp-tongued Potions Master. Just a man who likes to hold you before the day begins.

Eventually, he releases you with a final squeeze. You pour the tea. He sits, black robes already pulled on, collar askew from rushing. You cross the room and fix it without a word, fingers brushing the hollow of his throat.

He watches you the entire time.

“Professor Selwyn arrives today,” he says, breaking the silence. “Arithmancy.”

You hum. “I read her file. Transferred from the Prague Institute. Good reputation. A little…flashy.”

He arches a brow. “You’ve seen her?”

“No,” you say. “But anyone who writes a seventeen-page self-introduction for a faculty dossier is looking to be noticed.”

He snorts. “We’ll see.”

You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Play nice.”

His hand wraps gently around your wrist as you pull away, and he looks up at you with something unreadable in his eyes. There’s a pause—weighted.

Then “You look particularly ravishable in my robe.”

You blink, surprised, heat blooming in your cheeks.

“Breakfast,” you say quickly, grabbing your wand to transfigure your clothes. “Now.”

He smirks, but doesn’t argue. That look follows you all the way to the Great Hall.

The staff table buzzed more than usual at breakfast.

Professor Flitwick was animated, chatting with Hooch about Quidditch prospects. Minerva wore her usual stern expression but with a flicker of amusement as the conversation floated around her. And at the far end of the table, freshly seated between Sprout and Vector, was her.

Professor Selwyn.

Blonde, sleek, poised—dressed in tailored navy robes that hugged her figure in all the places most people pretended not to notice. She smiled easily, laughed even easier, and introduced herself to every staff member like she’d already memorized their biographies.

You watched, not with malice—but with curiosity. She was pretty. Clearly intelligent. Magnetic in that effortless, practiced way.

It wasn’t until she turned her eyes toward the seat beside your partner that your stomach began to shift.

“Oh, Professor Snape,” she said, standing as he approached. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

He stopped short, only just concealing the pause.

“Have you,” he said flatly.

“Oh yes,” she purred. “Your papers on counter-poisons are still referenced at Durmstrang. I’m actually hoping you’ll let me audit a few of your sixth-year classes—strictly for professional development, of course.”

Severus slid into his chair beside you with a nod that was neither warm nor dismissive. “As long as you don’t interrupt my teaching, I don’t see why not.”

You sipped your tea slowly.

Selwyn sat too. But not before placing her hand briefly on his shoulder.

It lingered.

You didn’t react. Not yet. But you felt Severus go still beside you, just for a second. Then he reached for his tea as if nothing happened.

Throughout the meal, Selwyn continued: asking him questions about potion storage, classroom ventilation, ingredient sourcing from the Balkans.

She never looked at you once.

When breakfast ended, you moved to stand. So did Severus, silently beside you as always. Selwyn leaned forward.

“Oh—Professor Snape,” she said, voice dropping slightly. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to give me a tour of the dungeons sometime this week? I hear you’ve made some… personal modifications.”

He glanced at her, then at you.

Your expression didn’t waver.

“I’ll consider it,” he said curtly.

Her smile widened.

You walked out of the Great Hall without speaking. He followed.

When you reached the end of the corridor, you finally said, “She’s bold.”

“She’s transparent,” he replied. “And annoying.”

“She knows we’re together.”

“Yes.”

“And she still touches you.”

He stopped walking. Turned.

“Would you like me to publicly hex her?” he asked, deadpan.

You tried to hide your smile. “Not yet.”

He stepped closer, voice low.

“Then stop looking at me like you think I’ve already betrayed you.”

You blinked.

“I haven’t,” he added. “And I won’t.”

With that, he turned and walked away, robes sweeping behind him.

You watched him go, stomach tight with something hot and unspoken. Something told you Selwyn wasn’t finished.

And neither were you.

You weren’t looking for her but she was always there.

In the staff lounge, draped over a chair near Severus, flipping through some textbook she clearly didn’t need, laughing too loudly at something he didn’t even say.

In the corridors, catching up with him conveniently right outside your classroom door, brushing imaginary lint from his sleeve with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

At staff meetings, leaning across the table, whispering something behind her hand, smiling like a secret.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

You knew Severus. You trusted him. He wasn’t warm to strangers and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna fall for a flirtatious giggling woman who believed she was above everything.

But Selwyn didn’t care about subtlety—or boundaries.

You watched it happen again that afternoon.

The two of them walking ahead of you down the dungeon corridor, Selwyn’s laugh echoing off the stone. She reached out and touched his arm—again.

You caught up. She didn’t move her hand.

“Oh, Professor Y/L/N,” she said with false surprise. “Didn’t see you there.”

“Obviously,” you said flatly.

Severus didn’t look at her just stared straight ahead, jaw tight.

She dropped her hand but didn’t look the least bit sorry.

“I was just telling Severus—can I call you Severus?—that I might need some help re-stabilizing my supply closet. I’ve had so many issues with shrinkage spells lately.”

“Hire a house-elf,” you said, not bothering to smile.

Selwyn laughed like it was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. “Oh, you’re funny.”

Then, sweet as sugar: “You’re so lucky, really. He’s… a mystery, isn’t he?”

You stared at her. “He’s not a mystery to me.”

“Mm.” She leaned in a little, voice just low enough. “Well, I know he takes a little...melting but I am sure if I tried more he wouldn't be able to resist me.”

Something snapped behind your ribs. Severus stopped walking. Turned around slowly.

Selwyn froze.

His voice was ice. “Professor Selwyn, I suggest you remember who you’re speaking in front of.”

She blinked. “Of course. I didn’t mean anything. it was just harmless fun.”

You didn’t wait to hear more. You brushed past them both and kept walking. You knew better than to show weakness in front of her but your hands were trembling by the time you reached your office.

That night, you said nothing. Not during dinner. Not during your grading beside Severus. Not even when he leaned over and kissed your shoulder before bed.

You turned off the light and stared at the ceiling, every nerve buzzing.

You trusted him. But she was chipping away at something you didn’t even realize was fragile.

And worse?

She knew it.

It was late.

The halls were dim, lit only by the occasional torch. Most of the castle had gone quiet, students tucked into dormitories, staff tucked into their routines.

You were heading to Severus’s office, planning to drop off the final version of the interdepartmental syllabus revisions—mundane, but necessary.

Then you saw her.

Professor Selwyn, stepping out of his office.

She wasn’t in work robes anymore. Just a soft, fitted blouse that had way to many buttons open and dark trousers. Hair down. A single glass in her hand—half-drained wine, dark red.

She didn’t look startled to see you. If anything, she looked... smug.

“Oh,” she said sweetly, pausing in the corridor. “I didn't expected to see you here. We were having an intense... discussion.”

She tilted the glass as if to toast you. “To my success”

You didn’t answer her. You didn’t need to. The door to Severus’s office was still ajar. You pushed it open and stepped inside.

He looked up from behind his desk, startled. The glass in front of him still full. His posture was rigid, arms crossed, dark eyes unreadable.

“She just left,” he said coolly.

“I saw.” you replied, closing the door behind you.

There was silence. Thick and sharp.

“She brought wine,” you said. “And dressed like that. To your office. At night.”

“I didn’t drink it.”

“She still came.”

“She comes everywhere,” he muttered, standing now. “I didn’t invite her.”

You stared at him, heart hammering.

“Do you enjoy it?” The question came out low. Raw. “The attention? The way she fawns over you? Touches you in front of me like I’m not even there?”

His face darkened. “You think I want her?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, Severus,” you said. “She walks around like she’s already won. Like she knows something I don’t.”

He moved quickly—around the desk, toward you. Not angry. Focused.

“You think I’d throw away what I have with you,” he said, voice hard, “for her?”

“What am I supposed to think? You never say anything.”

He stopped in front of you. Close now. His voice dropped to a near-whisper.

“Then listen now very carefully.”

His hand came up—slow, controlled—and curled around the back of your neck. Not rough. Steady. Grounding.

“I didn’t say anything because I didn’t think I had to. Because I thought what we had was obvious. Unshakable.”

You swallowed.

His thumb brushed your jaw.

“But if she’s made you question it—question me—then I’ve failed to show you something I should have from the start.”

He leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours.

“So let me show you now.”

His mouth crashed into yours, messy and hard, teeth knocking yours as he shoved you back against the stone wall like he couldn’t wait another second. One hand curled around your waist, the other buried in your hair, anchoring you there. Not hurting—but holding. Claiming.

“You really think I want her?” he rasped into your mouth, voice gravel-rough and low, his breath hot against your skin.

“You think I’d look at anyone else when I already have you?”

His mouth dropped to your neck, biting hard—no gentle warning, just teeth and tongue and a sharp inhale from your lungs. You gasped, fingers clutching the back of his cloak as his body pressed against yours, thick and hot and unyielding.

“I see the way you burn when she touches me,” he growled, dragging his mouth down your throat.

“I feel it. Do you really think I’d waste a single fucking second of my life on anyone who isn’t you?”

You whimpered—because you didn’t have a good answer. Because you’d let the insecurity get in. Because the way he was holding you, speaking to you, consuming you—there was no room for anyone else in this heat. It was him. Only him.

“Get over here,” he snapped

He yanked you up into his arms like you weighed nothing, sweeping everything off his desk with one arm and set you down on the edge. Papers scattered, a quill rolled to the floor, the still full wine glass shattered on the floor.

But you didn't care you were pulling at his robes with shaking hands.

“I’m going to fuck you so thoroughly you won’t remember your own name,” he growled, dragging your clothes off piece by piece. “The only thing in your head will be me.”

He kissed you again—filthy, tongue and teeth, nothing controlled. His fingers slipped beneath your panties, finding you wet and ready, and he groaned into your mouth.

“Fuck, you’re already soaked for me”

“Yes,” you gasped. “Only you—always you.”

That made something inside him break.

He dropped to his knees ripping your panties off you, hooked your legs over his shoulders, and buried his face between your thighs like a man possessed. He didn’t tease—he devoured. Tongue licking up your cunt before sucking on your clit, hands gripping your thighs so tight you knew there’d be bruises. And you wanted them.

Your head fell back. Legs spread. Voice gone.

“Fuck—Severus—oh god—”

“That’s it,” he murmured, the vibration of his voice against your core sending shocks up your spine.

“Make those sounds. Let the whole castle know who’s got you like this.”

You were already trembling, fingers twisted in his hair, thighs trying to close around his head. He growled, shoved them open again.

“Don’t fucking hide from me.”

You sobbed his name, trembling, unraveling as he worked you with relentless focus—like he needed you to fall apart to breathe again.

You came the first time with his name on your lips, body jerking, vision blurred.

But he didn’t stop.

His tongue only left you long enough for his fingers to take over—two of them sliding deep, curling just right, and then three—stretching you, fucking into you slow and deep while his mouth came back down over your clit with maddening devotion.

The sounds—wet, obscene, perfect—filled the room, and you couldn’t even form words anymore. Just broken moans and sharp cries, your thighs shaking violently as he dragged another orgasm out of you like it was his purpose.

Another.

And another.

You were crying now—literally—tears slipping down your cheeks from the sheer, overwhelming intensity. The pleasure blurred into pain, back into pleasure. Your whole body burned.

And still, his fingers pumped into you, slick and relentless, his mouth murmuring praises against you like a prayer.

“Look at you,” he said, lifting his head just long enough to see you falling apart. His mouth glistened, his fingers still buried in you, slowly curling just right again.

“Fucking ruined. And I haven’t even been inside you yet.”

His voice was reverent—darkly tender.

“Everything she wants? You already own it.”

He pulled his fingers out slowly, dragging your slick across your inner thighs like a mark, then brought them to your lips.

“Open.”

You did. And you tasted yourself as he slid them in, watching you with dark, burning eyes.

“She’ll never get this,” he growled, voice low and wrecked. “She’ll never get to feel me like this.”

He licked his lips when he stood, eyes black with hunger.

“You’re never going to doubt me again,” he growled. “I’m going to make you scream so that she can hear.”

He stripped fast. Shirt, trousers, everything gone and slammed his mouth against yours again—deep, messy, consuming. You clawed at his back, dragging him closer, needing him like oxygen.

He lined himself up—thick, hot, already pulsing—and pressed the tip of his cock right against your entrance.

And stopped.

You gasped. Eyes flying open, body trembling with frustration.

He didn’t move.

Just held you there—stretched just barely, the threat of fullness teasing your every nerve ending. He looked down at you, gaze wild, jaw tight with restraint.

“You want it?” he asked, voice dark silk. “You want me to fuck you like she doesn’t exist? Like there’s never been anyone but you?”

“Severus, please—”

He dipped his head to your throat, biting gently.

“I want to hear you beg for it.”

You were already breathless, already wrecked from the buildup alone. Your hands clutched his arms, thighs shaking.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please—I need you—I need you to fuck me.”

And that was all it took.

He growled—deep, possessive—and then snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one, brutal thrust.

Your cry echoed through the stone room.

And then he was moving, fast and deep, every thrust a declaration, every groan a claim.

“You feel too good,” he gasped into your neck, moving hard and deep. “I could live inside you. I could stay like this forever.”

He moved fast, rough—hips slamming into yours with purpose, desk rattling beneath you. You couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. His name left your lips in broken sobs, your legs wrapping around him like you were afraid he might disappear if you didn’t hold tight enough.

“Tell me who owns you,” he snarled, his breath hot against your throat.

“You—fuck, Severus—you.”

“That’s right.” His hand wrapped around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding you in his intensity. “And you own me, love. All of me. There’s nothing left for anyone else. There never was and never will be.”

He kissed you again—ravenous and claiming. And then, suddenly, he pulled out, just enough to flip you onto your stomach against the desk. Your hands scrambled for purchase, cheek pressed to the cold wood as you panted, blinking hard to stay grounded.

Then he was back.

Thrusting in deeper this time, from behind—your back arched, his chest pressing over your back as he folded himself around you, one hand fisting in your hair, the other gripping your hip so tightly it bordered on bruising.

He fucked you like he needed to erase her—like he was carving it into your soul that you were his and he was yours.

“Let me fucking ruin you.” he growled into your ear.

You keened beneath him—helpless, soaked, completely gone.

He kept moving—deep, relentless, his cock dragging against every sweet, swollen nerve inside you—and your body betrayed you again. The orgasm hit with no warning, crashing through you like a tidal wave.

You sobbed as you came, whole body spasming beneath him, your voice breaking on his name.

“Look at you,” he rasped, pace savage now. “So fucking desperate for me. You were made for this—made for me. You’re mine. You’re mine.”

And still, he didn’t stop.

Your body trembled beneath him, overstimulated, soaked, wrecked in a way that left no doubt—you were completely, irreversibly his.

“I should stop,” he growled, hips still punishing. “But I can’t. Not when you feel this good. Not when your body’s begging me to stay.”

He pulled you up suddenly, pulling out to turn you around again chest to chest. He sat you on the edge of the desk again, his hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your thigh as he sank back into you again, deeper, over and over, voice raw against your ear.

“Let her fucking look,” he hissed. “Let her dream. She will never know what it’s like to be this full. To be this loved by me.”

You cried out again, the pressure mounting in your gut, your muscles tightening as you clung to him with everything left.

“One more,” he whispered. “Come for me one more time. I want to feel you fall apart while I fill you. I want to watch you break.”

And you did.

You shattered around him, body convulsing, voice torn from your throat as you came with everything you had left. His name was the only thing you could form, whispered like prayer, screamed like surrender.

Severus’s rhythm faltered—And when he came, it was violent—a full-body convulsion, a broken moan into your neck, his hips stuttering as he spilled inside you, burying himself to the hilt with one final, brutal thrust.

He held you through it, breath ragged, mouth pressed to your jaw as he whispered:

“You’re mine. You’ll always be mine. And I’m yours. Every fucking inch.”

Your body was limp against him, muscles twitching in the aftermath. The world had narrowed to his weight pressing into you, the soft sting between your legs, the heavy warmth of his release still inside you. Every part of you felt raw. Open. Owned.

Severus didn’t move right away. He just held you. Breathing hard. Face buried in your neck. One hand splayed wide across your back like he was still anchoring you. Like if he let go, you might disappear.

Eventually, he pulled back—just enough to see your face.

Your skin slick with sweat, your mind blank in that fragile, blissed-out way that made everything feel distant. But his hands were still steady. His voice, low and grounding. His body, wrapped around yours like a shield.

Then, without a word, he eased out of you, murmuring a quiet apology when you whimpered at the loss. He took his pants and pulled them on without a word before he reached for his robe and draped it around you still a little warm from his body, still smelling like clove and parchment and dark spice.

You blinked, dazed.

“Don’t want you getting cold,” he murmured, pulling the fabric around your shoulders and fastening the top button with gentle fingers.

Then, with one sweep of his wand, he cast a charm that tidied the desk, vanished the mess, and reset the room with practiced ease. He hooked one arm under your legs and the other around your back.

You didn’t protest.

He carried you through the hidden door that connected his office to your shared chambers, the one only you and he used. His grip on you never faltered—tight, secure, like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He laid you gently on the edge of the bed, then disappeared into the adjoining bathroom.

You heard the sound of water running. The clink of bottles. Steam began curling into the bedroom, scented faintly with lavender and bergamot. When he returned, he had shed the last of his clothes, his expression softer now—still intense, but more... tender.

He picked you up again—no warning, just warm arms, strong and sure.

“You’re not walking anywhere,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Not after that.”

You buried your face in his shoulder, letting yourself melt against him.

The bath was deep and hot, the surface scattered with herbs and oils that shimmered faintly in the candlelight. He stepped into the water with you still in his arms, settling you carefully in his lap, the robe slipping away as the warmth enveloped your skin.

He held you there, one arm wrapped around your waist, the other running a soft cloth over your thighs, your stomach, your chest.

Just taking care.

His hands were reverent. Almost... apologetic. Like he was giving back something he’d taken.

He kissed your shoulder. Your jaw. The inside of your wrist. Every inch of skin he could reach, he honored.

“You did so well for me,” he whispered against your skin. “Took everything. Gave me everything.”

Your breath hitched, eyes closing.

“Severus...”

“I mean it.” Another kiss. Another slow sweep of his hand across your stomach. “You let me lose control. And you still trusted me.”

“I always trust you.”

He stilled for a second.

Then pulled you tighter to his chest, lips pressing to your hair.

When the water began to cool, he stood again, holding you like you weighed nothing. He dried you with a charm, then towel-dried the rest with care—rubbing gentle circles into your back, your arms, the soft insides of your thighs.

He vanished briefly into the wardrobe, returning with one of his old black undershirts—soft, worn, and smelling like him.

“You sleep better in my clothes,” he said simply, tugging it over your head.

You did. And he always remembered.

When you were finally dressed, warm and boneless, he lifted you once more and laid you down on your side of the bed, then slid in beside you and pulled you against his chest.

You pressed your face into his throat, your body melting against him.

For a long time, there was only breathing.

Then, his voice—quiet, vulnerable, honest.

“She means nothing. She doesn't have a chance against you.”

You didn’t move.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought you knew,” he continued. “But I should have. I should have told her and made it clear. That there is no one else but you.”

You tilted your head just enough to meet his eyes.

“I know that now.”

“I’ll make it clear,” he murmured. “Although she can keep trying. I hope she does.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Because it’ll kill her,” he said, leaning in, “to see you tomorrow—glowing. Sore. knowing I was the one to cause it.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut as his fingers traced slow circles on your back.

“You’re disgusting.”

“You love it.”

“I really do.”

He chuckled once—low and tired. Then kissed your temple and whispered, “Sleep, my love.”

And you did.

Safe. Claimed. Loved.

The staff lounge buzzed with quiet morning energy. Flitwick stirred honey into his tea. Sprout flipped through seed catalogs. McGonagall read the Daily Prophet, her expression already unimpressed by whatever was on the front page.

Near the window, Severus Snape sat like a shadow in silk—silent, unreadable, hands wrapped around a cup of black tea.

And beside him, far too close, was Professor Selwyn.

She leaned in with a soft, fabricated laugh, her fingers brushing his sleeve.

“Oh, I just adore the smell of chamomile in the morning,” she said lightly. “Don’t you?”

Severus didn’t look at her.

McGonagall’s eyes lifted from her paper, unimpressed. Sprout sipped her tea louder than necessary. Flitwick tapped his spoon that sounded suspiciously like the funeral march.

“I was thinking I could stop by your office again this evening,” Selwyn continued, voice dropping. “Just to go over—”

“I have papers to grade, Professor Selwyn,” Severus interrupted, his tone clipped and cold. “I don’t have time for unimportant matters.”

She laughed too loudly, undeterred, her hand drifting too close to his again.

“Oh, I’ve always thought there’s nothing more attractive than discipline,” she said, voice laced with false intimacy. “And I do mean discipline in every sense...”

Still, Severus didn’t react. He sipped his tea like she wasn’t there.

Then the door opened.

You stepped in, unhurried. Your teaching robes hung loosely around you, hair undone, expression composed—but undeniably glowing.

Selwyn looked up and smiled, too fast. “Professor Y/L/N,” she said sweetly. “You look a bit tired.”

You nodded. “I am, actually.”

Then, without a word, your fingers slipped to the clasp of your robe. You undid it slowly and slid it off your shoulders, revealing one of Severus’s black button-ups beneath—oversized, rumpled, unmistakably his. Your collarbone and neck bloomed with fresh, unmistakable marks.

The room shifted.

Sprout made a soft sound behind her tea that might have been a laugh.

“Oh dear,” Flitwick murmured, “someone had a productive evening.”

McGonagall turned another page of the paper, a restrained smile curling at her lips. “Seems someone didn’t sleep through the night.”

You offered a cheeky grin, then walked calmly to Severus’s chair, draped your robe over the back of it and reached for a fresh mug. You poured your tea as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

Selwyn watched you, stiff and silent.

Then, casually, you glanced at the space beside Severus still occupied by her—and chose instead to lower yourself directly into his lap.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t blink. Just settled a hand on your thigh, possessive and casual, while his eyes drank you in.

You winced slightly as you sat. He noticed. Everyone noticed.

“My goodness,” Sprout said, feigning concern. “You look a little wrecked, dear.”

“Oh yes,” Flitwick added with mock-seriousness. “That’s the look of someone who got very little sleep. Must make teaching quite difficult today.”

Selwyn’s entire body tensed.

You took another slow sip of your tea. “I managed.”

Severus finally spoke—calm, precise, and utterly deadly.

“I’m actually surprised she can still walk,” he said, as if observing the weather. “But she’s always been impressively resilient.”

You choked on a laugh.

Sprout gasped, delighted. “Oh my.”

McGonagall didn’t look up from her paper, but her lips twitched. “Mm. Thorough indeed.”

Flitwick chuckled, lifting his tea in a subtle toast. “To resilience, then.”

Selwyn stood without a word. Face flushed, jaw tight, she turned and left the lounge in absolute silence.

The door closed behind her.

Severus sipped his tea.

You leaned back against his chest, utterly unbothered.

Victory never tasted so sweet.

#fanfic #severus snape x reader #severus snape #harry potter

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fafodill · 3 months ago

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On Snape depriving himself sexually...

SO, I got hyperfocused and I hope you'll enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. I needed only one person to tell me they were interested so thank you @severus-snaps haha. And thank you @wisteria-lodge for encouraging me !

This is a continuation of my previous post about Snape's relation with intimacy. I'm always a sucker for the pent up and deprived trope and I feel like Snape could fit the profile perfectly. Of course this is complete HC, as we literally have zero information about him having any personal life whatsoever so... pure speculation and meta discussion. Let's have fun, buckle up, here is why I think he'd make a great candidate for it :

Early teens: Many of us tend to interpret Snape as sexually inexperienced. This of course comes partly from his unpopularity in school, a time where teenagers start experimenting a bit. It's hard to imagine the little scrawny greasy potion nerd getting a lot of action. Though I'm open to thinking something might have happened here and there. I mean, girls also like smart and scrawny guys, I would love to read a fic where a Ravenclaw or Slytherin has a crush on him and he's utterly clueless because he's too engrossed in his books and when he realizes he's so flustered and clumsy about it. And they snog in the library and he's so afraid of getting caught by Mrs Pince. But being consistently bullied would have hurt his reputation, thus making people avoid being associated with him to not become targets as well. Also, his bullies were good-looking guys and it may have contributed to highlighting his bad looks in the public eye way more than if he had been left alone. And just with the nickname alone, but you won't tell me James and Sirius never insulted his nose, his hair, his complexion or his thin frame.

So one of the first core belief that might have emerged and latched itself to his sexuality would have been: I'm ugly/repelling.

But we don't have any proof in canon that he wasn't interested in romantic/sexual interactions back then. For all we know, he was a socially awkward teenager going through puberty. Even if he was certainly anxious and angry due to the bullying, he was still going through the same hormone cocktail as everyone.

HC : I've been wondering how the students find places to masturbate in peace and of course we don't exactly know why he invented the Muffliato charm but give me a Snape who was too whimpery to be completely silent and used it for this.

Post SWM though, I think it's safe to assume the trauma scared him unconsciously regarding the subject. Being perceived before wasn't easy, as he was aware he wasn't exactly good-looking and his self-esteem was impacted for sure, but after... oh boy. I can imagine him so traumatized that the mere idea of undressing in the vicinity of people was making his blood freeze. This may have led to hygiene issues as well, or only feeling safe to shower in the dead of night or at times where the dormitories where utterly empty. The shame linked to having his body and underwear exposed could have definitely stunned his sexual awakening as it happened at such a crucial age. How can you safely explore your own sexuality if every time you think about how ugly you are and that so many people saw your body and laughed at it ? (and the adults doing nothing to punish the people who did that hammered the beliefs that he was indeed laughable)

So second core belief added: I'm ridicule.

Also the SWM incident might have triggered his need to cover/shield his body from head to toe at all time and nobody can convince me otherwise.

At the very least I imagine masturbating would then be heavily linked to the anger and shame of that moment. The memory would either unlock or at least impact it unconsciously in some way, marking the act with a profound bitterness or stopping it altogether. The result: every time his body would ask for attention, he'd be overcome with very intense traumatic feelings and have no idea how to deal with them; so he'd start recoiling instinctively from any sexual thought. Also, since undressing/changing clothes became a triggering act, being even partially nude to touch himself would also stress him immensely.

So instead of indulging, he'd start developing coping mechanisms like focusing on anything else that brought him a sense of pleasure to trick his brain : potions, the dark arts, creating spells etc.

And of course, we can assume that even if someone was trying to approach him at that point, he'd recoil like a wounded animal, expecting mockery and reacting very aggressively.

After Hogwarts: We don't know what might have happened during his 3-4 years after school. We have a lot of creative space, though we know he got a Potion Mastery (??) so he must have studied somewhere and he was active within the DE circles. As @maxdibert pointed in a few posts - which I think is an astute point - the Dark Lord was aware of the affection/attraction Severus had felt towards Lily and, to prove his disinterest, he might have engaged with a few pureblood women. We could speculate on different situations here (and if anyone's interested we could explore this), but as I'm going for deprived!Snape, I'd say it wasn't helpful. At this point he's a young adult, torn between his inexperience and his limboing self-esteem. On top of that he's a deeply proud individual, obsessed with controlling the way he's being perceived. He's already occlumenting his emotions to remain safe, and well, engaging sexually does require some sort of vulnerability he isn't capable of at that point.

Maybe he said some harsh things to his partners when confronted with his clumsiness (even if they were kind), maybe he got bit back (and deserved it). He'd use these instances as confirmation bias to convince himself intimacy wasn't something emotionally safe, interesting nor even remotely pleasant enough.

Then there's Lily's death, and I personally don't see her as having a lot of influence on his sexuality directly (except maybe for the fact that when he had feelings for her, he might have felt she was 'too pretty for him', which fed the first core belief), but it did fuel a ton the last core belief which is : I'm undeserving (because I'm a bad person).

The undeserving part existed prior to her death. It stemmed from his upbringing (undeserving of care), of his social status (undeserving of material comfort), his blood status (undeserving of opportunities), his social awkwardness (undeserving of friendship), his special interest in the dark arts (undeserving of respect).

Lily's death crystallized such deep guilt inside of him that he devoted his life after that to atoning. I'm a firm believer that there's a clear before and after regarding the way he treated his body. Not that things were drastically different, but it made it worse. He ate less, slept less and touched himself even less. Probable not at all for a good few months, maybe even up to a year or so as he was extremely stressed from his new job, depressed and overcomed with grief. Honestly, at that point in his life he was barely functioning.

Then we have his adult life at Hogwarts: at that point in his life he's working and living where his worst trauma occurred. Not great for healing. During those years, he mastered the art of shutting down with occlumency everything he couldn't deal with, including his body's basic needs. He had excuses for everything. Sleeping? How could he rest when he had so much work to do dealing with the little shitheads and that infuriating Headmaster? Eating? Pfft, he had been fine all his childhood, so now he'd eat what he needed to function, but craving something and getting it wasn't something he'd allow himself. Masturbating? Tricky part, because he almost never thought about it anymore. He would not even treat it as a basic need. Like, sleep and food were still required to function, even in limited amount or he would pass out, but he could function without sex. Bottom line is, deep down he would feel undeserving of any sort of pleasure.

Rewarding his body, taking care of it wasn't allowed. It was part of his self-inflicted punishment.

But it would be still natural for his body to seek sexual release from time to time. He'd have hard-ons sometimes in the morning and ignore it until it went away, maybe take a cold shower or - why not - even take a potion he'd have invented to calm it down (or worse, to make it hurt so it would go down, if you want to go the masochistic way). The way I see it, every time he'd have an unwanted sensual/sexual thought (oh, this person at the Three Broomsticks has disarmingly pretty lips, this other person's got very elegant hands, or this one's hips look live they're meant to be grabbed), he'd shut it down immediately.

Fantasizing wouldn't be pleasant either. Each time, it would trigger the self-depreciating thoughts. Who are you fooling ? This person would never touch you, never look at you. And if they did, you wouldn't deserve it and would fuck it up anyway. Faceless people then, but it would still always be tainted with the ghost of years of bitterness, loneliness and unmet needs. So it'd be easier to pretend he doesn't have them or doesn't care. Of course this would do nothing to soothe his sour mood (and here talking from experience: I've been sexually frustrated quite a lot in my twenties, and I can definitely say that the mental relief you feel alongside the physical release when you get it is quite something. Like, I'd be a changed person, just because chemically my brain would finally be swimming again in endorphins. So yeah, at that point in his life I believe he's in dire need of a good shag and is partly always on edge because of this).

And when he would indulge in masturbation, it'd be because he's too tired to fight it or just because he knows that if he does, his body would leave him alone for a while. It would be quick, mechanical, in the dark, the mess cleaned up immediately and then forgotten about. The less thinking involved, the better so it wouldn't trigger the core beliefs. Maybe it'd happen when being tipsy after a night out with the other professors, or just when he was too stressed or exhausted at the end of terms and it was his body's way of asking for a break and a distraction.

I think he'd be also more prone to having his sexual needs resurface when he's not at Hogwarts and the mental toll of being there isn't weighing on him (maybe during summer or maybe even if he goes into the Forbidden Forest to gather potion ingredients, or a trip to Diagon Alley). He would find it really annoying, not realizing how the two are linked.

Then how would he be dealing with the constant tension and redirecting the release ? (fun stuff)

I think he could get a sick pleasure from being able to not indulge for long periods of time, thriving on his sense of control. He'd maybe even feel shame when he finally does, chastising himself for being weak.

When too tired to notice, late at night in his office, his body would hijack control a little bit and he'd start rubbing himself unconsciously with one hand while correcting essays and immediately stop upon realizing.

He'd be a GREAT candidate for edging. Like telling himself that if there's no release it doesn't count and he could get some pleasure whilst still shaming and punishing himself. Maybe sometimes even without touching himself directly, just letting the fabric rub on him, while shifting his hips just a bit. A good compromise he wouldn't want to analyze too closely.

Being pent up all the time makes one irritable, so some of that tension is fueling his already short-tempered nature and getting out by lashing out at idiots. It would also be a way to... spill out but with words (classy I know).

I don't see him doing any sport to get endorphins and relieve tension (though he does prowl the castle at night, that counts as walking haha).

The only part of his body I could see him pay attention to would be his hands as he uses them for potion work. He could be proud of their dexterity and I can imagine him taking care of them. Like, once of twice a week he'd put a cream or an ointment (self-made ofc) and massage his fingers and palms. Nothing sexual about it but it would be the closest he has to a gentle self-touch.

But mostly, his sole source of pleasure would still come from focusing on his interests. Working all night on improving a new potion, loosing himself in the method and appreciating his own skills, or reading about and experimenting with the Dark Arts (I don't think he ever stopped seeking knowledge, which is why he was able to save Dumbledore's ass from Marvolo's ring). These two things are his private garden, something that's inherently his despite everything, and it would be his way of pleasuring himself in an acceptable way: intellectually.

But what about the people around him or potential partners ?

He'd hate any sexual jokes or comments about him or in general. Sexually open people would make him angry (jealous). It'd irk him. As it's such a loaded and repressed subject for him he'd see them as flaunting their unspoken good experiences. He'd try to unconsciously shame them into silence by telling them they're being inappropriate. At the end of the day, it's just his way of protecting himself because he wouldn't know how to navigate the conversation, and his pride wouldn't let him feel ridiculed again.

He would also hate being looked at, even clothed. People judging his body would definitely trigger the awful memory from SWM. He would struggle immensely to accept the possibility of being looked at in an appraising way. If someone was sincere and stubborn enough to convince him they're not lying, he'd be extremely confused and wary.

And if he was to be attracted to that person as well, he'd have to deal with an almost second puberty on top of his core beliefs. He'd be so clumsy, so out of touch with his body and very frustrated with all the unwanted sensations he's not used to deal with. And that's such an interesting and fascinating subject aaaah.

At the end of the day, deep down he doesn't believes he deserves pleasure or comfort in his life so a partner would have to be patient with him. There's a lot of strategies they could try and I'd be delighted to explore them but I'm gonna stop here because this essay is so long already haha. SO, in conclusion:

He needs a good shag.

Thank you for reading.

UPDATE: go here to read how to bed deprived!Snape

I'd love to discuss how it would go with different characters trying to approach him, or I could talk about the classic trope of losing control because of his short temper but with him deprived, so many possibilties aaah, I love it when he's angry AND horny AND clumsy-

Also, my current favorite oneshot of deprived!Snape here : Cursed into Temptation by @marvel-snape-writes (very smutty, amazing, I'm on my knees)

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liv2post · 10 months ago

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Fever Dreams (One Shot)

I wanted to do a sick-fic one shot and saw a couple mutuals floating around how a sick Severus Snape would behave, so here is my version.

@frequent-apple

Summary: Severus Snape comes down with an infamous man cold and you take it upon yourself to nurse him, as you always have. While having a fever dream, he confesses his love for you.

Word Count: 4.5k

Read on AO3 here

“Severus?” You knocked on his chamber door. “Are you alright?”

The potion master hadn’t shown up for breakfast this morning and missed a meeting scheduled with the other Heads of Houses and the Headmaster. Minerva had asked you if you knew where Professor Snape was, you and the dungeon bat were known amongst the teachers as being closer to one another than anyone else. Just when you were about to tell her ‘no,’ an owl swooped through the corridor and perched on the Transfiguration teacher’s arm, a small slip of parchment paper in its mouth that said one word: “Sick.”

And here you were now outside of his chambers, worry needling into you as the professor had now missed his second meal of the day.

“Go away…!” You heard from the other side of the door, muffled and strained as a coughing fit followed.

“Severus, it’s me, Y/N.” There was no response this time, not even coughing, and instead of waiting for another curt dismissal you pushed open the doors to his chambers and stepped inside.

Severus, who was slightly hunched over and trudging toward his kitchenette in an attempt to make himself tea with a blanket wrapped around his form, glared at the door when he heard it open and shut. A sheen of sweat had built on his forehead and it looked as though he hadn’t slept well, the pigment beneath his eyes a bit darker while his paleness was even lighter. His bones ached with each step he took in the cool dungeon air.

“I did not say you could come in,” he growled at you, though his eyes had slightly softened at your presence. You, however, looked back at him with just as much sternness, for you knew that right now he was all bark and no bite. Severus Snape was going through his infamous man-cold.

You’d known Severus for a long time, and both of you were from the same house, though you were one year younger than him. The two of you had bonded the following year after the untimely demise of his relationship with his former best friend. With both of you being the best brewers in your years, he held a mild level of respect for you and willingly offered you advice for your OWLs while he focused on his NEWTs. On top of this, the both of you were prone to injury, often treating yourselves or one another, that is when you managed to get Severus to let you. While he was picked on or got into fights, your injuries accumulated from Quidditch matches or simply practicing too hard. Being the only girl who was let on to the Quidditch team, you felt the need to prove yourself, especially when the other teams targeted you, deeming you as a weakness. Fortunately, that did not stop you from helping Slytherin win.

Once more, you were attempting to help the man since you returned into his life as a colleague four years ago, both of you now in your early thirties. Having known him for so long, you knew what was to come of this. Severus would go through three moods when he was sick. Stubbornness, whininess, and clinginess. It was a very predictable cycle as you were always the one to help him when he was sick. Once you get past his stubbornness, it will be easier to help him.

“I’m aware,” you simply replied back, stepping forward. “I was with Minerva after you missed the staff meeting. We both saw your owl. Consider yourself lucky that it is me down here and not her.”

Severus scowled to himself and turned his face away, his hair curtaining his expression. “I’m fine,” he grouched.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you’re the absolute peak of health right now. You should totally be on the cover of Witches and Wizards Weekly.”

“I’m. Fine,” Severus snarled. “I don’t wish to be bothered, so kindly return to whatever other duties you have.”

“Severus, you missed both breakfast and lunch and you look like you just rolled out of bed. You’re not fine. You need food. Potions. And perhaps a ba—”

“For Merlin’s sake, woman!” he snapped defensively. “I’m not some sniffling weakling who will perish as if I’ve come down with the black plague! I don’t need your incessant worrying and mollycoddling! It’s bad enough I have to deal with this congestion, must I deal with you too? Leave!”

His outburst caused a tickle in his lungs to trigger another coughing fit into the crook of his elbow. You simply crossed your arms, face impassive as he stood there, abashed at the ill-timed coughing fit. This was nothing new for you, however. This was just the beginning of dealing with a sick Severus Snape.

“Are you done?” you questioned calmly, like a mother waiting for a child to finish up with their tantrum. “I’m not here to take away your autonomy, Severus. As always, I just want to help and I am not leaving until I get you better. The only way you are getting me out of here is by wrestling me through the doorway, and we both know I’m stronger than you at the moment.”

The man clenched his teeth, seething at your unwillingness to let him take care of himself as he scornfully swept back to the kitchenette to make himself tea, not wanting to deal with you at the moment.

You summoned his house elf, palming her the instructions to a soup recipe you had in mind when you heard Severus was ill. It was a soup that had always made you feel better when you were sick.

While Severus worked on making his tea, you idly examined the state of his office. By the looks of the papers and scrolls strewn about his desk, he had much grading to do this weekend. There was no way he’d be able to put a significant dent in it while in his current condition. Slipping quietly into his bedroom, you observed the way in which the covers were thrown eschew. A sweaty silhouette was imprinted on his sheets from where he laid fever-stricken, the duvet layers too much for him to handle with pajamas on. Crumpled tissues littered the bedside stand and you could see a thermometer that displayed his last recorded temperature around 102. With a wave of your wand, the used tissues vanished into nothingness, and a cleaning spell was applied to the surface of the nightstand. In a few minutes, you managed to get a new set of sheets onto his pillows and mattress and swapped out the duvet cover for a different one.

When you returned to the living area, he had just lowered himself down onto the couch with a mug carefully clasped in his hands and sniffing sharply every few seconds. Just then the house elf apparated in front of him, carefully placing the soup on the coffee table and disappearing once more. Severus cast a disparaging look at the meal before shifting that look to you.

“Chicken noodle,” you stated. “Eat it. It’s good for you.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Severus derided.

You kept your tone forbearing as you moved toward his personal brewing station and opened various cabinet doors. “I know.” Bottles clinked against one another as your hand snaked between corked vials and remedies in search of head-ache relieving potions. When you found the ones he had in stock, you sighed when you saw that they were expired by now. Muttering to yourself, you begin to retrieve various ingredients.

“What are you doing with my potion ingredients?”

You didn’t look at him as you gathered a few brewing tools and filled a cauldron with water. “Eat your soup, Severus.”

His nostrils flared at you, nose scrunched up in both offense and defiance as he childishly refused the soup. However, he couldn’t help his rumbling stomach in any other way, the consequence of not eating his first two meals worsening his headache and making him feel more tired. You had positioned yourself so that you’d be brewing while facing away from him, hoping that it had the intended effect of encouraging him to eat while you had your back turned.

And to your relief, it had worked as a minute or so later you heard quiet slurping from behind you.

Your hands moved in rapid succession, finely chopping, grinding, and peeling various ingredients before plopping them into the cauldron. The sounds emanating from the brewing station were symphonic within the quiet office, you the conductor as you arranged and controlled them to your precise liking. You’d made a headache-relieving solution for him before, the usual symptoms of his colds being achy bones, shivering, congestion, and a headache. Severus remained slouched on the sofa, bowl of delicious soup, though he refused to comment so, resting on his stomach as he watched your figure working away at a potion. Based on what he could tell from the ingredients you had retrieved it looked to be something for his headache.

“Cold…” you heard muttering from behind you.

You did not take your eyes off your work. “You or the soup?”

“...Me.”

Flicking your hand behind you, a wandless ‘Incendio’ lit the fireplace, the flames roaring to life. While the heat wasn’t going to help his fever whatsoever, it would placate him and his shivering as you suspected he had now breached the whiny stage.

Severus tugged the blanket around him tighter and shifted along the cushions toward the fire. “What’s taking you so long?” he grumbled.

“It needs to simmer,” you informed him softly. He glowered at that, his eyes following you as you disappeared into his bedroom once more.

In one of the bathroom cabinets you found a bottle of eucalyptus oil that you were certain would help with his congestion. With a few squeaky turns of the faucet handle the bath began filling with lukewarm water, not enough to eat him but just cool enough to help bring his temperature down without causing too much discomfort. The air quickly smelled like eucalyptus when the oil drops began to intermingle with the water. You adjusted the temperature slightly the more it filled up into the bath was full, the surface swirling ever so subtly with the oils and a thin layer of foamy soap from a small amount of body wash you added.

The potion was ready when you returned, feeling daggers thrown your way from Severus’s stare. You ladled some into a cup for him, turning around and looking at him expectantly. “Come and get it.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “Just bring it over to me.”

You shook your head, saying, “No. You’ve got to get up anyway to get into the bath after you drink this.”

Severus rolled his eyes, exhaling in irritation before he, with some effort, was able to push himself up off the sofa and walk over sluggishly to you. He took the cup from you and eagerly guzzled the freshly brewed concoction, his head feeling a bit lighter within a matter of seconds of swallowing the potion.

With a delicate touch, you gently placed a hand on his back and guided him toward his bathroom with, thankfully, no resistance on his end.

“It’s filled up already. I put a bit of oil in there to help with your congestion. Holler if you need anything. Otherwise, try to stay there until you get too cold. I’ll be out in the living area.”

The door to his bedroom clicked and he was alone once more. He sniffed heartily, slowly undressing from his pajamas which felt quite gross against his clammy skin, and was greeted with the smell of eucalyptus when he opened the bathroom door, the fragrance soothing his stuffy nose and relaxing the persistent tickle in his chest. As carefully as he could manage, he stepped inside the tub and lowered himself, sighing at the warmth of the temperature.

Being alone in the tub left him with nothing but his thoughts, sinking himself lower until his hair just barely touched the surface. For as long as he could remember he had always taken care of himself, refusing help from others as he did not want to be seen as weak. But, no matter how much he rebuked you, you’d always find a way to help, even if it was something as small as placing a bandaid on a cut when he had nicked himself with a potion’s knife in his seventh year. You were always so determined to help when he was indisposed and he was always determined to refuse even though you had a perfect record so far of pushing past his stubbornness and scaling his wall of self-preservation. No matter how big of a grumpy asshole he was to you, you had so much patience for him. Deep down he was immensely grateful for it.

When the water turned cold and he felt the shivers return, he pulled the drain plug and rose from the bath. Just the feeling of being cleaner improved his mood, even more so when he found a set of soft lounge clothes and socks waiting for him folded neatly on his bed.

His bed that now had a fresh pair of cool, clean sheets and a different duvet cover.

Your ears perked slightly at the sound of Severus’s bedroom door creaking open as you set aside another graded Potions paper. While he soaked, you had received a fever-relieving potion from Madame Pomphrey, organized his desk a little bit more, and started to tackle the assignments that needed grading.

“What are you doing?” His voice was light, much calmer now in comparison to his sharp mulishness earlier. You ignored his question as soft footsteps approached you.

“How do your sinuses feel?”

“They have improved,” he replied faintly.

“And your head? Chest?” He gave you an affirmative hum in response. Without looking up from the papers, you held out the potion to him. “Madam Pomphrey sent this. It’s a fever-reliever that should help regulate your temperature with a little bit of cough syrup mixed in there.”

He took the potion from your hand and tipped the contents back into his mouth, setting the empty bottle by his workstation. A dull cooling sensation spread in the center of his forehead. You could feel his eyes settle back on to you, anticipating his clinginess to kick in at any moment now seeing that he was in a better state mentally and physically.

“What are you doing?” Severus asked once more, placing a hand on the back of the chair, his fingers pressed against your shoulders.

“A bit of your grading since you’re in no state to be doing so. You should be resting.”

“I won’t be able to fall asleep with that bloody soup in my stomach now,” he complained quietly.

“I didn’t say sleep, I said rest. Grab a book or something and go read in bed. I’ll be here if you need something.”

Dissatisfaction lapped at him, his lips pursing in indignation as he no longer wanted to be separated from you by a room. As if a switch flipped, his mind sought for you now, wanting you close, wanting you to care for him. His fingers moved forward, his whole hand settling on your shoulder.

“N..x t… m...” His voice was practically a whisper.

You smirked coyly into your palm, but you did not show your cards. “What was that?”

His ears grew warmer and it wasn’t the fever’s doing. “Grade next to me,” he murmured. “In the bed.” You feigned a sigh, which made his fingers twitch in apprehension but was relieved when you pushed the chair back and stood up, grabbing a stack of papers with you.

The two of you settled in on the bed, him beneath the covers and you on top. He had a little difficulty breathing through his nose when lying on his back, so he opted to lie on his side, facing away from you with a book levitating in front of him. Even though he couldn’t see you, knowing you were there and feeling the dip in the mattress behind him made him feel more relaxed, so relaxed in fact that almost half an hour later, you heard the sound of the book unceremoniously hitting the ground and soft snores coming from him. He had fallen asleep.

Time ticked on as you looked over paper after paper, the scratching of your quill and Severus’s occasional mumbling filling the air. You suspected he was having a fever dream, stirring every so often and quietly uttering incoherent words and phrases. You’d place a hand on his back to calm him, silencing him for some time before it started up again. At one point, he pushed himself up on his elbows and shifted on to his back, looking about the room like he was confused.

“Severus?” you said, seemingly gaining his attention. “Are you alright?”

He didn’t respond. His eyes were barely open, fluttering as he looked dumbly at you. You deduced that he was in a half-sleep state, probably still dreaming. What shocked you, however, was what he did next. Severus had shifted onto his other side so that his body was facing you, wrapping his arm around the middle of your thigh and spooning your leg with his forehead nuzzled against you.

“...love you…”

His soft snores filled the air once more.

A sinking feeling of sadness filled your chest. “His words weren’t real. He is having a fever dream,” you told yourself. You had believed there was no possibility of him loving you, no matter how much you wanted it. His heart had died with Lily. He loved her so very much and you had heard from Slughorn a few years after you had graduated that Severus was a wreck when she had passed. You remember sending Severus letters wanting to meet only to never hear back from him, resourcing to find out how he was doing through others.

After the first two years of being reunited with him, you fell in love. Though loving Severus Snape was like loving a defensively feral cat that was also whorishly attention-seeking, his attempts at veiling his perceived vulnerabilities amused you and you found his wit charming. Despite the friendship the both of you had reignited, you kept your feelings down when they had developed into something more, convinced that he would never love you in return.

So… With a heavy heart, you accepted this disingenuous expression of closeness and continued grading.

***

Severus scrunched his eyes, inhaling sharply as he slowly roused from slumber. He was met with the covering of a pillow, his arms wrapped around it tightly. Rubbing the bleariness from his eyes, he looked at the other side of the bed. Though you were no longer there, the evidence of your sitting there with him was pressed into the top of the covers. His chest tinged with sadness at your absence.

Faint shuffling noises echoed through the slightly ajar bedroom door. When he stood up from the bed, he found his headache and lung irritation to be nearly gone, though he still felt a bit warm in the head and his nose was still a bit stuffed.

He entered the living area and his heart fluttered when he saw that you were still here in his office.

“Y/N,” he called, his voice much less hoarse than before.

You thanked the house elf that had brought you Severus’s dinner before it disapparated. “You’ve been asleep now for about two hours. How do you feel?”

“Better,” he replied, but his brows knitted together at your somewhat dispirited tone. You did not show your face, instead choosing to gesture to the food that had been set on the coffee table. “I had a house elf bring you dinner. Since you are feeling better, I think it would be best if I tended to my other duties now,” you said, raising the butt of your palm up and wiping at your face, but Severus was not dimwitted. Even from behind, he knew what that movement was. You were wiping away a tear.

“Are you alright?” Severus asked softly, carefully approaching you.

“I’m fine. I’ll have Madam Pomphrey send you another fever reliever before you go to bed tonight.” You began to move toward the door. “Feel better, Severus.”

“Wait!” he strode across the room and grabbed your wrist, just firm enough to get your attention as your other hand froze around the door handle. “Y/N… Please, tell me what’s wrong.” His eyes flit over you, concern lacing his voice as he slowly rotated you so that you were facing him. Your eyes were indeed red from crying, though your gaze was averted to anywhere but him.

“It doesn’t matter,” you muttered. “It’s not something you could fix.”

His hands moved up to your shoulders, squeezing lightly. “If… If it's something I did…please tell me. I know I’m…not the easiest person in the world to deal with…so I’m sorry if I’ve worn you down or offended y—”

“You said you loved me.”

The revelation felt like a slap to the face, his breath hitched in his throat, a cold shock flooding his veins as he stared back at you with widened eyes.

He said what?

You swallowed thickly. “I doubt you even remember. You were having a fever dream and mumbling to yourself. At one point you rolled over, looked at me and said that you loved me before falling back to sleep.” You paused, allowing him the chance to say something, but he was silent and tense. His reaction, or lack thereof, further squashed your courage and you tilted your head down even more. “I know you didn’t mean it for me,” your voice warbled now. “I’m sure you were dreaming of Lily or your mum. You loved Lily like she was the only being in the universe, so you don’t have to worry about me misundersta—”

The next thing you knew your face was buried in the crook of his neck, his strong arms wrapped around you. The tears rolled down your cheeks unbidden but you restrained yourself from sobbing, your throat tight and achy. “Please don’t pity me, Severus,” you said weakly, not quite believing the sincerity of his action. “Don’t pity me or offer me platitudes… I can’t…”

“I don’t pity you, I love you,” Severus gritted out, trying to fight the shakiness in his own voice as he felt like crying as well. He buried his nose in your hair, attempting to ground himself with your sweet scent. “I… You’re right, I do not remember saying that to you, but I was dreaming of you, Y/N.”

You inhaled shakily. “You were?”

“Yes,” he murmured, the thumb of the splayed hand on your back stroking back and forth. “You were taking care of me in my dream. I do love you, so much, Y/N. Even though I don’t deserve your affection in return. I know I’ve taken your compassion for granted for quite some time.”

Your mind was still reeling from his confession. He loved you…and you loved him… Your arms slowly rose and wrapped around his back as you pressed yourself into him more, reveling in his hold. He sighed into you, feeling a heavy weight off his shoulders. “I don’t blame you for thinking I didn’t return your hidden feelings,” he murmured. “Lily’s death was hard on me and I didn’t think I’d love again, but truthfully, I haven’t thought of her in years. You’ve plagued my mind ever since you returned to Hogwarts.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, drawing you back so he could look at you once more. His hand came up and cupped your cheek, swiping away at a stray tear. Heat bloomed on your face when you saw the longing in the deep, inky pools of his eyes staring back at you. They flicked back and forth between your lips and your eyes and when he slowly leaned in…

“Severus,” you said, stopping him by placing a hand on his chest, knowing what he wanted to do. “You’re still sick,” you proclaimed gingerly.

The man groaned in frustration, but the last thing he wanted to do was to get you sick as well, opting to instead rest his forehead on your shoulder, the resulting giggle from you a soothing balm on his soul.

“Please, stay,” he pleaded quietly.

Your fingers traced through his scalp. “It wouldn’t be wise to inhale the same air as you overnight, Sev.”

“Just until curfew then.” He held you tighter, emphasizing his want for your presence as he began shuffling the both of you toward the sofa.

“Alright,” you hummed, pecking the spot above his ear. “Until curfew.”

***

“Goodbye, everyone! Make sure to review the last two chapters before class tomorrow.”

A new week of classes had begun and Severus seemed to have gotten over his cold by then as you saw him walking about the corridors despite not attending breakfast in person. When you saw each other during lunch, the both of you made an attempt to sit beside one another, but Flitwick had unknowingly put that wish to rest when he took the other remaining seat beside you. It was the end of your final class now, and the students filling out the door one by one. You sighed quietly in relief when the last student exited and began to tidy up the classroom. A crumpled ball of parchment here, dirty shoe prints there…

Twenty minutes later, you heard a knock on the heavy wooden door just as you sat down to get a jump on grading papers with a steaming mug of tea.

“Come in,” you called, taking a generous sip.

The door opened and there stood your previously needy patient, his dark silhouette filling the doorway. The sight of him made your heart flutter as he slowly stepped into the classroom, shutting the door quietly behind him.

“Hi, Severus,” you smiled lightly. “I was a bit worried this morning. You didn’t show up for breakfast.”

“I felt a bit dizzy this morning, so I elected to eat in my office,” he explained mildly. “Otherwise, my cold has cleared.”

“Oh, that's good! I’m glad you’re better now.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you. The potion master didn’t move forward, only shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous schoolboy, as if he needed permission to do anything else than that. Adorable.

“Severus…” spoke lowly with a gentle smile and stood up from your chair, holding your arms out in a ‘come here’ gesture. That seemed to be enough encouragement as he strode forward, each step more determined than the last. He brought your face to him, eagerly pressing his lips to yours. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, returning the kiss with equal fervor. One of his hands moved to the back of your neck, keeping you there he stole kiss after kiss from you, years of pent-up affection and love flowing between the both of you. You felt him smiling against your slips before the both of you broke apart for much-needed air, resting your foreheads against each other as he mumbled.

“Thank Merlin for fever dreams.”

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus x y/n #pro severus snape #severus snape fanfiction #snape x reader #harry potter #snapecentric

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missadangel · 1 month ago

Text

⊱ AMOR MEUS AETERNUS ⊰

(Marcus Acacius x Ofc)

III. Amor Primus

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary: You realize that Marcus is more than just a brutal man, and it's hard to ignore your anger over his push for marriage. Julius reveals Marcus's past, while Marcus finds something in your room that will change everything. Chapter W. Count and warnings: 12k; angst, brothels, sex workers, romantic comedy, ancient rome, using drugs (tranquilizer), anxiety attacks, violence, power imbalance, mention about marriage, periods. authors note: Vestalis Maxima: The Chief Vestal of vestal virgins. Pilus Prior: A centurion in command of the first century of a cohort, making him the senior centurion of the cohort. Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Ofc!Reader (Her name is Rose, and her hair is dyed) Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI, Smut General Warnings: Harsh, cold, grumpy Marcus, and the reader is NOT innocent a little bitchy, Lucilla is mean, Lucius is a jerk(but falls in love with reader), its Septimius Severus' era but Geta and Caracalla are the prince of Rome, time travel, modern-ancient era travels, falling in love, slow burn, rough sex, smut, sex, oral sex (both f&m receiving), all sex, dirty talk, gladiators, battle, war, violence, blood, ancient time language, fluffy, injury, forced marriage, arranged marriage, sexism, haters to lovers, first love, angst, vestal virgins, vestal priestesses, age gap; reader is 25 Marcus is 42, reincarnation my masterlist

...Chapter Theme...

Soft wedding music played in the background, blending with whispers and laughs all around. Everything was white—white flowers, white decorations, and even the guests were decked out in white. The priest at the front looked like a vision in his white robe, but honestly, it felt a bit much.

Way too much white.

So fucking white.

Standing at the altar, your heart raced, but something felt completely off.

“Here comes the groom,” came the voice, breaking the awkward silence.

Wait, what?

Shouldn’t the bride walk in after the groom?

What kind of shit was this?

Glancing back, you felt your heart drop—there was nobody coming. You squinted, searching the crowd until you finally spotted your sister, your relatives, even your aunt, who had been MIA for years.

This was your wedding day; it felt like a twisted replay of the day you got ditched at the altar.

Suddenly, someone stood up and chuckled, “Looks like the groom isn’t coming!” Laughter rippled through the crowd, and you felt heat rise to your cheeks.

What’s so funny?

In a fit of frustration, you threw back your veil and shouted, “Who wants to get married anyway?”

The priest, looking annoyingly calm, responded, “Now, now, dear. We’ve found you another groom.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. “Father, have you been drinking before the wedding?”

“Jesus Christ! You can’t talk to the priest like that!” your aunt barked.

Oh, right, she was a devout woman.

The music kicked back in, and everyone shuffled back to their seats. “Here’s the groom!” someone announced again.

You turned around and felt your jaw drop. It was him—the psycho in armor, sword at his side, walking toward you with a serious look that sent chills down your spine. You stepped back, hiding behind the priest. “Please, Father! I can’t marry this guy. He’s rude and brutal, with a fierce temper—not exactly husband material."

“This is what the heavens have decreed, my child,” the priest said without an ounce of empathy.

“Heavens? Really? Can we go over this one more time?”

The priest frowned. “You are going to marry this man.”

The armored man -Marcus- reached for you, extending his hand while keeping a stoic expression.

Just perfect—this was who you were supposed to marry?

Then, out of nowhere, a psychic woman appeared, her tarot cards clinking together as she flashed a grin. “See? I told you this was the one!”

What the fuck?

If this was a dream, it was so ridiculous that it barely made any sense.

"If you don't marry me, I'll cut down all of them," Marcus said in a cold tone.

Instead of panicking, the crowd erupted in applause. "Marry him, marry him!"

Seriously?

Marcus angrily sheathed his sword, grabbed one of the guests, and you screamed.

"NO!"

You jolted awake, your heart racing, drenched in sweat. As reality sank in, laughter bubbled up nervously from your throat. “Thank goodness it was just a dream. Man, what a dream…”

But as you took in your surroundings—the wooden furniture, the table against the wall topped with a jug, the flickering oil lamp casting shadows, the rough animal skin sprawled across the floor, the long, heavy curtains, and that Roman lectus where you had been lying—the laughter faded.

A familiar wave of anxiety crashed over you again.

The last thing that stuck in your mind was, “I will petition the Emperor for special permission to grant her conubium.”

Damn conubium.

You ran your fingers through your messy hair, panic rising.

Congrats on your anxiety attack.

“No, no, no. I can’t do this. Why, God? Why?” You struggled against the sheets, frustration boiling inside you until suddenly, you lost your balance and tumbled off the bed, landing unceremoniously on your backside. Wincing, you rubbed your aching butt and glanced up at the intricate mosaic paintings on the wall. “I hate ancient Rome,” you sobbed.

Crawling across the floor, you made your way to the chair to reach for your bag and pulled out your dwindling supply of pills. You popped one into your mouth, feeling a wave of worry about the decreasing number. What would you do when they ran out?

You should go back, you should go back now.

The thought of that glowing portal or a riff whatever it was, a possible path, an exit from this maddening reality, filled you with longing.

You had to do something, you had to give it a shot.

You were desperate.

“What? He’s going to marry me? Ha. Good luck with that,” you muttered to yourself.

With a determined huff, you flung your bag over your shoulder and glanced around the room that had been prepared for you. Larger than the previous one, maybe—sure—but nothing could compare to the your own room back home.

You had to get out.

You peeked out into the big corridor and saw no one around. Just a few slaves who were too busy to notice you. Scanning the courtyard to figure out your escape route, you felt hopeful. Once you made it outside, no one would come after you. With a quick glance around, you descended the stairs, heart pounding with a blend of fear and exhilaration.

When two girls approached, you ducked behind the fountain, holding your breath until they passed. A triumphant smile crept onto your face as you continued toward the exit. You had done it—you were finally breaking free from this suffocating prison.

“Just a few more steps, Rose. You’ve got this,” you mumbled to yourself, feeling your heart race. As soon as you slipped out of the courtyard, you spotted two soldiers in shiny armor you’d never seen before. Luckily, they were facing away from you, deep in conversation. You crouched down and made your way along the wall, focusing on the ground instead of looking up.

Please don’t let them see me.

Please.

Your awkward shoes hampered your movement, but you pressed on, determined. Just when you dared to glance back, your heart nearly stopped—were they actually looking your way?

You picked up your pace, only to collide suddenly with something solid.

"Ow!" Rubbing your head from the impact, your eyes drifted down to two sandaled feet before rising up to meet the piercing gaze of a man clad in black armor, chest was adorned with a striking embossed design of a golden medusa, right where you had been hit on the head.

Damn.

It was him.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

You widened your eyes, feigning innocence as you batted your eyelashes, quickly regaining your composure. “I just needed some fresh air."

With unwavering intensity, Marcus shifted his attention to the two soldiers beside him. “You two, get over here at once.”

“General,” they stammered, fear evident in their voices.

“This woman just wandered out here, and you didn’t even notice? Is this how you conduct your watch?”

"Forgive us, sir."

"We made a mistake."

You took a step backwards. “You guys keep talking. I’m going for a walk.”

But before you could turn away, he seized your arm firmly. “Let go of me!” you exclaimed, pulling against his grip.

“You are not permitted to go outside at this time.”

"I can go wherever I want! Just let me leave!"

His demeanor shifted slightly, and he continued in a more measured tone, “I understand that what you heard earlier was astonishing. Allow me to clarify.”

"Let go of me now, or I'll hit you with my bag," you shouted, tugging at his arm in a desperate struggle. "Let go! Let go! Let go!"

With an exasperated sigh, he finally released you, but not before you stumbled backward and crashed to the floor, a cloud of dust rising around you. The shock of the fall gripped you both—caught off guard by the awkard situation.

The soldiers shot each other looks, trying hard not to burst out laughing.

With a sharp glare from Marcus, they quickly averted their eyes, bowed their heads, and stepped away.

As you struggled to regain your composure, humiliation flooded over you. Marcus stifled a laugh, clearly trying to suppress the amusement dancing in his eyes. He didn’t even bother to help you up, leaving you to dust off your clothes.

You glared at him. “Why did you just let go of my arm like that?”

“You insisted.”

You muttered as you cleaned up your clothes. "Whoa. I can't believe it. You're unbelievable, you know that?" Then, as you walked forward, soldiers crossed in front of you.

You've turned into Marcus.

"I said you can't leave, not in the daytime at least.”

In a fit of frustration, you hurled your bag at the soldiers, landing a glancing blow. “Get out of the way! Now!” They exchanged bewildered looks, their confusion directed at Marcus.

"Please stop," Marcus said firmly as he moved closer. "Can you not follow my instructions? I don't understand why you're acting this way."

You let out a hysterical laugh. "Seriously? Why am I acting this way? Is that what you're asking right now? You're the one who forced me to come here, remember? I was living an ordinary yet happy life. I finally landed a job as an assistant designer on a film set, which meant I could earn the money I needed to cover rent and bills. Maybe my sister wouldn't even have to work over the summer to pay for school. But now, because of you, I've probably lost that job, and I don't even know if I will ever see my sister again. This is incredibly tough, and you’re making me feel trapped. So, are you still wondering why I'm like this?" Tears streamed down your face as you finished speaking.

Although he didn’t understand every word, Marcus grasped the main idea. "I promise I’ll ensure your return."

"Then let me go! I can't stay here any longer. If I go there and read those words again—"

"We'll go at night."

"But we've never tried in the morning. Maybe that would work."

"During daylight hours, the temple is frequented by citizens, including priests engaged in prayer and sacrificial rites. We’ll head out as darkness descends. After all, tonight’s moonlight will be minimal."

"But-" That's when the realization hit you.

Moonlight.

Moon.

Full Moon.

“Shit. Fuck.”

Marcus shot you a disapproving look. “Remember what I said about the swearing.”

You barely registered his words, your mind racing with countless possibilities. “Moon,” you blurted out, “There was a lunar eclipse that night!”

“Ec-lipse?” He looked confused.

You sighed. “An eclipse is when the Earth’s shadow falls on the moon, okay? It happens twice a year… Wait a minute.” You froze, a thought hitting you.

"The moon was temporarily darkened by a shadow... Indeed, I had the chance to observe that night."

“No, that can’t be,” you said, feeling the panic rise.

“What's wrong?”

“The next eclipse won’t be for another six months!” you exclaimed, dread sinking in. “I can’t stay here that long!”

“Calm yourself. We don’t have confirmation on that yet. You could be mistaken.”

Your hands shook as the reality of your situation hit you. How could you survive another six months in here? “I can’t, I just can’t,” you muttered, shaking your head.

“Why don’t you come inside and take a seat for a moment? You don't look well,” Marcus suggested, guiding you toward the courtyard.

“I can’t,” you kept whispering, feeling your grip on sanity slipping. He helped you onto the lectus, and your stomach twisted painfully. Desperation clawed at you as you fished out a pill from your bag, your hands trembling as you quickly swallowed it. “Water!” he called out to slaves. “You seem to be taking that medicine quite often,” he remarked, a hint of concern in his voice.

You swallowed hard as you took the cup of water from the tray that a slave had brought you. “It’s either this, or I lose my mind. You really want to see that?” You downed some water, trying to steady your nerves.

“You’re not exactly a sane woman normally, though,” he muttered.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” he replied quickly. “About that other matter…”

Before he could finish, your stomach growled loudly, twisting painfully. “Taking the pill on an empty stomach wasn’t the best idea,” you groaned.

“You there!” Marcus called to the slaves once more. “Bring us something to eat.”

You looked over at the slaves who were rushing off. “It was a nice move Mr General. But what if that woman—your stepmother—hates me and sees me here eating? I bet she won’t be cool with me sitting in her spot.”

“She’s not in the villa at the moment,” he said, unbuckling the scabbard from his belt and leaning it casually against the wall. "You can rest assured that her attitude will get better towards you from now on."

“That doesn’t exactly ease my mind, especially after your nonsense from yesterday,” you hissed.

“Nonsense? Is that what you call it?”

“Yes, exactly that,” you retorted, rolling your eyes.

“Do you really think I want to marry a woman like you? I made a promise, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it.”

“There has to be another way, you know.”

“If you want to stay in this villa, there isn’t. In your time—you told me I must have my..." he tried to remember that word. "ID. Without Roman citizenship, living here could be brutal for you. You would be treated as if you were nothing more than a slave."

You rummaged through your bag and pulled out your ID. “Check this out! It reads, Repubblica Italiana. It clearly states I am an Italian citizen, residing in Rome."

As a slave approached with a tray, Marcus quickly grabbed your hand, saying, “Put that away. It’s worthless here. This isn’t ‘that Rome,’ obviously.”

The girl set the tray down in front of you, and your stomach growled louder. Without thinking, you picked up a strange fork and dug into the food, not even caring that it was hot.

“Easy,” Marcus cautioned, frowning.

“Look, I get it, but are you saying I have no choice but marry to become a citizen here?” you asked through mouthfuls.

“No, it doesn't work that way for most people. You need special permission for conubium.”

“Please don't say that word,” you grumbled, sounding a bit rude with your mouth full, but the hunger was overwhelming.

"Do you even chew? You'll choke if you don't eat slowly," he scolded.

At that moment, Julius entered the courtyard and greeted his brother.

“Hey Julius,” you called out, waving. He smiled and approached you, but his gaze was fixed on Marcus. "I visited the House of the Vestals as you asked, brother."

Without glancing up, Marcus poured wine into a goblet on the tray. “And?”

“The Vestalis Maxima is willing to speak to the emperor about the conubium permit. But there’s something she needs... clarified,” Julius whispered, leaning in closely. Whatever he shared seemed to darken Marcus’s expression; soon, both brothers turned their gazes toward you.

You swallowed the morsel you were chewing and asked, “What?”

“By any chance, have you ever been married before?” Marcus questioned.

You shot him a glare. “No, but why do you want to know that?”

“What we’re really trying to figure out is whether you’re untouched,” Julius explained, leveling a serious look at you.

You blinked, taken aback. “Are you... Are you two seriously asking if I’m a virgin?”

They remained expressionless, clearly waiting for your response.

Your cheeks were all flushed. "Ugh, you guys are really crossing the line. What kind of vulgarity is this?"

“Are you not?” Marcus asked sternly, disappointment lacing his tone.

What the hell?

You shrugged, trying to brush it off. “I refuse to answer such a bigoted question.”

“If we say she’s a widow..." Julius suggested.

Marcus stood up, visibly frustrated. “That won’t do.”

“Then?"

“I will speak to him myself,” Marcus asserted, his determination and unease evident. He reached for the scabbard attached to his belt. With a purposeful turn, he strode away.

“What just happened? Why is he so angry?” you asked to Julius.

Julius sighed as he settled down opposite you. “It would be easier to obtain citizenship if the Vestalis Maxima would vouch for you.”

“I don’t see how being a virgin is relevant,” you said, confusion coloring your voice.

"My brother has never been married, nor is he a widower, and he carries significant importance. The emperor has presented him with many suitors, but he has turned down every one of them. Now, he requires the support of The Vestalis Maxima to approach the emperor regarding this union. Do you understand the authority of the Vestals?"

“I must admit, my historical knowledge isn’t very deep in that regard.”

“They’re extremely important to Rome, but it comes with a heavy burden. Anyway, the Vestalis Maxima knows my brother, their relationship is steeped in a complex history... My brother seeking to harness her formidable influence to secure a conubium, this union. However, her support will only be granted if the young woman he intends to marry maintains her purity. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“And now Marcus is going to talk the emperor himself?” you asked.

He nodded. “I suppose so.”

“Julius!” Marcus called out, and Julius stood immediately. “Yes, brother.”

Your jaw dropped as you took in Marcus for the first time in something other than armor—he wore a white tunic, with a golden embroidered belt around his waist and a red shawl draped over his broad shoulders.

Wow.

He looked incredibly attractive.

If you weren't so angry with him, you would be melted by the sight of him.

But no.

You were very angry with him, seething even.

You looked down at the wine in your hand. At least there was one good thing about ancient Rome: the wine was absolutely delicious and fruity, almost like juice rather than an alcoholic beverage. You had nearly finished the decanter on your own and even sipped from Marcus's half-finished goblet after he left the courtyard.

Julius returned to your side, deep in thought.

“Where did he go?”

“In his honor, chariot races are taking place at the Circus Maximus, and the emperor along with many others will be in attendance,”

"In his honor?"

"He didn't mention previously? My brother Marcus has recently returned from the war."

“The war,” you said, suddenly realizing he was a general indeed. The image of him fighting in the chaos of battle hit you hard—blood, shouting, people scrambling, arrows flying, and the reality of death. This wasn’t a movie or a TV show; it was all too real.

You shuddered at the thought.

How could anyone endure that?

“Why didn’t you go?” you asked, trying to change the subject.

“To war?” he replied, surprised. "I am Pilus Prior, entrusted with the responsibility of the barracks while my commander is away. It has been two long years since my last campaign. Marcus was initially reluctant to let me join this time; his own eagerness surged like a restless tide, driving him to pursue the glory he so desperately craved. As a result, he has rightfully earned the title of General of Rome."

"That's not what I meant. I was going to ask why you didn’t go to Circus Maximus to watch the races. But wait... Did he go to war just to become a general? Is that why he was so eager?" you asked casually, not wanting to dwell on the topic.

“No, never. He’s simply a soldier... ready to fight.” There was a weight in his tone that caught your attention.

"Isn’t every soldier ready to fight?"

“No one is as willing as he is, believe me. He’s very willing to die.”

You nearly choked on your wine as you processed his words. “What do you mean? Why would he want to die?”

"Never mind," he said trying to close the subject. "To answer your question, I did not attend watching the races, as my duty is to remain here with you."

"Let me guess: your brother asked you to do that, didn't he?"

"Correct," he said shyly.

At least his mother and sister won't arrive until nightfall. That was somewhat of a relief. You pulled out your phone, needing to check the lunar calendar. Julius’s eyes widened as soon as you took it out. "What is this thing?"

Oh, poor guy, he had no idea.

"This is a phone. Let's see... You can access some information on it, but without Wi-Fi, it’s limited to contacts and other offline apps. Let me check the date of the next lunar eclipse and the full moon."

He frowned. "I only caught the word ‘moon.’ Everything else you said sounded like a foreign language."

"I don’t blame you. After all, you’re looking at a device invented thousands of years in the future."

He pointed at the phone, curiously observing the picture.

"Oh, that’s me and my sister; I set it as my wallpaper."

"Your sister is as beautiful as you are."

"Thanks," you said quietly, glancing at Lizze’s smiling face in the photo. You really missed her a lot. It was a struggle not to start crying, but the pill had numbed your feelings, keeping everything light and manageable. "Check it out, when I tap here, the calendar app pops up..."

"The letters here is very different."

"That's English," you said with a chuckle. "Never mind, it would take too long to explain. We use this language. The numbers are slightly different from yours, but we still use Roman numerals for other cases. Look, it says the next full moon is in 20 days. I hope I’ll be back before then.”

"What do those signs mean?"

The red droplets signified the start of your period.

"Oh no. It shows today."

"Today?"

"I think today is Thursday or Friday, but time flows differently here, and the days seem to drag on. I need to jot this down. My phone’s at 56% battery. Damn it."

"What does that mean?”

"When it hits 0%, I won’t be able to use it again. There are no chargers or sockets and, worse, no electricity.” You groaned.

“I’m having great difficulty understanding the words you used,” he said, mesmerized by the device you were holding.

"Believe me, you’re not missing much. Anyway, it looks like we have plenty of time until nightfall. Let me show you some pictures from my gallery; I think my battery will last a bit longer.”

In the evening, Marcus and the others came back, and they were having dinner in this cool room called the triclinium. You were really surprised they called you to join them. You’d always been curious about those rooms, and seeing it all up close was pretty impressive.

Again, It all felt surreal.

Marcus was sitting at the head of the table, with his stepmother Balbina and his daughter Lydia to his left. Julius was seated to Marcus’s right, and since there were no other available seats, you had to sit next to him. Balbina and Lydia shot you glares, while the slaves continued to bring you food and drinks, clearly displeased with your presence but managing to endure it.

"Do you believe the red team will perform well in the races tomorrow?” Julius asked Marcus.

"Their horses are strong, and the chariot racer is well-skilled. However, the blue team is also quite formidable. We will better understand the outcome tomorrow; you will attend as well to see for yourself."

Julius was glad to go; it meant he wouldn’t be stuck babysitting you. But you thought the day ahead was going to be pretty boring without him. Then Marcus said, “I want you to come with me tomorrow.”

You kept munching away, thinking he was talking to someone else, but when you looked up, everyone was staring at you.

Wait, was he actually talking to you?

“The Emperor wishes to meet with you,” Marcus stated, meeting your gaze directly.

You stopped chewing for a second, swallowed. “Me? Why?”

"My son, what could her purpose be for being there?" Balbina asked, interrupting.

“Emperor Severus has expressed a desire to meet the woman I intend to marry,” he stated matter-of-factly.

Lydia looked at him. “Will he grant her the necessary special permission for the conubium?”

“He didn’t say otherwise,” he replied coldly.

“Shouldn’t we ensure this girl is genuinely suitable for such a union?”

Ugh, why was this conversation taking such a frustrating turn?

It was making you angry.

Marcus, lips pressed into a thin line, paused to sip his wine, not saying a word.

"I will take her to the midwife tomorrow for an examination. I doubt she’s untouched,” she said, shooting you a look.

Suddenly, you felt your blood rush, and you stared at Marcus with wide eyes. But he shot a deadly look at Balbina. “There’s no need for that. It will not happen.”

“But my son—”

“I said it won’t happen!” he interjected, his tone slicing through the air like a knife.

“Look at what we’re talking about over dinner. What a family,” you mumbled to yourself.

"Commencing tomorrow, please ensure that all arrangements for the wedding are completed. I will be consulting with the high priest regarding the details."

“You said you were going to talk to him the other day,” you piped up. “Did you?”

Everyone turned to look at you again.

Oops, rude behavior alert.

“We’ll discuss it later,” he said, standing up and leaving the room, as cold as ever just like he always was.

But you weren’t going to let him go this time, so you followed him.

Something darted right next to your foot, small and with a tail.

Shit.

“Marcus—aaah!” You ran over to him, grabbing onto him for dear life. When he turned around at the sound of your voice, he regretted it; you lunged at him so fast he could barely hold you. But you didn’t care—the little mouse was still there, squeaking away.

“Rat! A freaking rat!” you squeaked louder than the rat.

“Calm down. It won’t harm you; it’s probably more terrified than you are,” he admonished, his tone steady as he tried to soothe your frayed nerves. In your frantic movements, your braided hair cascaded over your shoulder, drawing his attention. His gaze fell upon the mole nestled at the nape of your neck, his expression shifted to one of startled recognition, as if fragments of a long-buried memory were surfacing, stirring something deep within him.

You let out a sigh of relief when the rat finally disappeared.

Julius and Lydia came over, and what they saw was more shocking than the mouse. You froze, realizing how awkward things looked—your arms were wrapped around Marcus, and he was gripping your arms pretty tightly.

How did this even happen?

Damn it.

Marcus gently pushed your arms away to free himself, trying to regain his composure.

Julius crouched down, surveying the area in search of the rat. “We have been experiencing issues with the rats lately; it may be necessary to set some traps. I will arrange for the appropriate measures to deal with them,” he stated.

“That would be wise,” Marcus nodded, still glancing at you, while you looked away, still a bit freaked out about the rat.

“All this commotion over a mere mouse?” Lydia rolled her eyes and went back down the hallway.

Marcus turned the other way.

“Hey! You promised we’d go there!” you called out, quickening your pace to catch up with him.

“Make sure you’re ready to leave then,” he replied, his gaze fixed ahead, not sparing a glance back.

“Okay!” you exclaimed, a bright smile breaking through your unease as you hurried to your room to gather your belongings, unaware that you were heading into another failure.

Another melancholic morning unfurled, draped in a cloak of strangeness, with a profound sense of failure tugging at your heart like an unwelcome shadow. Like Marcus mentioned last night, the moon was almost a new moon—prevailing shades of gray, nothing really bright or dark.

Was that really what it was about?

That is why you can't go back?

The wait for the full moon felt like an endless ordeal, and you were anxious about how each day would pass without losing your mind. You really hoped it wouldn’t drag on until an eclipse occurred; that thought was gnawing at you.

As the girls got you dressed, you felt a warm rush running down your leg. Panic almost took hold, but luckily, your love for organization meant you had tampons tucked in your bag for unexpected situations like this —well not ike this but still— thank goodness for that. The girls looked at you in surprise; they must've had a different way of dealing with such things.

Honestly, being a woman was tough in any era.

The outfit you wore this time was brighter, adorned with sparkling gold jewelry that dangled from your wrists, arms, and neck. They even sang as they draped it on you, but it felt heavy and uncomfortable; you couldn't wait to strip it off.

Marcus was waiting for you in the courtyard. As you made your way down the stairs, you tugged at the new braid in your hair—it wasn’t your usual style at all. When you finally spotted him, his back turned, that flash of red from his shawl made your heart race again.

You should be mad at him—he was the guy who flipped your life upside down.You shook your head and tried to brush those dreamy feelings off. When he turned to face you, he paused for a second, and it felt like something shifted between you.

Alongside the anger, for the first time in ages, he felt his heart beat with real emotion, almost overwhelming. However he seemed to gather himself quickly, clearing his throat as he said, “If you’re ready, we shall take our leave,” but his eyes quickly fell to your big-ass bag—quite the contrast to your fancy outfit. “It would be inappropriate to bring that along."

Your frowned. “Why not?”

“Because it appears out of place, and I believe you will not require the contents within,” he explained.

“How can you say I won’t need it?” you protested.

Marcus sighed deeply and crossed his arms. “Can’t you just follow my orders? Do you always have to complain?”

You found your gaze drawn to his arms; the muscles were just a few inches from your face.

And those biceps...

What the hell?

You really need to get your shit together.

“Okay, okay, but I need to grab something,” you said, rummaging through your bag.

Marcus raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “What is it?”

“Well, it’s a bit… feminine.” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the confused look on his face. “Let me spell it out for you, Mr. General. You know how women have their monthly thing, right?”

He paused as if processing your words, having never encountered a woman talking about it so casually. It was a bit indecent in his time, but honestly, it didn’t seem to bother him too much. Perhaps he has become accustomed to your unique way of speaking by now.

Clearing his throat, “I’ll be waiting outside,” he said, turning away to give you some space.

You didn’t look up; you were still fixated on locating those tampons. “Come on, where are you? If I say apples, appear; if I say pears, disappear.”

Those words.

Marcus froze mid-step, a shiver racing down his spine as a long-buried memory blossomed in his mind. A voice echoed from the recesses of his past, resonating with a sense of urgency that pulled him taut between the present and a fleeting recollection that danced just out of reach.

'Marcus! Where are you? If I say apples, appear; if I say pears, disappear.'

The timbre of the voice reverberated in his thoughts, youthful and playful, yet unmistakably familiar. His heart fluttered like a dust-laden page roused by a gentle breeze, yearning to shake off the dust. The very sound was the reason he couldn't dare to move, standing still like a statue.

Julius stepped into the sun-drenched courtyard, his features etched with both surprise and concern as he took in the scene before him. "Brother?"

Marcus, however, was consumed by an unshakeable silence that pressed down around him like a heavy fog; his eyes were fixed intently on a singular point, as if the world around him had faded away. When he finally turned his gaze back to you, you stood there clutching your tampons awkwardly, the bright morning sun casting a warm glow over your obliviousness. As you meticulously zipped up your bag, a sense of urgency gripped the air, and you noticed Marcus drawing closer, his expression undeniably strange.

“Those words you just spoke...”

You raised your eyebrows, wondering if he was referring to your period.

“Could you repeat that?” His tone was oddly insistent.

Julius looked confused as he glanced between the two of you, but he couldn’t have been more puzzled than you were.

“Are you upset because I called you ‘Mr. General?” you asked timidly.

“No, not that,” he replied shaking his head..

You thought the last thing you said was... the rhyme.

"If I say apples, appear; if I say pears, disappear. This one?"

He made a face as if you had cursed him.

“How do you know? Those words.”

What was his problem, really?

"I used to say it when playing hide and seek with my sister when we were little. What’s the big deal?”

"Is this saying recognized in your time? Do many individuals commonly use these words?"

“No, it’s just a code we made up to keep the game fun and free from getting caught,” you explained.

Marcus just stood there looking into your eyes. You really didn't understand what had happened.

Why was he acting like that?

His brown eyes pensive and piercing, compelling you to look away. You shifted your view to Julius, hoping for some clarity in this tangled situation.

Recovering from his own surprise, Julius placed a calming hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “Brother, we'd better leave now,” he urged.

With a slow nod, Marcus turned to head toward the courtyard's exit.

You called over to one of the slave girls, asking her to take your bag back to your room—carefully, of course. As she took it, a wave of sadness washed over you at parting with it, mixed with anxiety about the trip to Circus Maximus, which was just a ruin back in your time. With your period and cramps to contend with, you braced yourself for a challenging day ahead.

“Oh, my God.”

That was your immediate reaction the moment you stepped into the magnificent Circus Maximus. A maelstrom of emotions—fear, denial, panic, and disbelief—swirled within you. This couldn’t possibly be real. Yet, as you took in the splendor surrounding you, you realized it was as tangible as the marble floor beneath your feet—the cool stone grounding you in this extraordinary moment.

The images of RPG ambient videos you had scrolled through online flickered through your mind. Video games, films, and TV series had painted scenes like this, but nothing could prepare you for this overwhelming spectacle. It was beyond anything your imagination could conceive, far surpassing the vivid renderings of your fantasies. The grandstands of the colossal racing venue rose like ancient giants, filled with spectators—each face a mixture of excitement and anticipation. The air buzzed with the vibrant sounds of voices, lively music, thundering drums, piercing whistles, shouts of encouragement, and cheers echoing like a tidal wave crashing upon the shore. Instinctively, you recoiled, stepping back as the enormity of what lay before you threatened to swallow you whole. It was a blend of shock and awe—a devastating reality that ignited an exhilarating spark within you. When Marcus gently touched your arm, his presence snapped you back to reality. You noticed the tension in his expression, a slight nervous bite of his lower lip, mirroring the storm of emotions churning inside you. Your own palms felt clammy, not from the heat of the sun, but from sheer wonder.

“This way,” Marcus said.

Julius gestured in a direction, and instinctively, you turned, though your gaze was still captured by the spectacle surrounding you. Wherever you looked, your eyes were met with an entirely new detail—each one more fascinating than the last, drawing you deeper into this vivid reality. The dizzying array of sights threatened to overwhelm your senses, and the thought of finding a seat crossed your mind.

Nevertheless, you followed Marcus, enchanted yet bewildered, likely with your mouth agape and eyes wide in astonishment. Several times you stumbled on the uneven stones, clinging to his arm to steady yourself. He then admonished you to look ahead and be cautious. He reminded you to stay focused and watch your step. You squinted at him; this was a mind-blowing experience for you. He must understand how hard it was for you, but why should you be surprised?

He was a cold bastard with no empathy.

“You’d better acclimate to the flowing fabric of that long dress, soon you'll be wearing a stola all the time.” Julius said with a chuckle.

Being a costume designer, you knew exactly what he meant and what a stola was. You’d done some design work and sewing yourself before. 'We’ll see about that,' you thought as you continued walking, stopping whenever Marcus did.

Your heart raced when you caught sight of someone in a huge imperial box wearing a shiny golden crown.

Jesus Christ, it was him.

Septimius freaking Severus.

What you were seeing felt like something straight out of a historian's wildest dreams. He was the focus of tons of term papers and theses. Those statues you'd seen, the busts in all those exhibits, auction houses, and museums didn’t prepare you for this moment.

Here he was, in the flesh and blood—totally alive.

You’d have sounded ridiculous if you told anyone about this in 2025; they would’ve laughed for ages. But right now, it was so real. The folks who made the statues, the artists who painted him, and even those who did 3D renders of his face online nailed it. You couldn’t help but think of how great it would be to tell them when you got back that he really did look like that. You had to bite your lip to keep from chuckling at the idea.

You still couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that it was him. But then you caught yourself just staring.

Oh, right.

Marcus had reminded you not to gawk at the emperor, not to turn your back, and only to speak if he asked you to. So, you gave him a respectful nod instead.

"I believe you are the woman General Acacius wishes to marry." His voice dripped with condescension as he scrutinized you from head to toe, making you feel exposed and uncomfortable. A shiver ran down your spine, and you quickly averted your gaze, only to realize that Caracalla was seated right beside his father. His expression twisted with disdain, as if your very presence was a foul stench, and just as quickly, he turned away. You weren’t eager to see him either; what was with that arrogant attitude?

"Do you have a name girl?"

In that moment, you and Marcus responded in unison.

"Rose."

"Rosa."

Oops, speaking of inappropriate behavior...

Marcus glared at you and you gave him a “What?” look with your eyes.

The emperor and his sons cracked up, and it was obvious where the princes picked up that laugh.

“General is also correct. However, in my homeland, we pronounce it ‘Rose,’ your majesty,” you said, trying to avoid using modern words and respectfully bowing your head.

He laughed again. "I understand. I appreciate your explanation, Rosa.”

You smiled, well he didn't seem like a bad guy. He was probably in his sixties, with gray in his curly long hair.

"She possesses a remarkable propensity to speak quite assertively," Geta murmured, giving you a meaningful look. He had a handsome look going for him, but he wasn't really your type. If he hadn't tried to kill you before, you might’ve felt a bit semphaty for him, but all you felt now was anger and irritation.

“All women possess the ability to speak assertively, my son,” Severus responded with a laugh, prompting a grin from Geta. Caracalla appeared preoccupied with his own thoughts. "I believe you and she would make a suitable pair, Acacius, especially given your reserved nature."

Marcus lowered his head respectfully. "With your esteemed permission, Emperor Severus."

Severus nestled comfortably in his box, adjusting one of his rings with a confident smile. "You have my permission, Acacius, and you will soon receive the contract documents you requested. You may commence preparations at your house. May God Juno bless your union," he declared, raising his wine glass at you two. His evident happiness was striking, more so than that of Marcus.

No, you were wrong.

You didn't like him.

Geta and Caracalla exchanged looks, their expressions unimpressed. Marcus thanked the emperor, and when the drums started, he pointed to the bleachers. You were sitting with the Senate, right next to the emperor. Lucilla and Lucius were with you. Marcus greeted Lucilla and took a seat beside her, motioning for you to join. Julius was on your other side. Once you sat down, you checked out the fancy gold-embroidered chair, running your fingers over the details.

Suddenly, the loud sound of the horn shocked you, and you found yourself clapping along with the crowd, not even sure what for, but it felt impressive. Honestly, it was probably the tranquilizer making you feel unreasonably cheerful.

A moment later, you regretted clapping because one of the gates banged open, and two gladiators stepped out onto the sand, their names called out.

No.

Freaking.

Way.

"You said there’d be a chariot race," you whispered anxiously to Marcus.

Marcus continued to clap, perfectly calm. "The opening often begins with a combat."

"As the dust settles from the fierce combat, the races truly begins with bets being placed," Julius remarked, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“I thought they were having gladiator fights in the Colosseum,” you said, hiding your face partway with your hand because you couldn’t bear to look at the arena, swallowing hard.

Marcus's lips curled in a smile. "Do you really believe the Colosseum is simply a place for battles?"

"It was in the movies," you murmured.

Lucilla intervened. "Most gladiatorial combats and battles occurs there, along with theatrical performances and a variety of events that captivates the hearts of the citizens."

Thank you, Google, you thought.

You turned your gaze away, resolutely refusing to watch as the two men clashed violently before you. It was an overwhelming sight, more than you could bear. Yet, the crowd around you was entranced, their eyes gleaming with a mix of excitement and morbid curiosity. You’d never understood those who reveled in such brutality, watching with bated breath and eager anticipation. The tension coiled within you as you gripped the edge of your seat, your knuckles white from anxiety.

“It’s clearly your first time,” Lucius remarked, a knowing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he observed your strained expression. Marcus noticed that Lucius was paying attention to you. He tensed up but managed to stay calm. “Don’t your people have events like this one where you come from?”

“Thankfully, no,” you replied, your voice shaky as you darted your eyes nervously away from him.

But then a bitter truth pierced your thoughts. War had always been a constant shadow, lurking everywhere in your time as well. Despite the advancements in technology and the sheen of modern civilization, humanity seemed perpetually eager for conflict, always seeking justification to spill blood.

War had always existed.

This was merely its most primal form.

When the desperate clamor of the fight faded, anticipation surged through the crowd as the much-anticipated chariot races began. Excitement rippled like electricity, pulling everyone into its fervor, but you remained tense, the gruesome images of men savagely attacking one another still etched in your mind. Even as you shielded your face with your hands, the vivid memories assaulted you—the metallic tang of blood faintly lingering in the air, the sharp, jarring resonance of swords clashing echoed in your ears.

The races, however, were something beyond your wildest imagination. They were a whirlwind of color and speed, a breathtaking spectacle that held your attention captive. But in the middle of all the excitement, there was an annoying issue. The dust kicked up by the roaring chariots mixed with the leftover smoke from earlier, making your nose itch and sending you into a sneezing fit.

Really, why was it that ancient times were so achingly dusty and filled with smoke?

Everyone was buzzing with excitement over their bets. Lucilla and Lucius were all in for the blue team, while Julius was convinced the white team would take it.

“What say you Rosa?” Lucius asked.

You furrowed your brow, still trying to wrap your head around the whole thing. “I’m not really sure how this works.”

“It relies on the capabilities of the horses and their chariot drivers,” Julius replied, his enthusiasm evident. “For instance, the driver of the white team demonstrated commendable performance in the previous race.”

“How can you be certain of that? You were not present for the last race; you did not witness it firsthand,” Lucius interjected.

Julius shrugged. “It is not solely about observing the race. It involves having knowledge and experience. I believe the white team possesses a strong chance of success.”

In contrast, Lucius stated with assurance, “You are mistaken; the blue team is better motivated.”

“Red will emerge victorious,” Marcus asserted confidently, reaching into his pouch to produce several denarii, which he offered to you. “This is your opportunity to participate in betting. I suggest you place your faith in the red team.”

You accepted the coins, a sense of excitement washing over you. “Can I really bet?”

“You may place a bet on my behalf,” he responded with a gentle smile.

Whoa.

You didn’t expect that, and it caught you off guard in a good way.

After heading with Julius to place your bet, you returned, settling down to watch the race with bated breath. You were so focused that you didn’t notice all the times Marcus glanced your way, lost in thought about what you’d said earlier.

Those words.

Was it just a strange coincidence?

Voices melded into a cacophony, yet it was as though only your vibrant figure existed in that moment. His feelings, surprisingly raw and unguarded, danced around him like whispers of a forgotten memory.

Why were these emotions surfacing now?

After all these years, how could he find himself feeling this way again?

Suddenly, the thrill of your betting team’s victory had swept you away, and in that moment, you couldn’t help but hug Marcus tightly. You felt a wave of gratitude wash over you for bringing a spark of happiness into your otherwise somber mood, if only for a fleeting moment.

Your arms wound around his neck, your hair brushing softly against his cheek, and in that instant, he was overwhelmed.

The sensation struck him with the force of an unexpected arrow, piercing right through the defenses he thought impenetrable. But just as quickly, denial swept in, a survival instinct kicking in like a shield as the reality of the moment crashed over him.

He needed to remove that arrow.

Gently but firmly, he took hold of your arms, easing you back and breaking the physical connection that made him feel vulnerable.

“Oops! Sorry,” you said, a light chuckle escaping your lips. “But you guessed right, psycho—well, general, you’re incredible.”

Julius laughed too. "My brother consistently demonstrates wisdom in his judgments. In retrospect, I realize that I should have also considered placing my bets on the red team."

Marcus, however, remained quiet. He fell into a pensive silence, his thoughts drifting like leaves in the wind as he watched the final races unfold.

As an unfortunate time traveler, after several days filled with overwhelming melancholy and sour moods, you found yourself accompanying Balbina and her daughter Lydia to the market one day. The whole marriage nonsense weighed heavily on your mind, but you had no choice but to play along, despite your deep disdain for it. You kept reminding yourself to hold on until the full moon, convinced it would surely open the way back home—it had to, for the sake of your sanity.

All the while, your thoughts were consumed with worries about Lizze, leaving you unable to shake the painful possibilities surrounding her. You barely noticed that Balbina and Lydia were cruelly chatting about you as you wandered through the market, specifically in a fabric shop where they were buying everything for the wedding. Usually, working with fabric brought you joy, igniting excitement over new designs and upcoming projects. But not here. You loathed every moment, just as you despised your former wedding dress, which felt as if it had invisible words scrawled across it: 'abandoned on the altar by the groom.' That very dress, which you had designed and carefully sewn, had ended up in tears, frustration, and curses as you ripped it apart.

Slaves carried bolts of cloth, while Balbina engaged in animated conversation with someone nearby. Eyes were on you, just like that day at Circus Maximus; it seemed as if you had become some sort of celebrity in this world—the outlander girl the General was destined to marry.

How lovely.

You crossed your arms, looking away as a vendor enthusiastically offered you various fabrics. Just as you were about to decline and turn around, you heard a noise—a familiar voice you had long yearned to hear.

Your father’s voice.

Could you have imagined it?

Surely your brain was playing tricks on you from the tranquilizers you’d taken. No, you needed to see the face behind that voice to be sure. Your heart raced as you turned around, and there he was.

Damn it, it was him.

Though his hair looked different, the familiar face remained unchanged—those wrinkles around his eyes you remembered from the last time you saw him back in the hospital. The distinctive smile you recalled from your old days before the accident was still there. He stood before you in a Roman senator's toga, and for a moment, you were frozen in shock, paralyzed until he vanished from view. At that moment, Lydia's voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, snapping you back to reality.

You had to act, and fast.

Your instincts kicked in, propelling you into the throng of people, your heart set on finding your father or the man who bore such a striking resemblance of him. The shouts of Lydia and the others quickly dimmed as you maneuvered through the throngs of people, pushing aside those who got in your way, seeing them merely as obstacles. Soon, you reached a quieter street and spotted him again, standing beside a palanquin that slaves had lowered to the ground, conversing with someone inside.

As you crept closer, a whirlwind of questions flooded your mind.

What would you say first?

What would you do?

How could you ask if he recognizes you without bursting into tears?

Lectica—you suddenly remembered the word roman use for the palanquin—moved forward alongside the man, who continued speaking to the figure within. Your eagerness to see his face took precedence over all else until you caught the mention of a familiar name.

"We have decided to postpone our plan to eliminate Acacius," a woman’s voice chimed in, striking a chord in your memory.

"I heard that he is set to marry soon, my lady," your father replied, each syllable unmistakably his. Yet you forced yourself to listen; there was no room for tears now.

"He is to wed an outlander, someone of little significance—which serves our interests."

"As you wish, my lady. I shall gather near the Colosseum with the others when night falls."

With that, the slaves hurried the lectica along, their footsteps echoing on the cobblestones. As the curtain fell shut with a soft rustle, you barely caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman’s profile—Lucilla.

You found yourself torn between two shocking revelations: Lucilla's deceitful plans and the unsettling truth that your father's doppelganger was not only involved in those schemes but also had a sinister side.

As you trailed behind the man, your courage began to wane, and your physical strength was fading even faster. After walking for so long, the soles of your feet ached with each step. How did people in this era manage to walk everywhere without collapsing from exhaustion?

Your father's doppelganger turned down another street, and your foot caught on one of the uneven stones. You stumbled and landed hard on your knee. “Oh, crap,” you muttered, instinctively lifting the hem of your skirt to inspect the wound. Unfortunately, you hadn’t noticed that you were right outside a pleasure house—definitely not ideal territory. The man you were following disappeared into a large two-story building at the street's end. You decided to rest there until he emerged; your body was already protesting from pain and fatigue.

Just then, two really drunk men stumbled into view, their eyes locking onto you with unsettling interest.

“What are you staring at?” you barked at them.

Seriously, what was it with people in this time and their fascination with women’s legs?

The men laughed and sauntered away.

“That's really you,” a familiar voice chimed in, and you turned to see Lucius wearing that infuriating grin of his. When had he shown up, and where had he come from?

He glanced around before focusing back on you. “What brings you out here alone? Are you out of your mind?”

“Can't you see I hurt my knee?” you replied, frowning.

“Not just me, all men around here see that,” he said, crouching beside you. With a gentle tug, he adjusted the hem of your skirt to cover your exposed legs. "You'll live." Ah, yes, for people in this era, a simple injury like yours barely registered. “Does the general know you’re here?”

“Why do you care?”

He smirked. "Do you even realize where you are?"

You looked around at the bustling street. Men and women mingled, laughter drifting from the house behind you. One of the women lifted her skirt, flirting with a man, and suddenly it clicked.

Oh, no.

So that’s what showing legs was all about.

“Ugh,” you said, grimacing in disgust.

Lucius chuckled. “You’re quite a unique woman. I wonder why the General seeks to marry you, as he has always been perceived as emotionally distant from any woman, even from whores.” He cast a glance toward the house.

But his question didn’t pique your interest; instead, you fixated on his remark.

Does he never visit here?

You didn’t know why that made you feel so relieved.

“None of your business,” you said, narrowing your eyes. “It’s clear you frequent this place often, given how well you know the faces that come and go.”

He shrugged casually, a nonchalant smile playing on his lips. “If I were fortunate enough to find a beauty like you to marry, I wouldn’t need to visit this establishment to fulfill my desires,” he replied, his gaze piercing into yours with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. It made you feel both intrigued and uneasy, as if he could see right through your defenses with his blue eyes. "Do you have the strength to rise? This streets can become increasingly perilous for a woman, particularly once the sun sets."

Panic suddenly washed over you, and you placed your hand on the cobblestones, trying to push yourself up but failed. Lucius sighed, effortlessly scooping you up into his arms.

“Hey, put me down!” you protested.

“Where’s your carriage? I’ll take you,” he replied nonchalantly.

Your face fell. “I don’t know.”

Lucius laughed, a sound filled with genuine amusement. “Allow me to guess, you find yourself lost, do you not?”

Reluctantly, you wrapped your arm around his neck. “Yes, congratulations, genius.”

"You’re uncivilized and indecent girl, but oddly enough, I'm starting to like you more," he remarked, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes.

“And I’m growing to hate you more. You’re not at all what I thought you were.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Did you know me before?”

Yeah, from the museum and history books.

“Just put me down; I can walk,” you insisted.

“I’ll carry you to the General’s villa.”

“That’s not necessary. Why are you even helping me?” Apparently, he wasn't as malicious as his mother, but trust was a different matter.

“I owe Acacius, and I don’t like being in debt,” he explained.

“You owe him?”

“It’s quite the tale, my dear flower. But first, I have to ask—are you certain you want to marry him?” he asked suddenly. “If there’s any doubt in your heart, why not marry me instead? Trust me, you won’t regret it,” he said. His fingers tightened around your legs as he leaned in, gazing at your lips.

You smacked him right in the face. “Put me down now!” you yelled, trying to break free.

He sighed and said, "Alright, I deserve this. I apologize."

His expression fell as you averted your eyes. People on the street stared as you two passed, but Lucius didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered.

When you arrived at the villa, Lucius was carefully lowering you down when Julius noticed and sprinted toward you, looking pretty worried.

“Where have you been? We have all been concerned.”

His gaze shifted to Lucius, whose self-satisfied smirk only deepened Julius's frown.

“Julius, I—” you began, your voice wavering, but your words faltered as you spotted Marcus emerging from the shadows behind him, his face a storm cloud of anger.

“How could you run away through the streets recklessly? Didn't I warn you before? It’s beyond irresponsible!” he thundered, his brow furrowed in disappointment.

You bit your lip, trying to defend yourself. “Just let me explain—”

He looked at Lucius. “What about you? Did I summon you to Rome at great risk to my men only so you could walk aimlessly through the streets?”

“I wouldn’t have been able to save the woman you are betrothed to if I hadn’t been walking those very streets, General.”

Marcus exhaled deeply, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “For that, I am grateful. Now return to your mother. And if you hold any affection for her, cleave to caution.”

“Don’t speak to me as if you’re my father, because you are not,” Lucius retorted sharply.

“Lucius, how dare you speak like that to him?” Julius exploded, his fist clenching in anger as he lunged forward. But Marcus intercepted him, his grip firm yet steady, forcing his brother to halt.

Lucius merely motioned for them both to silence themselves before melting into the shadows.

A heavy silence settled in the aftermath of Lucius's departure, and though Marcus uttered no words, the hurt etched on his features spoke volumes. The sudden intensity of his gaze shifted to you, and you felt a knot form in your throat. ��Why did you leave without a word? You know I’m responsible for your safety.”

“I didn't mean to, I saw some....thing and then I got lost.”

He raised his finger and pointed inside. “Return to your room at once. You are not to set foot outside this villa until the wedding.”

“Look, Marcus, you don't have to marry me. I don't want to either, I can take care of myself.”

“Not here! This is not your time. The Emperor has already granted approval, and all arrangements have been finalized.”

“I can’t marry! It’s impossible—you don’t understand how hard this is for me.”

“It’s not a real marriage, after all. It’s for your own protection. Why can’t you understand that? Why won’t you let me keep you safe?”

“You think you can handle everything, don’t you, General? But you’re completely missing the traitor lurking right under your nose. How ironic.”

He paused, tilting his head slightly to the side, his frown deepening. “What do you mean by that?”

“I saw Lady Lucilla in conversation with a man.” It didn’t seem like the right moment to reveal that the man was the ancient Roman version of your father. “They were discussing you, plotting to get rid of you or eliminate—”

Suddenly, he rushed over, cupping your jaw and pressing his hand against your mouth. “One more word and I'll cut off your tongue.”

You gasped in fear.

Julius placed a hand on his brother's arm. “Calm yourself, Marcus,” he urged, but Marcus brushed him off and pressed on. “I told you to show respect when you speak of her. Do you really think you know her better than I do?”

You struggled to push his hand away from your mouth. “Sure, who am I to say anything, right?”

He was taken aback by your defiance.

“Believe it or not, they’re meeting tonight near the Colosseum. If you don’t trust me, go see for yourself!” you yelled, pushing his arm away with force. You stumbled into the courtyard, mumbling under your breath and touching where his fingers hurt your jaw.

“What a brutal bastard. I hate you.”

At night, you found yourself pacing in that damn room, lost in thought and unsure of what to do. Balbina and Lydia were even angrier with you after what happened today, and you definitely didn’t want to face them. Alone in the dim light, as anxiety clawed mercilessly at your insides, you felt the familiar grip tighten around your chest.

With an urgent flick of your wrist, you hurled your bag over your shoulder and slipped out of the room, your heart racing with the hope of escape. It was bedtime now, and in the stillness of the night, the villa felt like a prison, with your room resembling a cell. You thought of heading to the temple to read the parchment. Perhaps this time it would work. You just needed to get out, and fast.

“Are you going somewhere?” a voice broke through your thoughts.

Oh, crap. You hadn’t even descended the stairs yet.

Julius leaned against the balustrade, watching you. You hadn’t spotted him in the shadows. As he approached, his eyes fell on the bag slung over your shoulder. "I assume you were heading to the temple?"

“Hmm, looks like you know me well now,” you responded, forcing a nervous laugh.

He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. “You really are stubborn. Please, leave your bag in the room and come with me.”

“I can’t just leave it behind.”

"Please, I made a promise to my brother to take care of you, so I really need to ensure you stay inside the villa."

“Where is he?”

He sighed and stated, “He has gone to the location you previously mentioned.”

You raised an eyebrow in surprise. “He decided to believe me now?”

“He’s not quite who you think he is. Allow me to clarify a few things about him.”

“All right,” you relented, heading back to your room to drop off your bag. But as you entered, you noticed a plate of fruit on the table so tossed the bag onto the bed. You left the room, not caring that it fell and scattered its contents everywhere.

Anger surged within you.

As if Marcus wasn't enough to contend with, here was Julius blocking your way. You felt isolated; nobody from this time understood you, and you couldn’t make sense of them either.

You were taken aback when Julius led you to the stables. Still, you followed him, sensing he was taking you somewhere else. The disgusting smell hit you, but oddly, you realized you had grown used to it. A small garden and a fountain lay ahead. Julius gestured to a boulder and sat down opposite it.

“My brother and I used to come here to practice swordplay in our youth,” he began. “He was older, so he’d let me act like I was winning. Our father would watch us from over there.” He sighed deeply. “We were so happy back then, and I was still young when he passed. It was my brother who comforted me after that; he always protected me, even stepping up as a father. Unfortunately, I was unable to protect what was most precious to him.”

You looked at him, intrigued and puzzled.

What did he mean?

“Have you ever loved a man deeply?” he asked.

“Like romantic love? I thought I did once, but it was a mistake. Honestly, I think love is pointless. It’s illogical to care for someone more than yourself.”

“He did," He cut you off. "My brother.”

“Marcus? He loved someone? Wow, that’s hard to imagine.”

“He wasn’t always like this. He used to be cheerful, hopeful, full of life.”

It was hard to believe, but your curiosity kept you listening. “He loved a girl, innocent and bright. He treasured her above all else, treating her like the most beautiful yet fragile thing. Their connection stood in stark contrast to the bonds I witnessed between my mother and father, or those of other couples, resonating with a unique depth and tenderness."

“I sense there’s a ‘but’ coming,” you said softly, hoping to lift his spirits, as the sadness in his eyes made you feel uneasy.

“However her family and my father weren’t in favor of their union. Though they chose to pause their arrangements, their hearts remained intertwined, steadfast in love. Then, my brother enlisted in the army, bravely stepping into the tumult of his first war. When he returned, however, he faced a devastating revelation. The girl he had intended to marry had been sacrificed to the temple of Vesta, her fate sealed by her family's offering."

You remember the Vesta virgins from your history readings; they could never marry and were bound to the temple for their lifetime.

It tugged at your heart.

“What did Marcus do?”

“He was devastated and furious, but there was nothing he could do. At least, that’s what everyone thought, including me. He loved her fiercely, and she was miserable in that temple. At first, he asked my father to speak to the emperor, but to no avail. The rules were set in stone. He tried everything he could; I was a witness to it all, and in the end, he made a choice.”

You tensed up. “What kind of choice?”

“He concocted a daring plan to sneak her out of the sacred Temple of Vesta, to spirit her away from the heart of Rome to a pastoral village where his commander, Maximus, lived peacefully with his family. But first, destiny called him to join Maximus in the northern legion, to face the ruthless onslaught of the Germans. When they returned, the Rome they knew had shifted irrevocably; Commodus had ascended to the throne and brutally punished Maximus for daring to defy him. This cruel turn of fate shattered my brother’s hopes, costing him not only his commander but also the chance to fulfill a promise made to the woman he loved. The sequence of events becomes a blur, but after Commodus’s demise, my brother saw a flicker of hope amidst the chaos that had engulfed the Senate. It was then he resolved to rescue her from the confines of the temple. Instead of serving a corrupt Rome, he chose to serve her. One of the temple guards, a loyal friend, agreed to aid him; they meticulously plotted their escape, with my brother awaiting their rendezvous at the harbor under the veil of that night. Yet, fate turned against them once more; despite their careful planning, they were apprehended just as they sought the promise of freedom. The guards, quick to act, seized the two of them, the priests punishing them for the offense they were clearly guilty of."

“The two of them?” you echoed, incredulous.

“They believed my brother's friend was her lover, as they didn't reveal my brother's name.” Julius looked at you with tears in his eyes. “They made a sacrifice to protect him.”

You swallowed hard. “Sacrifice?” you struggled to maintain your composure. “How did they..." Your heart was racing. "What do you mean by that?”

You knew the horrific punishment a priestess of Vesta faced for treachery, but it still felt unbelievable.

You dreaded what you were about to hear. “Oh god, don’t tell me…” you gasped.

Julius’ sighed deeply. “They… buried her alive.”

Your eyes flew open in shock as your heart raced. You pressed your hands tightly against your mouth, desperately trying to stifle the disbelief that overwhelmed you. An icy wave of dread, like a thousand icy fingers, ran down your spine, causing your entire body to tremble uncontrollably. Hot tears cascaded down your cheeks, blurring your vision as your surroundings spun around you.

How could anyone justify inflicting such a horrific and inhumane punishment on an innocent girl?

When Marcus stepped into the villa, an overwhelming weight settled in his chest, pressing down like a storm cloud ready to burst. Fury boiled within him, directed at Lucilla—the very woman he had been shadowing for the entire night—who was precisely where you had said she would be.

Lucilla.

The disappointment of betrayal weighed heavily on Marcus. He had placed his complete trust in this woman, offering support in her time of need. He struggled to comprehend how she could have turned against him. He fought against disbelief, yet the truth he had witnessed was undeniable. With a sense of urgency, he pushed doubts to the back of his mind, focusing instead on finding you to offer the apology he owed. He had wronged you, and the weight of that realization gnawed at him. It was late, likely past the hour when you were asleep, but something pulled him toward your room with an untamed instinct.

He cast a glance through the doorway, but found it eerily empty. The absence of your presence left him baffled. Just as he was about to retreat, a whirlwind of curiosity and concern surged through him, spurred by the chaos strewn across the floor—your bag sprawled open, its contents carelessly scattered.

“Rosa?” he called softly, stepping carefully inside. Silence wrapped around him, intensifying the chaos he observed. Frustration surged within him as he took in the mess you had made, yet an odd impulse to tidy up tugged at him, thinking how reckless you were, even when it came to your belongings.

As he crouched to gather your things, something caught his eye amidst the mess. It was your wallet. Normally, he wouldn’t pay much attention to your peculiar assortment of trinkets, but the sight of a photo nestled inside made him freeze, breath caught in his throat.

There it was—a vibrant snapshot of your twelve-year-old self, beaming with joy beside little Lizzie at age five.

At 26, the years had transformed your appearance but he could notice it was your younger version.

But that wasn't the real issue.

Not at all.

What truly struck him was your striking resemblance to someone embedded in his heart and realization crushed him, gripping his heart relentlessly, leaving him breathless.

The bewilderment consumed him.

The puzzle pieces of his youth began to scatter chaotically in his mind, and he found himself grappling with the impossible question.

How could you possibly look so much like her?

For over twenty years, he had cherished her memory, but as time marched on, the details faded: the nuances of her face, the sound of her laugh, the scent of her presence…

Only the pain remained, like a knife stabbed into his heart—unyielding and sharp.

Yet now this picture breathed life into everything he thought he had put to rest. Her smile was unmistakable; it was the same radiant energy that had once filled his world with light.

A whirlwind of thoughts engulfed him, turning sense into nonsense and clarity into chaos. He sank to the floor, cradling the photograph in his trembling hands, his heart racing as if trying to escape his chest. Memories flooded back from the day he lost her, the moment his world crumbled.

He could almost hear the echo of the words he had held onto when he awoke: “Your prayers have been answered, child.”

He then recalled the moment, how you spoke those words just like her previous day. It was between Marcus and her; no one could know that, but you knew somehow.

Then the mole on the back of your neck was in the very same spot as hers.

Again, the very phrase, “Your prayers have been answered, child,” drifted through his thoughts like a haunting melody.

He had only one prayer: to die and reunite with the woman he loved in another life.

Were you truly her reincarnation?

Why couldn’t you recall anything about him?

Could it be that you were just a figment of his imagination?

No, it couldn’t be.

He knew that you were real, made of flesh and blood.

The last memory he had of the woman he cherished was of her at twelve, which might explain why he hadn’t recognized you. With his fingers pressed against the bridge of his nose, he grappled with a surge of emotions.

Why?

If the gods had answered his prayer, why hadn’t they returned him to her? This woman may look like her, but she truly is not.

Or was she?

What intricate tapestry of fate had been woven here, and what lesson lay hidden in its threads?

After a time lost in contemplation, he wiped away the tears that had escaped his resolute facade and stood up, determination surging within him.

Questions could linger in the shadows for a while longer; there was something he needed to confirm above all else.

Were you truly her?

hope you enjoyed the chapter babies, thanks for reading ❤️

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multi-fandom-imagine · 4 months ago

Text

𝐀 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐢𝐧 𝐏𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 (𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐝) || Severus Snape ||

A/n: I low key love Snape (idk leave me alone) Au where he only saw Lily as a sister, survived the war thanks to the Reader ( the girl he always loved )

-and Harry is a professor here like he should have been.

Severus Snape had endured many things in his life—war, betrayal, incompetent students, Harry Potter’s entire existence—but nothing could have prepared him for the utter chaos that came with bringing a one-and-a-half-year-old into his classroom.

And yet, here he was.

You had come down with a rather nasty bout of illness and was currently confined to his quarters at Hogwarts, leaving Severus with no other choice but to bring his son, Elias, with him to class. He had considered leaving the toddler with Minerva, but the mere thought of McGonagall indulging Elias’ every whim sent an unpleasant shudder down his spine.

So, there he sat. At his desk. Resigned. With his son.

Elias sat happily in a conjured high chair beside him, swinging his little legs while munching on a biscuit, blissfully unaware that he had just become the single greatest distraction Hogwarts had seen in years.

The students were losing their minds.

From the moment they entered the dungeon, every single one of them froze, eyes going wide before they exploded into whispered squeals and awed whispers.

“Oh my Merlin, is that—?”

“Professor Snape has a baby?”

“He’s so cute!”

“I never thought I’d see the day—”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose as a Hufflepuff girl audibly gasped, clutching her friend’s arm in excitement.

“If anyone so much as utters the words ‘adorable’ or ‘precious’ within my vicinity,” Severus drawled, rubbing his temples, “you will all be scrubbing cauldrons until next Christmas.”

A Ravenclaw girl raised her hand and without being called upon exclaimed. “But sir, he is adorable."

Severus glared. “Detention.”

“Worth it.”

Elias, as if sensing he was the center of attention, turned his head, blinked at the students… and then let out a tiny, delighted giggle.

The entire class melted.

Several Gryffindors gasped audibly. One Slytherin put a hand over her heart like she had just witnessed something life-changing.

Elias, pleased with the reaction, clapped his little hands together and giggled again.

Severus exhaled slowly, staring at the ceiling like it might give him strength but as if his day could not get possibly worse.

Enter: Professor Potter

The moment the door to the classroom swung open, and in strolled Harry Potter, now a professor himself, his grin far too wide for Severus’ liking.

Harry took one look at the situation and immediately let out a low whistle.

“Well, well, well,” Harry said, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “Now this is something I never thought I’d see. You, Snape, forced to bring your baby to work.”

Severus glared. “Spare me, Potter.”

Harry ignored him completely and walked right up to Elias, who beamed at him.

“Hey there, little man,” Harry said, ruffling Elias’ dark hair. “Having fun driving your dad mad?”

Elias giggled again and held his arms up, clearly expecting to be picked up.

Harry immediately complied, because who could ever deny such a cute baby.

Severus scowled. “Put him down, Potter.”

Harry grinned. “Oh, come on, Snape. It’s not my fault your son clearly likes me more.”

Elias, as if to confirm this, gently patted Harry’s face, then turned toward Severus and—with the biggest, most innocent smile possible—said: “Dada funny.”

The entire class burst into laughter.

Severus closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose.

You owed him for this. So much.

By the time class was over, Severus had accepted his fate. His students had spent more time cooing at Elias than focusing on their potions, and Potter had not let him hear the end of it.

As the last student left, Harry still grinning like an idiot, Severus stood, plucking Elias from his high chair.

“You,” he muttered to his son, “are a menace.”

Elias snuggled into his father’s shoulder, completely unfazed.

Severus sighed, running a hand through Elias’ messy dark curls. He was exhausted. But somehow… he didn’t mind.

When you were finally better, he was going to pretend this entire day never happened.

Harry, unfortunately, would never let him and it seemed that Dumbledore wouldn't either.

Severus Snape had endured an entire day of humiliation.

Students cooing over Elias. Harry’s endless teasing. McGonagall smirking at his suffering. Even you, his own wife, had laughed yourself into a coughing fit when you had heard about what had happened in his classroom.

Surely, surely, he would find some peace in the Headmaster’s office.

Severus swept inside, Elias still clinging sleepily to his robes, and collapsed into the chair behind the desk, letting out an exhausted sigh.

That’s when the chuckling started.

Severus froze.

Slowly, too slowly, he turned his head toward the portraits lining the walls.

And there, in his grand frame, sat Albus Dumbledore, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief behind his half-moon spectacles.

Severus sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No,” he said flatly. “Not you too.” A headache already forming.

Dumbledore merely smiled. “Oh, my dear boy,” he said, his voice far too pleased. “How could I possibly resist?”

Severus glared. “This is not a spectacle for your amusement.”

Dumbledore’s portrait chuckled. “Severus, I have watched you suffer through many things in life. But this—” he gestured dramatically toward the sleeping toddler curled against his father’s chest—“this is by far the most entertaining.”

Severus scowled craddling his son against his chest as his gaze looked away from the large portrait.

“I must say,” Dumbledore continued, his eyes twinkling brighter than ever, “I never imagined I would see the day where Severus Snape was reduced to being a walking bed for a sleepy child.”

Severus gritted his teeth. “If you are quite finished—”

“Oh, not yet,” Dumbledore said cheerfully.

Several of the other portraits chuckled in agreement, some nodding along.

“You know,” Dumbledore mused, resting his chin on his hand, “if dear Elias does end up in Hufflepuff, I do believe Minerva will never let you hear the end of it.”

Severus groaned. “Enough.” Fingers running through his hair.

“Perhaps a yellow scarf for Christmas?”

“I am leaving now.”

“A badger plush in his Hogwarts trunk, perhaps?”

Severus stood abruptly, shaking his head in pure exasperation. “I refuse to participate in this absurdity.”

Elias stirred in his sleep, mumbling softly, before letting out a content sigh, his little fingers gripping onto Severus’ robes even tighter.

Dumbledore’s grin widened.

Severus looked down at his son, his scowl softening for just a fraction of a second. He let out a long suffering sigh, then turned one last glare at the portrait.

“You are insufferable,” he muttered.

Dumbledore beamed. “And you, my dear boy, are adorable.”

Severus left immediately.

As the door slammed shut, Dumbledore’s portrait chuckled again, his blue eyes twinkling with satisfaction.

“Ah,” he mused, leaning back in his chair. “That was deeply satisfying.”

#drabbles #drabble #severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x you #snape x reader #snape x y/n #snape x you #snape #HP #hp x y/n #hp x you #hp x reader #harry potter x you #harry potter x reader #harry potter #JKR is a hoe

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metalomagnetic · 6 months ago

Note

Hello Metalo- after being tortured by Mal, I am in desperate need of some crack, so! In similar vein to canon Voldemort meeting all of his lovers, canon Sirius meets his:

- Bella from EMD, Bella 2.0 from Ouro

- Voldemort (from It runs and Mal)

- Astrid

- Andromeda and Lucius from Family

- James from Inevitable

- Greyback from The thrill of the chase

- Severus from Turmoil

What happens?

My guess on what he’d do depends on his age- the only certainty is that he’d bully Snape into a pulp. And that Mal V and It runs V would be duelling in the corner.

Sirius cannot accept there is a universe out there where he fucked Snape; he just refuses to believe it. It's impossible.

"I mean, it seems like you fucked Voldemort in another one, so-" James says.

Apparently Sirius fucked James, too, in yet another world. That, he doesn't doubt. He's happy; from all this insanity, since these people came here, since the skin crawling realisation he fucked Snape, the only joy he has is seeing James again. It's not his James, but it's a version of him, and Sirius hadn't left his side all night.

Now his eyes leave James, to look at Voldemort, sitting in a corner with Bella. "I can see it," Sirius says, with a wince, taking Voldemort in, his tall frame, his imposing stance, power crackling around him. "I'm sorry, but I can see that happening before Snape."

James snorts. "And look, you fucked two of your cousins. You dog!"

"It's not me!" Sirius protests. "I'd never-"

"Oh, shut up," James teases. "Even in my universe you had a thing with Bella. You never explained, but I know it happened."

Sirius takes another sip of his drink. "Andromeda at least said it's a marriage of convenience-"

"Yeah, so you could be with Malfoy-"

"Ugh." Sirius hides his face in his hands. "I truly am a dog."

"He does have pretty hair," James allows, with a smile, but he turns grim fast. "I'd rather that universe for you. You were happy, at least. I rather all other universes than the one you got-"

"No, don't say that! There's one where you were never born, where Voldemort won, and-"

"I'd take that for you," James insists. "You don't deserve this world. And they certainly don't deserve you, the fucking wankers, I can't even think of Remus abandoning you in Azkaban! He did that in my world, too, you know? You forgave him, but I never did."

Sirius breathes out, takes another sip of whiskey. "He's- I don't care anymore. I only care about Harry. Nothing else matters to me."

James hugs him, fiercely, and Sirius hugs back, basks in the opportunity to hold James, any version of James, one last time.

"You're like that in my world; you love us fiercely, and Harry adores you. You're his favourite dad, you know? Whenever he has a problem at school, he tells you about it; if he has a nightmare, he calls for you."

Sirius' heart swells, hearing it. Gods, what a lucky bastard that version of him is! He got to raise Harry, and he got James.

A young woman sits beside them at the table. "May I?" she asks, after she already sat down.

Both he and James nod. She's beautiful. Drop dead gorgeous. James kept looking at her through the night. Sirius checked her out a few times, too. Apparently, she's his wife, in the same universe he fucked Voldemort.

"I'm sorry to intrude," she says. "It's just that I cannot stand any of these people, besides Lucius. But this Lucius is...different. He left me alone to hide from the dark lord." Her nose twitches with distaste. Fuck, but she's adorable.

"Tell me about Sirius' kids!" James asks her. "I wanna hear all about them!"

Another Orion; apparently Sirius named all his sons, in all the universes, Orion. Something clenches in his chest, painfully. This particular one sounds like a handful, as the girl- Astrid- describes him.

I bet he isn't even close to how difficult the Orions born from Andromeda or Bella are. Those must be nightmares.

"No!" Sirius protests when he hears about Marvolo. "It's impossible I raised a snitch!"

Astrid smiles, a beautiful, mesmerising sight. James can't look away. Sirius elbows him in the ribs. "He's not a snitch! He is simply...fond of rules."

The third one, Helix, bites people. "That sounds like Sirius's son," James jokes.

"And, of course, there's Harry. He's a little angel, he never gives us any trouble, though you- my Sirius spoils him something awful."

James's hand tightens on Sirius' thigh, when he hears Astrid describe Harry as Sirius' son.

"Thank you," he whispers in Sirius' ear.

"Don't thank me," Sirius says. "Apparently I fucked your killer in that universe." He turns to Astrid. "Gods, you should leave me- I mean, the other me. He's clearly missing some marbles."

"You are a perfect husband, though," she frowns, clearly bothered. "I wasn't aware about the dark lord situation."

Sirius looks in Voldemort's direction again, meets those quite frankly mesmerising eyes, and quickly looks away.

I wonder who fucks who. He shakes his head to dispel the curiosity. Best not think about it too much.

"Maybe he has me under the Imperius," he mutters.

"Snivellus certainly gave you a love potion," James says, glaring daggers at Snape, sulking in a corner.

"Yeah!" Sirius is happy to take this explanation. "Definitely. That's what must have happened!"

"When I go back to my world, I'll tell my Sirius about it and we'll go bully Snape into an early grave," James promises, and Sirius is jealous, so jealous of that Sirius.

"Yeah, I'll bully mine, when he comes to Grimmauld," he mutters, but truth is, he is made to feel so useless, locked up, not allowed to help, that it's hard to bully anyone, isn't it?

"I cannot believe you allow all these blood traitors and mudbloods into your ancestral home," Astrid says. "These Order people."

James meets Sirius' eyes, and he knows they're thinking the same thing. Oh, that's what's wrong with her. She was too perfect, otherwise.

"How do I put out with this nonsense from you?" Sirius asks her, bluntly.

She shrugs. "You ignore it."

(-)

Andromeda and Lucius are the calmest of the lot, the most reasonable, really. Sirius can see himself having a marriage of convenience with Andromeda. She's always been practical, and the easier to get along from the sisters.

And Lucius....well, James is right. He has pretty hair. And apparently he renounced Voldemort in that universe.

Apparently, Cissa saved Harry's life. Good for her. Sirius hopes maybe...maybe Cissa from this universe will one day do the same.

He remembers she became a dragon whenever someone mistreated her porcelain dolls. He cannot imagine she's taking kindly to her son being inconvenienced by Voldemort.

Once again, his eyes stray to that corner. Once more, he meets that red gaze.

What the fuck happened there? Sirius is curious. Must be the Imperius, right?

Surely.

Speaking of questionable choices...

"You should have stayed with me," Greyback tells him, later, when Sirius makes his way to him. The wolf is playing with a knife, twisting the blade expertly. "It would have been a kinder fate than what you got."

Sirius opens his mouth to tell him he's not a traitor, that he would never fuck or stay with the man that ruined Remus' life, but...how can he say that, when apparently in another universe he fucked the man that killed James?

Greyback is a shit wizard, he can't be using Legilmancy, so it's just a weird coincidence that he says, " the dark lord, really? In my world, you'd cut your cock off before allowing him near you."

"I must have been coerced," Sirius mumbles. "And you probably caught me in a bad moment-"

Greyback laughs. "Oh, I caught you in many bad moments, little brat. And you enjoyed it every time."

Disgusting. Sirius moves away.

For some reason, even though Snape is the worst, he still finds himself walking towards him, even if he meant to head for Bella. Somehow, his mind apparently wants to avoid her more than Snape.

Snape won't look at him, arms crossed.

"You slipped me a potion, didn't you?" Sirius asks, hopeful.

Snape snorts. He raises his chin, defiant, but still won't look at Sirius.

He looks....better than actual Snape. He looks....washed, and dressed properly. With horror, Sirius realises that what Snape is wearing is what Sirius would enjoy seeing on a wizard-

"Oh, fuck," he mutters. The other me is dressing Snape!

Gods, how does that Sirius live with himself? Unbearable.

How does Snape live with himself? "Do you have a humiliation kink, or what the fuck is wrong with you?" Sirius hisses. I almost fed you to a werewolf, he wants to add, but Snape blushes, fiercely, and Sirius steps back, horrified.

Alright, best not to bully Snape, then. At least not this Snape.

Shit, what if my Snape shares this....misfortune?

No. He can't think about that.

(-)

For a few minutes, he sits with Bella in silence. He just can't think of what to say.

It's too painful. It's impossible that he'd-

And then she draws him into a hug, and- oh.

He hugs back.

"How is mum?" Sirius asks, in her hair. "And Regulus?"

"Good," she says. "Everyone is doing great. Our children are perfect. We have the perfect life, my lord made sure of it."

He doesn't want to fight with her. He fought with her enough. And it's useless, anyway. Sirius is apparently a fucking whore, in all these universes, trading lovers, shifting morals, but Bella- Bella is constant. In all the universes, she remains loyal to Voldemort. Her convictions never waver.

"Children? Plural? I heard you talking about an Orion-"

"We have five," Bella says, drawing back, with a smile.

"Five? What the fuck?!"

"The last two are twins. A surprise, later in life. I only kept them because one of them was the girl we both wanted."

Sirius blinks. "What's her name, then?"

She laughs. "We fought for nine months about it," she says. "I wanted-"

"Delphini," Sirius says, remembering, from his youth, as the girls talked about children, future marriages. Bella always said she'll have a daughter and name her Delphini.

Her eyes soften. She cups his cheek. "Yes," she whispers. "You wanted Walburga."

"Fuck out of here!"

"You were adamant. So her name is Delphini Walburga."

"That poor girl!" Sirius says, incensed on behalf of this child.

He spends a lot of time with Bella, more than he imagined he'd want. But he's mesmerised with her stories of home. Of a different home. A home Sirius apparently never left.

Would I have truly stayed in Grimmauld if there was no James in my life? Would life had been as easy? Or would Sirius feel something missing, even if he would never learned what?

(-)

There's no avoiding him any longer. He's the last one. Besides, he's the one that figured out how to get everyone back to their universes, and he needs Sirius' blood for a ritual to open a portal.

"Come." He leads Sirius to a different room, and Sirius has to follow him, though James looks after them, anxiously.

They enter a room, and there's a dead body on the floor-

"What the-" Sirius' mouth snaps shut when he sees who it is, there on the floor.

It's...Voldemort.

"Don't mind him," Voldemort says, kicking the body. "He had it coming."

Sirius stares between them. "There's two of you?!"

"Were," Voldemort corrects, his eyes staring into Sirius' soul.

"Wait, I fu- I had a thing with you in two worlds?" Now that is horrifying. Once is a mistake, but twice? There are two Sirius running around fucking two Voldemort?

Well, I suppose there's only one, now.

"No." Voldemort's eyes flash with furry when he looks down at the body. "You didn't have anything with this one. You didn't have a choice."

Oh.

Sirius blinks, relieved. Alright, so at least one version of him is sane. But the fact that this Voldemort apparently would kill himself for forcing Sirius-

That means, in Voldemort's world, he is not, in fact, holding Sirius under the Imperius.

The curiosity increases, tenfold. He likes me, it strikes Sirius. He likes me enough to kill for me.

How....awkward. "Congratulations," he blurts out. "On winning, I mean. You're not easy to take down."

Ah....there it is.

Voldemort smiles, and Sirius thinks he understands what the other Sirius sees in him.

The smiles transforms his face, makes it human. Handsome, even.

He has a dimple, for fuck sake.

No wonder Bella ends up fucking him in so many worlds, if he has that dimple.

"I admit, I had an ally," Voldemort says. "Bella, of course."

Of course? What? "No version of Bella would turn against any version of you!" Sirius insists.

No, it's not possible. Because if it's possible, then he'll spend the rest of his life wishing his Bella would do the same, and that only leads to heartbreak.

"This was an aberration," Voldemort says, gesturing at the body. "He shouldn't have been allowed to exist at all."

"You- I mean, you in this world- you're not that great, either."

"I gathered." Voldemort's jaw twitches.

"You looked like this," Sirius says. "In the first war. But now Harry says you look like a nightmare."

"I believe that's the least of his issues, here," Voldemort says, after some seconds.

"Can't argue with that." He bites his cheek. "Though, admittedly, I don't really know you. We haven't properly met."

"A tragedy," Voldemort says, and -

It throws Sirius off, how honest he sounds.

"I must be very impressive in your world," Sirius mutters.

To attract Voldemort's....attention like this, Sirius must be some amazing version of himself.

"You are."

Sirius has no idea what to say to that, what to do with the way Voldemort looks at him.

It's not with Greyback's predatory hunger, it's not with James' joyful eyes, not with Andromeda's care, or Lucius' desire.

No, it's....Sirius can't place it. Never has anyone looked at him quite like that.

Tender, almost, but not quite. Or, not only.

"Impressive like Bella? You're with her, here. At least that's the rumour."

Voldemort smiles again. "That is the rumour in my world, as well. And I can confidently say it is false."

A few seconds of silence pass between them. Voldemort keeps staring.

Sirius stares back.

"Your hand," Voldemort finally says. "I need your blood to complete the ritual."

"You can have the blood, you don't need the hand," Sirius snaps. The other version of him....gods know what is going on there, but Sirius can't make himself touch the man that murdered James, in any universe, no matter how curious he is.

That makes Voldemort smile wider. "Impertinent, as always," he comments, but it's' with fondness.

Sirius cuts his hand, collects the blood in a vial he conjures.

"You should remember this is who you are," Voldemort says, as he takes the vial. "Arrogant, proud, brave. You shouldn't allow the Order to treat you this way. Not after all you sacrificed for them."

It makes Sirius ill, physically ill, that Voldemort, out of all people, says this.

That everyone else in his world treats him like a reckless child, a burden that needs to be locked away, that they don't trust him to help, never recognise what he's been through, and here Voldemort is-

He shakes his head, pushes his anger down. "I don't care what they say. I am singularly focused on my goal, and they happen to be on the same side I am." Sirius only cares about Harry. And the Order does, as well. For that, Sirius is grateful. Harry needs all the people he can get in his corner.

"Why do you love that child so?" Voldemort asks. "I don't understand it. I need to understand it."

"He's all I have left of James," Sirius says. "He's all I have left."

Voldemort opens his mouth, but closes it again. He turns, and pours the vial on the runes he drew on the floor.

"Do you enjoy watching the stars, Sirius?"

It bothers him, the way Voldemort speaks his name, with such familiarity.

It bothers him Voldemort knows this about him.

Does that other Sirius also like to climb on the roof and stare at the stars?

"Yes."

Voldemort nods. "Next you do that, think there are many worlds, out there, where you have more than Harry Potter."

#sirius black #lord voldemort #sirius/voldemort #sirius/bellatrix #sirius/james #RIP Malediction Voldemort #you won't be missed #crack #my writing #it runs in the blood

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snowyslytherinowl · 6 months ago

Text

A Love Paid in Galleons - Part 1

PAIRING: Severus Snape x Reader

SUMMARY: Knowing that no one would ever want him, Severus hires a prostitute to help him lose his virginity. But what he doesn't anticipate is that he'll give his heart to her as well.

Part 2 here

I hate to say this but if we’re speaking canonically, I believe that Snape either died a virgin or lost his virginity to a prostitute. I wanted to write something on the latter topic with some cuteness. This also has been interesting for me to write since I haven’t written smut in a long time and never really wrote smut like this. I hope y’all still enjoy this though!

18+ DUE TO SEXUAL CONTENT; MINORS DNI!

Severus wouldn’t dare to do this at Hogwarts. For one thing, inviting someone like this within the castle walls would surely be strictly forbidden. But most importantly, he wouldn’t be able to bear the embarrassment if knowledge of his actions circulated the school. His head pounded at the thought of the incessant teasing by the students, or even worse, by Minerva and Dumbledore.

Earlier that day, he covered his head with a black hood and ventured into Knockturn Alley. The only place of its kind could be found at the very end of the alley, tucked away in a corner lit only by a flickering lantern. Severus handed his galleons to the madam, paying extra to reserve a pretty one for the entire night. His blood ran cold as he gave her his address and a fake name, not processing that he was actually going through with this. But he felt that it was only right to reserve the prostitute for the entire night; at least after she had sex with a disgusting man like him, she could leave and be free from company for the rest of the night.

Even now, hidden away in the privacy of his home at Spinner's End, he doesn’t know what to do now that he has dared. He showers and roughly scrubs his hair, ridding it of all its grease. He tidies up the sitting room, repairs all the cracks in the walls, cleans his dirty dishes, puts every dish in the cupboard, and removes the nightmare-inducing jars from his study. He decides that they would do it inside his study, rather than his bedroom. He’s embarrassed by the holes in the sheets and the mismatching pillowcase and comforter. Even then, he doesn’t want to be reminded of the upcoming encounter every night and subsequently wrap his arms around his body, attempting to ease the feelings of loneliness.

The clock rings, signifying a new hour. It’s ten o’clock; she should be here any second now. And then there’s a knock on his front door. Severus jumps in his seat and slowly makes his way to the door, his hands shaking and his heart pounding.

The woman on the other side of the door takes his breath away. He doesn’t think he’s seen a woman as beautiful as you. Smooth skin, luscious hair, full lips painted a deep red. Even your eyes are bright and welcoming as you smile at Severus. His heart pounds even faster as his eyes rake over the short green dress tightly hugging your body. “Hi,” you greet in a sweet voice.

“Hello,” Severus says quietly. He stares at you as though he’s stupified, completely mesmerized by your beauty. How could he ever rip his eyes away from a woman like this?

You blush and bite your lower lip. “May I come in?” you ask shyly.

“Oh. Yes,” Severus mutters, his cheeks burning with embarrassment. He steps aside and allows you to enter. You walk to the middle of the sitting room and look around. He fidgets with his fingers at the thought that you might be judging the simplicity of his house.

But it doesn’t seem like those kinds of thoughts are on your mind. You spin around and look at him with the most alluring gaze a woman has ever looked at him with. His breath catches in his throat and he stands frozen once more. You inch closer to him, that sweet smile still playing on your lips, until you stand directly in front of him. “What would you like me to do, sir?” you ask in a low voice.

“I… er… I…” Severus’s heart beats so fast that he can’t breathe, let alone speak. His face becomes even more red. He’s so embarrassed that he can’t form a single coherent sentence. He gulps as you continue to look up at him, awaiting his response. “Er… anything you wish to do. And you do not need to call me sir.”

You laugh the sweetest laugh he’s ever heard. A laugh more powerful than a siren’s call, a laugh that could make any man weak in the knees. You bat your eyelashes at him and say, “How about we get out of the sitting room so I can show you what I have in mind?”

You take his hand in yours and gently squeeze it. Severus fights the urge to run his thumb over your smaller hand, a perfect match nestled within his grasp. He leads you up the stairs on shaky legs and pushes open the door on the right.

Like the sitting room, the study is unassuming. Shelves full of books filed in alphabetical order line the wall on the right. On the left, there are cabinets holding jars of potion ingredients. There are no framed photos or personal effects. He flips the light switch on, the dingy overhead light beginning to glow. But since the light flickers unreliably, he chooses to light the candles on his desk instead. Perhaps it’ll even give this situation a romantic feel, even if there is no romance involved.

You walk to the bookshelves and run a finger over several of the titles. Your eyes light with genuine curiosity as you inspect his room. No one has ever been interested in anything he owns. “What do you work as?”

“Oh…. er… I… I do…” Severus stammers again, still hesitant to tell you for fear of exposure. He awkwardly stands at the doorframe, hoping you’ll catch on.

You seem to sense his discomfort and smile reassuringly at him. “It’s fine. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You stand directly in front of him once again and take his hand. You place your intertwined hands on his chest and stare up at him. “Do you want me to show you what I have planned?” you ask in a low voice. The combination of you smiling at him, looking up at him like you actually want him, and speaking in a sultry voice is too much for him. His eyes dip down to your lips but quickly looks away before he can give in to the urge to kiss you.

“Er… that would… er…” he mutters. You brush a strand of his hair behind his ear with your free hand, sending his heart into a tizzy.

“Are you nervous?” you ask. Severus nods very slightly in response, so you follow with, “Will this be your first time?”

Ashamed, Severus’s eyes sink to the ground and he remains silent. The reason why he solicited a prostitute is because he wants to lose his virginity. Is it so wrong for him to yearn for the touch of a woman, want to feel wanted, even if that want is all a superficial act? He knows no woman would ever want to sleep with him. No woman has ever looked at him, approached him, or complimented him. If anything, they would be repulsed by him. With his greasy hair and sallow skin, he can’t blame them. And what would you say if he told you that he, a man in his thirties, was a virgin? He knows you’ll think that he’s a pathetic, lonely slug because that is exactly what he is.

With your pointer finger, you tilt his head so he’s looking into your eyes. You smile at him and reassure, “Hey, there’s nothing to be ashamed of if it is. I’ve never been anyone’s first, but I promise to make this special for you.”

He frowns and his hands start to shake. Blinking rapidly, he tries his best to hold back the tears that are threatening to form in his eyes. “Why are you so kind to me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. The only possible answer is that you’re paid to be here. Otherwise, you would have screamed and apparated away the second he opened his front door.

“Why do you think that?” With a gentle touch, you caress his cheek to relax him. Severus sighs again, still not able to understand or accept your kind touch. “I think you’re very handsome,” you say in a tone that sounds genuine.

Butterflies flutter in his stomach. No woman has told him that before. Or maybe you’re just saying that to be kind? “You really think so?”

“Of course. If anything, I’m surprised that no woman has snatched you up yet,” you say with another one of your beautiful laughs.

He can’t stop his lips from pulling upward into a smile. Now all he can think about is kissing your soft, plush lips.

“May I… may I kiss you?” he mutters, his cheeks reddening.

“Yes,” you say and get on your tippy-toes. Severus bends his head down and tenderly presses his lips against yours.

The moment his lips touch yours, shockwaves run throughout his entire body and his head spins. All thoughts drift into oblivion. All he can think about are your kind words, your gentle touch, your ethereal beauty, your enchanting smell, you. He wants to stay here in this exact position, kissing you forever.

He lets go of your hand and then wraps it around your back, pressing his chest against yours. When you moan into his lips, Severus cups your face with his other hand. He kisses you deeper and rougher, as though he’s a dying man and your kisses are the only things that can save him.

Severus is hurt when you pull away until he notices that your cheeks are now a deep crimson. He begins to panic at the thought that he hurt you by not restraining himself well enough. But then you take in a deep breath and laugh. “Sorry, I had to take a breather.”

He stares at his feet like a schoolboy caught doing something he shouldn’t have, yet this embarrassment feels amazing. “No, I apologize that I got carried away,” he mutters.

You smirk at him. “No, no. Silas, I think you deserve a reward for how excellent of a kisser you are,” you say seductively.

A shiver ran through his body at your words. As you inch closer to the desk chair, Severus stops you. He feels wrong continuing this night with you without telling you his real name. He’s willing to throw caution to the wind with you; he has a feeling you’d keep his identity a secret. “Actually, my real name is Severus.”

“Ok then, Severus. How about you sit down?” You grab his hand and then gently push him. He flops onto the desk chair and stares up at you with wide eyes.

You lean down and press wet kisses on his cheek. You unbutton the top part of his coat and continue your trail of kisses down his neck. Severus freezes as he feels blood rush to the lower parts of his body. He doesn’t want you to notice the growing bulge in his pants, and neither does he know where to put his hands. He sits stiffly on the desk chair, his fingers tightly gripping the armrest.

Instead of continuing to unbutton his coat, your hands trail down to his trousers. His breath catches in his throat as you drop to your knees and unbuckle his belt. With swift fingers, you undo his belt, and then his button trousers, and then pull the trousers down to his knees.

Severus jumps in his seat when you run a hand over his clothed cock. If he had any intentions to hide his bulge earlier, well, his secret is out now. He takes a deep breath and stares down at you with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. With the mischievous expression you’re looking up at him with and the way you’re slowly palming his clothed cock, Severus thinks he might pass out.

Severus holds back a moan when you apply more pressure with your palm, and you smirk as you notice how tense he is. You slowly shimmy down his boxers and reveal his large, hard cock. Severus stares at the ceiling, too embarrassed to look you in the eye. How pathetic he must be to get this hard at only a few touches.

“Severus, look at me.” Your voice is gentle, but the firmness of your command is there. Severus forces his eyes to move from the ceiling to you.

Below him is an absolute sight to behold. His hard, thick cock is leaking precum from the tip. Embarrassment burns through him, but he can’t stop staring at how you’re looking at him. Your hands rest on the chair cushion, just touching his thighs. And Merlin, you’re staring at his cock like you want to devour it.

“Do you want me to touch you, handsome?” you purr. Your hands slither onto his thighs and massage his skin there. He nods a little too eagerly and you chuckle.

“Where do you want me to touch you?” You run your hands up his body and rest on the bottom of his torso. “Here?” He only whimpers in response and moves his legs, trying to shift your hands where he needs them most. You smirk and click your tongue in disapproval.

“Is here better?” You shift your hands to his hips, your fingers ghosting around his cock. He whines pathetically and looks down at you, silently begging you to just touch him already.

“Use your words, Severus,” you gently command. As an extra tease, you skim one finger down the length of his cock.

“My cock, please,” he begs you. If anything, he would spend the rest of his life begging him to touch you. Even if you got up and left, this would still be the best moment of his life.

You finally wrap your hands around his cock and swipe a thumb over his slit, smearing precum up and down his cock. Severus lets out a needy mewl as you pump your fist up and down his manhood, his apprehension at making noises melting away. Every so often, he’d touch himself in the shower and eventually bring himself to orgasm, his feelings of shame washing away any feelings of pleasure. But masturbating never prepared him for this. Your expert touch feels better than any form of self-induced pleasure.

Severus gasps loudly when he feels you peppering kisses down the length of his cock. You go even further downward and massage his balls with your tongue. When he was a teenager, his dormmates told stories of their sexual encounters right in front of him, knowing he would never have a need for their knowledge. He rarely listened to them either; the feelings of loneliness that arose would be too painful. During the few times he listened, he remembers how his dormmates raved about how amazing blowjobs felt. Merlin almighty were they right, and you had only just begun.

Locking eyes with him, you lick his tip and then wrap your lips fully around his shaft. Severus enters a state of euphoria as you simultaneously wrap your fist around the base of his cock and rotate your hand around him. After several moments, you pull your hands back so you can take more of him into your mouth. Severus groans and unintentionally juts his hips up at the intense sensation, but then his mind floods with shame as he hears you gag. “Sorry. I am so, so sorry,” he apologizes profusely. He stiffens in his seat and watches your every move, afraid that he might have hurt you.

You don’t say anything, instead subtly nodding your head and lightly holding down his hips. You slowly take more and more of him in your mouth, alternating between soft and firm pressure. He’s finally reassured when you moan around his cock. He allows himself to relax and his eyes flutter closed, indulging in the immense pleasure you’re providing him. The warmth and wetness of your mouth are beyond anything his imagination could’ve conjured.

Severus grips the armrests so tightly now that his knuckles are white. He keeps his hands there partially because he’s too afraid to grasp your hair and potentially hurt you again, but mainly because he’d holding on for dear life. His hips shake violently and he can’t stop groaning. He can feel his cock pulsating, ready for sweet release, but he has to use every fiber in his body to not just cum already. Severus wants his first blowjob to last longer. But you sense that he’s close to his orgasm, and you hollow your cheeks more and suck more firmly. With a loud groan and shaking legs, he comes undone in your mouth. His heart races and he pants, his body and mind in a state of absolute bliss after the best orgasm of his life.

His eyes flutter open and he suddenly remembers that he never asked you if he could cum in your mouth. Though before he can apologize, he feels you humming around his soft cock and swallowing his seed. He stares at you with wide eyes, stunned that you’d do such a thing and stunned at how intensely his cock is throbbing with pure arousal.

You slide his manhood out of your mouth and stand back up. The candlelight illuminates your messy hair and sweat beading on your forehead. Merlin, you look gorgeous like this.

“You were amazing,” Severus whispers. You smile shyly at him and lean down to kiss his cheek.

“Thank you.” You run your hand down his clothed chest without breaking eye contact. “Do you think you’ll be up for another round soon?”

Severus blushes at your forwardness. “I am not sure. My refractory period is slightly long,” he admits.

“Hmm, that’s fine. In the meantime, maybe you can undress me?” you lure. You pull down the straps of your dress, giving him a peek at your bra. You’re still leaning above him, so he can feel your breath on his skin and see the anticipation in your eyes.

Severus is a flustered mess as he stares at your body. With a shaky hand, he reaches out and rests his hands on the top of your dress. He sits awkwardly on the desk chair, not knowing what to do or say.

You sense his confusion. “Stand up.” Severus completely pulls down his trousers and steps out of them before standing in front of you. You point behind yourself and tell him, “Unzip me.”

Severus focuses his eyes on the window as he reaches behind you and unzips your dress, which pools around your legs. Although you’re a prostitute and you just gave him a blowjob, he feels wrong looking at your naked body without your explicit consent. His hands then hover over where your dress once was, yet again not knowing where to put them.

“You can look, you know,” you tease. Severus peels his eyes away from the window and takes in the magnificent sight of your partially naked body. His eyes linger over your lace panties and bra, which are the same shade of green as your dress. The sheer fabric clings to your body, revealing your curves perfectly. As the candlelight glistens off your flawless skin, he thinks that maybe his refractory period won’t last as long as he thought it would.

“Er, what do you want me to do next?” he murmurs.

You wrap your arms around his neck and look up at him with immense desire. You’re either one hell of an actress or you actually want him.

“You can start by taking off my bra.” Severus reaches behind your back and fiddles with your bra clasp. He fails at this task, partially because he’s overtaken with anticipation and partially because he’s so inexperienced. After several moments, you giggle and offer, “Let me help you.” You quickly unclasp your bra and allow Severus to pull it off of your arms.

Severus swallows hard and has difficulty breathing as he stares at your breasts. Not even Muggle magazines prepared him for this. He gently cups one of your soft breasts and he marvels at how it fits perfectly in his hand. He lightly squeezes it and runs his thumb over your nipple, which hardens and peaks at his touch. He squeezes a little harder when you moan and bite on your lower lip, eager to draw more divine sounds out of you.

“You are a goddess,” he murmurs. Maybe he’s crossing a line with you, but his words aren’t a lie. He’s never seen and never will see a woman as stunning as you.

“You’re very kind, Severus,” you whisper. Time freezes for a moment. It’s just the two of you in Spinner’s End staring deeply into each other’s eyes. No one matters in this world except for you. He doesn’t want to admit that his heart is starting to ache for you.

You break the moment by standing on your tippy-toes and kissing him on his lips. Severus takes his time kissing you and exploring your mouth, wishing to drag this moment out for as long as he can.

You take one of his hands and trail it to between your legs. He takes the hint and snakes his hands into your panties. He’s shocked when he feels your wetness coating his fingers. Does this mean that you truly want him, that all of this is not just an act? He shakes away the thought before it begins to play with his heartstrings even more.

You gaze up at him expectantly, so he begins to experimentally circle his thumb around your clit. You moan with pleasure and bury your face into his shoulder. He melts at your touch and wraps his other around your back to pull you even closer.

As you moan again, his face reddens as he remembers that he doesn’t know how to touch a woman. He wracks his brain for memories of the knowledge his dormmates had and any obscure piece of information he picked up from conversations with other men. All he wants is to pleasure you, so he runs his middle finger up and down your slit and then slowly pushes his finger inside. You gasp and start to grind your hips against his hand, beckoning him to fill you with more of his fingers. He pushes another finger inside you, pumping them both in and out of you. You two groan in unison, becoming more and more aroused each second.

You and Severus are pressed so closely together that you can feel his now hard cock nudging against your front. Your eyes flutter open and you smirk at him. “I thought you would take longer,” you tease.

You step away from him, forcing Severus to pull his fingers away from you. His heart drops, disappointed that he couldn’t pleasure you more. But those thoughts are quickly wiped away when you slip your panties off and rest your hands on his chest.

You take your time unbuttoning his coat and then peeling off his robes and coat. He holds his breath as you caress his now bare chest. You somehow find his face handsome; it would take a miracle for you to like his thin physique. Yet if you are turned off, you don’t show it. Instead, you glance back up at him and bite your lower lip. “It’s up to you, Severus. Do you want to take me standing up, on the desk, or on the chair?”

His eyes drift down to your supple breasts and your exposed cunt. Merlin, you are divine. Honestly, you would look stunning whether you’re naked or wearing a potato sack. He gulps, the burden of the decision weighing heavily on him. “Umm… I find…” he stammers, his voice hoarse. “I…. I think…”

“You’re taking too long. We’re standing.” You laugh and turn around, your back flush against his chest. You reach behind you and reassuringly rub his thighs. You turn your head back and look at him for a moment to quietly say, “Take your time, okay?” Seduction melts away and all he can feel is your tenderness.

Severus nods and takes a deep breath. His heart is beating a mile a minute and his palms are sweaty. This is it, this is the moment every interaction with you has been building up to. His mind goes blank; he can’t even fathom how he got here or how he’s about to lose his virginity to the most beautiful woman in the wizarding world. Pure and sheer exhilaration kicks in, and he grasps your hip with one hand. With the other, he aligns himself with your entrance and pushes the head of his cock in.

Severus lets out mindless groans as he pushes his length into you, shocked by the feelings of warmth engulfing him. He thought the feeling of your hand around his cock felt good. He thought a blowjob felt amazing. But this feels heavenly. The warmth and wetness of your cunt, and the way your walls clench against him, is beyond compare. If he knew how this would feel earlier, he would’ve asked you to skip the blowjob.

Once he bottoms out, he stills his hips and allows you to adjust to his length. He can feel your walls spasming around him as if you’re affected by this as much as he is. After several moments, you pat his thighs. “You can start moving.”

Severus rocks his hips at a gentle pace to test the waters. Even though this night is devoted to him, he wants you to enjoy this as well. He wants to slide deeper inside you, but he doesn’t know exactly how to rearrange himself. You look back at him and smile, and then bend forward slightly.

He pulls back his hips and enters back into you. Oh, this new angle definitely feels much better. And even though you’re no longer completely flush against him, he can still smell the intoxicating scent of your shampoo and perfume. You moan loudly after a particularly deep thrust and praise, “You’re doing so well.”

“You feel, oh…” he whimpers. One hand trails up your body and squeezes your breast. It’s so, so soft. Everything about you is just perfect.

You press your head against his shoulder and look up at him, your breath tickling his neck. You look expectantly up at him, so he nibbles on your ear and kisses your neck. This feels so, so right.

Severus starts pumping into you at a faster pace, drawing out more gasps from your lips. “Keep going. You feel amazing,” you moan. Your praise makes Severus whine even louder. At this point, he’d do anything for you. He keeps up his pace and eventually reaches such a level of bliss that closes his eyes and opens his mouth in a silent ‘o.’

Severus almost jumps when he feels your walls squeezing around him, dissolving him into a moaning mess. He can feel his cock pulsating again. Merlin, he won’t be able to last much longer. He opens his eyes and although his vision is hazy from all the pleasure, he can tell that you’re smirking wickedly at him. “How does that feel, handsome?” you tease.

“Please… I can’t…” he whines. His breaths become more shallow and his thrusts become more erratic and messy; he’s rutting against you more than anything. His grip on your hips is so firm that he knows your skin will be peppered with bruises. But his primary concern is that his legs are shaking so aggressively that they might buckle.

You intentionally squeeze around him again, making Severus sob with pleasure. He can’t handle this anymore; he really can’t. The pleasure is so overwhelming that he thinks his soul might leave his body. And if his soul did, then so be it. At least he’d die a happy man.

“Here, let me help you.” You suddenly pull away, snapping Severus out of his paradise. Before he can protest, however, you spin around, push him to sit on the desk chair, and straddle him. All of it happens so fast that he has no idea he got here or how you got on top of him. It’s probably because his mind is hazy, but how can he complain about this new position when your breasts are hanging directly in his face?

You slide down onto his cock, your abundant slick making the movement effortless. You grip his shoulders and start to ride him, your breasts bouncing up and down. He stares at them as though he’s stupified, and then takes one of your nipples in his mouth and sucks. You moan his name and press your chest even closer to him.

His legs tremble again and he takes in deep breaths in an attempt to stop himself from cumming right then and there. But when you swirl your hips and squeeze your walls, he knows his efforts are of no use; he’s done for. His hips jolt upward and he groans so loudly that he wouldn’t be surprised if the neighbors hear him. His cock keeps twitching, ropes of hot cum spilling inside you. It lasts so long that he knows that the second he pulls out, his seed is bound to drop onto the floor and down the desk chair.

Your body gives no indication of it, but seeing his features drawn in pleasure brings you faster to your orgasm than you thought it would. You moan and trail your hands down to between your legs, rubbing your clit without a rational thought in your mind. Severus jolts as he feels your walls squeezing and spasming as you reach your own orgasm, the feeling making his cock ache with both pleasure and newfound desire.

Now that the both of you are coming down from your highs, Severus leans his head onto the soft flesh of your breast, the beads of sweat on his forehead wetting your chest. His eyes are shut as he silently embraces you, relishing in relaxing against you. Never could he have imagined a better way to lose his virginity.

He wishes he could stay here forever with you and forget all his responsibilities, though he knows you’ll leave after tonight and potentially never see you again. You’ll move on with your life and forget about him, but his memory of you will forever be engrained in his mind. Severus has to push all these thoughts far into his mind before he can get upset.

Instead, he whispers “you are amazing,” his voice sounding as though it might fade away. You deserve nothing less than the highest praise. Honestly, he wants to tell you that this was the best moment of his life.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you whisper. You twirl his hair with your finger and look down at him with a twinkle in your eyes. Perhaps you’re only saying that because you want to be nice or because you’re paid to make him feel good. Yet seeing that twinkling ignites hope inside of him, overturning previous thoughts about all of this just being a part of your job. Deep down in his heart, he thinks you’re telling the truth. Maybe, just maybe, you have grown attached to him as well.

You’re still breathing heavily as you rest your forehead against his and close your eyes. The two of you sit still in this position for what feels like an eternity, yet Severus couldn’t care if actually did last an eternity; he’d be happy here in your arms. He’s never been as happy anywhere as here, his body against yours.

At some point, you shift around, ready to stand up from him. Before you can leave him, he kisses you. The kiss is gentle and doesn’t last for more than three seconds, yet he still feels like it’s the last time he’ll ever kiss someone. And maybe it will be.

You smile at him once he breaks the kiss. You slowly lift your hips off him and stand up. The second you pull out, his seed trickles out of your cunt and drops onto the floor and his legs. He stares between you and the floor, wondering if he’d be able to go for a third round.

You wave your wand, picking your clothes off the floor and neatly folding them. “Where is your bathroom?”

“On the right.”

The sight of you gripping onto your dress irrationally sends him into a panic. Is this it? Is this goodbye? Are you going to get dressed and leave? But he bought you for the entire night. On another note, though, he won’t force you to stay if you want to leave. His words come out in a hurry as he adds, “If you desire, you can take a shower. I have shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. You can stay the night as well. Only if you wish to, of course.”

You smile at him and nod. “Thank you, Severus. I think I’ll take you up on both your offers.” You press a kiss to his cheek and head out of the room. Even though the kiss was quick, the feeling of your lips against his cheeks burns in his mind.

His heart soars at the fact that you’ll be staying overnight, but it quickly sinks when he remembers what his bedroom looks like. It would be a miracle if you weren’t disgusted by the slimy potion jars he hid there earlier, or disappointed at his lack of organization. Severus rushes to the bedroom and waves his wand over his sheets, mending the holes in the fabric. Muttering “Colovaria” under his breath, he changes both the comforter and pillowcase to be a deep green. There’s only one pillow, but he can sleep downstairs. At least the bed looks halfway decent now.

When you come out of the bathroom, a towel is wrapped around your body and water drips from your hair. You smile shyly at him and say, “I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your towel.”

“No, that is perfectly acceptable.”

“By the way, I’m done with the bathroom. You can use it now if you want.”

Severus nods at you and then heads into the bathroom. An odd part of him doesn’t want to shower, to wash away your scent and the traces of your touch. Yet he still turns on the water and scrubs his body, knowing that you won’t be able to linger on his body forever anyway.

After his shower, he dries his body instantly with a charm and puts on pajamas that don’t look beaten up. Usually, he throws something on and tumbles into bed. This time, he stands in front of the mirror and rearranges the fabric to make himself look more presentable for you.

He walks back into the bedroom and finds you wearing your lingerie. Seeing you like this, about to go to bed, feels wrong. The night isn’t particularly warm and you should be sleeping in something more comfortable.

“You do not need to sleep in that,” he comments. He opens his wardrobe and turns to look at you. “Do you have anything to sleep in?”

“I… You don’t want me to sleep like this?” you ask, confused. “And I don’t, actually.”

He finds it strange that you don’t have pajamas tucked away in your bag. Haven’t you had to sleep in a bed other than your own for your job? Nevertheless, he finds pajamas and hands them to you. “Here. You may wear this. It will be large on you, but it is comfortable.”

“Thank you, Severus,” you say quietly. You briefly look up at him and smile, and Severus briefly notices a strange look in your eye. But before he can say anything or decipher that look, you take the pajamas and slip off your bra and panties. He turns around as you undress, embarrassed to look at your body, as though he hasn’t seen you naked before.

You pat the pillow and smooth down the blankets, getting all cozy in his bed. He takes this as his cue to head for the door. But just as he’s about to turn around to wish you a good night, you stop him. “Wait! Where are you going?”

“Downstairs.” He pulls on the handle as he hears you laugh.

“No, silly! Come here!” You pat the blankets next to you, beckoning him to join you. Concerns about invading your privacy and comfort flood his mind, but then he sees the inviting smile on your face and relaxes. If anything, he’s excited to sleep next to you.

Your face scrunches in confusion as Severus joins you on the mattress. “Where’s your pillow?”

“I only have one,” he admits sheepishly. When Severus inherited this house from his parents, he wanted to erase the memories of his childhood from the house. He threw out his childhood bed and converted his old bedroom into an office. Then, he threw out almost all his parents’ items, their bedding set included. The last thing he wants at the beginning and end of every day is to be reminded of them.

“Oh. You can take this then.” You lift your head from the pillow, but Severus stops you.

“It is yours. You are the guest, after all.”

“That feels wrong,” you say. You scrunch your brows together and then your face lights up. “I have an idea. How about you take the pillow and I use your shoulder as my pillow instead?”

Severus’s heart skips a beat at the thought of cuddling with you, partially from nervousness and partially because he’s never cuddled with anyone before. He extends his arms to you and hopes you won’t notice his racing heart.

After getting cozy on his arm and resting your hand on his chest, you look up at Severus and smile. Neither of you say anything or move in for a kiss; you both just lie there until you eventually drift off. He watches you as you sleep, taking in the delicate lines of your face and the rising and falling of your chest.

No matter how hard he pushes it in the back of his mind, Severus has to admit to himself that he’s fallen for you. When you part from him tomorrow, he’ll be parting with the first person to make him feel alive in a long time. He watches as you rest, allowing the seconds to tick by, hoping that time will slow down if neither of you moves from this position. But after an hour of trying to slow down time, Severus finally sinks into a deep slumber. As he drifts off, the last thought that crosses his mind is how desperately he wishes that morning will never arrive.

#snape #severus snape #smut #reader insert #severus snape x y/n #severus snape x you #severus snape x reader #snape x y/n #snape x reader #snape x you #loss of virginity #virgin snape #sub severus #hp #hp fanfic #some angst #some fluff #sub snape

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vyzz-undercover · 7 months ago

Text

RAAAGHHG QUICK HOLD THIS!!!

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3) (4) (5)

(11,000ish words) (MAXED OUT SPACE LMFAO)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•no dubcon (growth!!!)

•hints of size kink

•references to masturbation

•oral [f receiving]

•intercourse [M/F]

•discussions on contraception

•discussions on pregnancy

•breeding kink (finally someone admits it)

•mild violence [on reader]

•degrading language

•tumblr's horseshit concept of copy paste formating

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WHATS UP???? IM ALIVE ENJOY THE FUCKING SHITSTORM OF CATO FINALLY ADMITTING HES A WIFE GUY BASICALLY!!!!! oh and here's the taglist ily all mwah mwah!!! @mothiir, @moodymisty, @bispecsual, @the-raven-lady, @thevoidscreams, @pluvio-tea, @lemon-russ, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @historitor-bookshelf, @cosmic-cryptid-from-beyond, @ma1dmer, @scriberye, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @undeaddream, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist, @sinistermojo, @vivacious-hyena, @grimdark-racoon!!!! if anyone wants on or off taglist lmk no pressure!!! enjoooooyyyy i love u alllllll :3

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For all intents and purposes, everything is going swimmingly.

Cato is happier these days—and so are you, apparently.

So when he is called to the Command deck by his Primarch, he is somewhat unsure of what to make of the matter. Paranoia rises in his gullet like bile, but ever since the slip up in front of Guilliman, you've both been spotless.

Cato strides up the parapet and demagnetises the locking pins keeping his helm secure, tugging it off his head and letting it nest in the crook of his arm.

Slicking his hair into some semblance of order with a free hand, he sighs.

Ugh, he needs a haircut—it's starting to get in his eyes if he doesn't swipe it back. But he can't—because you seem to approve, and stubborn as he is, if keeping it this length means he receives dainty Ambassador fingers as a comb sometimes, then so be it.

It still pisses him off, though.

Regardless, Cato carries on his way—and the first face he sees upon entering the discussion area is the Chapter Master's, and two of his subordinate Victrix Guard hovering behind.

The Primarch's lesser-used vessel Dawn of Fire has been given to Calgar, and has been trailing behind the Macragge's Honour for a month and a half now; meaning the situation has granted a fair few more audiences than normal amongst them.

Nemus bows his head in unison with Lethro, the gesture familiar and practiced, while Calgar simply tips his chin down at him.

Cato reciprocates with a curt, martial bob and takes his place nearby his Primarch at the central control booth.

A few menials are fiddling with the specifications of the lithocast display before it flickers into life, the green-tinged projection juddering for a second before stabilising to a clear motion pict link.

Lo and behold, Severus Agemman's shiny bald head and pinched face.

The mere sight is enough to make Cato disinterested; and when he hears the First Captain speak his greetings to the Primarch, Cato abruptly considers himself deaf.

He turns away, looking aside, and finds you.

You're leaning on the railing of the raised observation deck while his Primarch gives feedback Cato doesn't heed.

You've dressed a little different than your usual ship-attire—clad in that same old blue robe but armed with a big navy shawl, and he suspects you've done so expecting the chill of the upper deck.

Cato's dark brow quirks as he gazes towards the high, arching, star-flecked windows. Throne, he feels like he's being hypnotised by the white shifting whorls—there is a humility to gazing up, every so often. A reminder of perspective. Cato has seen some objectively beautiful sights in the galaxy; stars and asteroids and planets untouched by Humanity, and Xenos, and Chaos alike; but none really compare to watching you stare up at the wide glass panels, absentmindedly connecting the dots between distant gas giants.

For a moment it feels like everything is unimportant.

He wants to stand beside you. Lean down and rest on the railing, and bask in the smile you'd shoot up at him.

He wants to ask which cluster of far off planets you think prettiest, perhaps if you recognise any—or if you'd like to see how the stars look glittering off the mighty oceans of his home-world—but it is not appropriate to behave that way with the current company, despite how it aches to deny himself the sentiment.

"No," Guilliman sharply answers a response Cato hadn't been listening to.

And only then does Cato realise himself, gaze and focus tearing back to reality and sticking to Guilliman's big, tired blue eyes, as he digresses, "No, no—the moment the Drukhari know we are onto them, they will butcher through the populace for sport—and the elites will cripple the dwarf planet to spite them. Farrim is a major port world, the set back of going off course, even temporarily, is worth the delay."

There are several billion inconsequential people on that rock. And all they have to thank for not being sentenced to slavery and death is the benefit of being close by.

The locale would surely not be high priority if not for the chance it is practically adjacent to Agemman, and he can simply scare off the assault with an extremely minor detour—and then obliterate the fleeing Xenos like chaff before the wind.

The only real problem is orchestrating how to go about it.

Bombard them into their base particles before they even get their hand in the jar? Or let them begin, and then close the trap to watch them squirm and suffer in it like salted leeches?

Cato knows he would chose the latter, but he's not about to dignify Severus with any sort of advice on such meagre matters.

Cato exists beyond the normal chain of discipline, as Commander of the Victrix Guard—which means felating Agemman is Sevastus Acheran's problem as Captain of the Second Company, now.

The planetary governance's reaction must be considered also—he knows of Farrim, vaguely. There are a series of vast docks in geosynchronous orbit, and that means they are host to all sorts of satellite criminal activities. It is surely a rat's nest rife with Rogue Traders returning from deep dives into hell; and that means heretical practices, like engaging in interspecies dealings; of tack, of weregild—of flesh.

Cato knows well the horrible desperation of the weak for some form of certitude in a galaxy run mad, even if the only certitude possible was that of complete degeneration. A greedy baseline would sell their kin to Xenos to eat another day. That is the reason for law. It is one of the reasons for Astartes. It is a basic truth. Because a cornered beast would sooner kill itself in the struggle of fleeing than face its pursuer—and humanity in masses are oft worse than if they were caged in a cramped pen with a starving Termagant.

But he hopes, beyond reason, that the moronic rulers that allowed the Drukhari so close would suffer far more than just the panic of the chase before succumbing to their vermin fear in such a way. Punishment would be harshly imposed, because treating with Xenos ever yielded foul results. Simply writhing in their own terror was not enough justice for their enactures, and Cato will gladly watch the meting out of greater judgement upon them soon.

Consequently, Cato had come to find almost all Aeldari are cunning, vapid, spineless rabid dogs. Naught but misery-merchants, worthless and parasitic enough to be slaughtered en masse without hesitation.

The Lord Primarch did not wholly agree with this, of course. But he had his own reasons for such beliefs, after having met with them himself. He said there are, allegedly, good and bad ones amongst the lot—then he went on to say one should ever be considerate of their fey, mercurial motives.

Cato knows a knife-eared witch had implored much of Guilliman, and his father is nothing if not a good listener.

But Guilliman is also a master tactician, and is more human than most of the Imperium is led to believe.

At times, he behaves more human than his gene-sons—but his Father was reared well, so he says. And maybe that's why he insists on assessing the uncouth. Like hearing out dribbling Xenos hierophants, or keeping you as a pupil pet.

Cato believes the Primarch favours you, truly.

He has projected his meagre hope of a kinder future on your success, against all the impossible odds.

Guilliman is a brilliant leader, and an even better teacher.

He is just, and personable—but stern.

Cato is the opposite.

He bites, and he always has.

Martinet to his core, Cato is ever succinct; almost to a sociopathic degree at times. He's never truly understood how to speak with his Father's finesse. But he can mimic it. He knows the gist of what to say, and when to say it. Largely by predicting the next words. As an Astartes, he is not inherently made to be a statesman, even if he is the Grand Duke of Talassar.

Nevermind the fact a vast majority of political dissidents opponents would sooner grant themselves the Emperor's mercy than try argue policy with him, an Ultramarine. He knows he is sullen and bad-tempered and easily aggravated in casual conversation, even amongst his Brothers—but he's not about to admit things like that out loud; and where he once sought out discourse—he's become despondent reclusive compared to his previous confidence.

He swallows down the harsh reality that he knows the exact tipping point.

He tries to forget that Damnos was the first pebble before the rockslide; the agonising strike of a Necron lord's war-scythe in his side, not to mention the sting of Severus Agemman's proverbial sabaton up his ass.

And, most importantly, he ignores the hint of tinnitus in his ears. The echoing across the decks of the Emperor's Will that sound like screa—

You yawn, and look over your shoulder to Guilliman with a weary curiosity.

You are everything Cato isn't, and he knows that now.

Perhaps that is the real allure of you, in the end; beyond the aspects of his lust, and your own affections.

Sweet, endearing—trusting to a fault, and... small.

He almost snorts to himself at that because, Throne, you really do look tiny amongst so many ceramite clad trans-humans.

The Primarch flashes you a soft glance and directs his gaze back to the lithocast.

You approach Guilliman with a preppy, yet cautious sort of diligence; standing beside him not a moment later as he listens to Agemman prattle on, and on—and on.

Agemman doesn't acknowledge your entrance in the slightest, hell, he doesn't even blink. He doesn't know you by face—but Cato knows you know him; because in Guilliman's quest to have you absorb as much information as possible, you've interacted by writing many times. But the First Captain clearly wrongly assumes the woman in his holo-field of view is a lowly attendant, not the Ambassador he's had several dissertation-long discussions with by note.

You're looking up at Agemman with a soft smile, like one would reserve for a friend—and he does not return it.

Seemingly aware of the fact your gesture is for naut, your expression withers to a sad little frown.

At that, Cato's eyebrows furrows harshly, embittered by seeing you suffer the rejection.

He ought to—

But then a bundle of data-slates are lifted off the hexagonal interface surrounding the projection system, held out to you in far, far larger gauntlets than Cato's own; and you take them into the cradle of your arms.

It's too many for you to comfortably hold, and Cato can tell solely because there's that familiar, tiny crease between your brows that only ever appears when you're unsure of something.

"I will be back en-route with the First as soon as the threat is cleared, and—" Agemman's raving wavers periodically, hologram gaze tilting down.

Cato winces a bit when the topmost slate slips out of your bundled arms and clatters to the deck loudly.

In response, the First Captain's hologram rakes you with a nigh appalled sneer that has Cato puffing up at the hackles like an angry carnodon.

"A-Apologies, my lords..." You shrink back, seeking an exit, in that frightened-mouse way of yours that Cato would've once delighted in long ago. But it's a grating, bastardised comparison when he knows Agemman's disgust is entirely, baselessly genuine unlike Cato's had been.

Another slate falls in your timid outburst, and Agemman snorts angrily at you.

More than willing to take the heat, Cato immediately steps forward into the threshold of the holo-cast's vision breadth and snorts back.

It's a standoffish moment where the First Captain becomes aware of him and turns his head.

"Cato," Agemman says sharply in that typical, dismissive tone; but his expression betrays a brooding aggravation.

He scowls, lips curling much like his fingers into a fist, "Severus."

He can play this game, because unlike prior altercations—he's not being held to a rapport of failure.

Cato answers to Calgar and Guilliman now, and yes, he's to heed Agemman—but he's not to abide orders like he'd had to during his Captaincy of the Second.

And neither Calgar nor Guilliman have stopped him as of yet for this outburst.

In fact, Calgar is apparently more interested in trying to rub away a speck of grime on his power-fist.

While the Primarch... well, the Primarch has currently shut his eyes, grimacing softly.

It appears Cato's simply keeping the peace.

And on the surface, to onlookers, it's not at all indicative of any ulterior reason aside from petty distaste for Agemman—even if Cato's real motive is possessive defensive, and solely intent on taking the attention off you.

"Enough," The Primarch grumbles at last, and opens his eyes as he leans down—his great height folding—dutifully collecting the two, small fallen objects with mild hassle. Guilliman sighs at you remorsefully as he sets the data-slates in a better position, unperturbed by your clumsiness. "The Ambassador has done me no insult, she was merely over encumbered. The galaxy as we know it has not imploded, as of yet."

Agemman blinks, "...Ambassador?" he mumbles—with the revelation, in a fraction of a second he's entirely placid and defanged, reigning himself back in and cringing slightly—unlike Cato, who returns to glaring murderously at him.

"That means you, too," Guilliman starts aloud, and he apparently knows he needn't clarify more.

Cato grinds his teeth and tears his gaze away, letting it fall aside as he unclenches his fists.

You take a step back, a pitiful sigh leaving you as you set about trying to balance with the data-slates. The Primarch finally realises that it's too much for you, just like Cato had to begin with.

"Sicarius," Guilliman says flatly, "Give her a hand."

A hand?

Oh, he's given you more than hand.

He feels himself bristle with want, an abrupt , mad rush of eager heat besieging his body as he sets his shoulders stubbornly.

In or out of armour, he's done it—and Cato is caught daft at the sudden eidetic memory of having you straining against his big forebrace shoved hard under you to keep you in place. Squirming frantically against as many fingers as he would deign allow you, drooling on his armour as you suffer a cleverly turned thumb; so wanton and pretty as you finally, finally give him his prize and cry out for—no—no, no—shut up, shut up.

At that, he tersely inhales; and remembers he's surrounded by other Astartes.

Nobody's noticed, thank fuck.

"Cato!" Guilliman snaps.

Cato blinks, "What—uh, pardon me, my lord?"

"You are utterly impossible," he half-chastises, half-laments, with little more than a sigh. "Help. Her."

Cato nods stiffly, silently panicking, and approaches you.

"Stop snivelling like a useless dog, and pull it together, woman, you're embarrassing yourself," he accosts loudly, overcompensating for his own screw-up, and it's cruel—he knows it is because you flinch a little, and one of the gathered high-ranking brothers behind you huffs in surprise at just how brutish he's acting—but he cannot show the comfort you wish of him under the circumstances.

You regard him with a profound sadness in your eyes, and he can't bear to meet your gaze; so he casts it aside.

And immediately meets the Primarch's eyes.

A strange, angered confusion has graced his Father's features. A sort of stunned disappointment—and Cato supposes that tracks, given the fact Guilliman though he'd gotten over his gripe with you.

"Check your anger, Commander Sicarius." Guilliman says with a cold discontent, and Cato immediately drops the act.

Cato holds out his helm, turned plume-down, the inside proffered up as a bucket.

The task of shovelling the data-slates in is tedious at best, but it's easy when he joins in.

When all's done, Cato practically dumps his helmet in your arms.

"It's alright, don't fret," Guilliman chuffs, smiling at you tiredly, trying to seem supportive. "Just be on your way, Ambassador."

You look back at the Primarch, stunned for a moment—who smiles at you again, and tips his chin to the exit hallway.

Nodding, you shakily curtsy at the gaggle of Astartes and stumble away with the heavy weight of Cato's helmet and it's new contents in your grasp.

Cato frowns at the entire display, and Guilliman seems to notice that too, because he immediately grits out, "Commander Sicarius, if the safety of your helmet worries you so, go make sure she doesn't drop anything else."

"Of course... yes, my Lord Primarch," He straightens up, surprised at the dismissal but certainly not about to argue.

in his mind, Guilliman is sending him to cool off. That much Cato is sure of, which works to his favour.

Promptly, he knocks his breastplate in respectful farewell and trails after you; now a little ways down the grand and lofty adjoining chamber hall.

Cato strides with his chin held high, but promptly drops it when he rounds the corner and is out of view of the Primarch a few moments after you.

You say nothing to him when Cato catches up and matches your slow march to your quarters.

Cato's practically drags his boots across the regal carpeting as he walks.

And when the carpet runs out, he scrapes his heels on steel like a petulant child.

He knows he's taken the charade too far.

Head hung low much like his, you don't look at him—and it eats away at what meagre actual backbone he's got left around you.

It continues for a while; you pass servitors, serfs, staff, and Astartes alike; not acknowledging anyone.

They acknowledge Cato of course, but he ignores any nods or salutes like he's got blinders on.

He knows the path you're taking well—it's a shortcut, but a tedious one with the load you're carrying. And when the passersby thin out to nothing eventually, you're still trudging along like a lobotomite.

You look appear much like a sullen little arming serf carrying his helmet as you are. The coarse broom-spread of his helm's Suzerain mane brushes the fabric atop your thighs—and Cato can tell it's annoying you, because you slow a little when it itches; trying to shimmy it up higher in your grasp to no avail.

Your breathing is heavy with strain, now a few paces behind him; and Cato groans when you both round a corner and he sees a flight of stairs ahead.

He pauses, and rounds about-face.

"Give it to me," he snaps.

You immediately sigh, "Why?"

"Because it's mine," Cato grumbles. "Now give it to me."

You pout, "I don't need help."

He scowls harshly, "I wasn't asking."

A gasp leaves you as you're suddenly being advanced on by an Astartes, stomping you down—and he catches the data-slate filled rim of his helmet with a gauntlet.

He's honestly surprised you hold on while he pulls it away from you.

"Let go," he hisses.

"No," you hiss back.

"Let go, now." Cato shakes the helmet around, trying to dislodge you; going so far as to lift it until you're dangling off the side.

"No," is all he receives again.

Tiny, stubborn, cunt of a waif.

He cannot sustain subtlety when he is rebutted on something. Not without pause. He's aggravated now, and it shows when he snarls, "Why are you acting like this?"

"No," you bark.

A very real temper is flaring as he says, "No, what? That's not an answer—"

"Fuck off, Cato!"

He's never heard that tone out of you directly. It stuns him for a second, because he's never actually made you genuinely angry. He can't explain why it makes him suddenly decide to play disciplinarian like you're an unruly Scout, but it does. And you're going to explain exactly why you thought to voice that opinion, Emperor help you.

"Enough of this groxshit," He tugs the helmet high, and you up with it, scooping a vambrace under your midsection to carry you like a keg under his arm; prying you and the helm apart.

"Put m-me down!" You kick out wildly behind him, snarling insults and slamming your fists back against his plate on his core, to no avail.

It's a good thing you're actually close to your quarters, because the scene you're making is more than enough to be flagged for gross insubordination if anyone saw. Striking an Astartes is of no meagre consequence. It'd be death, for anyone but you.

It takes him a try more than usual to input his locking override code, given your squirming—and him only being able to manage a pointer free on the hand holding his helm.

Your door slides open nonetheless, and Cato ducks in with you still secured, despite your tantrum; and in his seething, he fully calculates the effort it'd take to hog-tie you with your own robes.

You're hissing and carrying on as if you're a pissy little neophyte hopped up on stims for the first time, and Cato ignores you periodically to lock your door behind you both.

He empties his helm of the data-slates on the nearest pile of clothes, magnetises the bucket on his hip; and practically tosses you onto your bed.

You yelp at the rough handling and scramble to reach your nightstand.

Instead of scampering off like he honestly expects, you grab a book; and when he leans over the bed and reaches for you, you start to bat his armoured hand away with the hardcover front.

"Do you honestly think that will work?" Cato snarls, but despite himself, he recoils and starts eyeing you. "Are you that fucking dense, woman?"

You grumble sourly and hold the novel up, like it's an actual weapon.

"Fine, be that way," he rolls his eyes, and with trans-human speed, catches you by the ankle and reels you in.

You bleat out a warbling cry at being yanked, and manage to toss the book at his head in a lucky shot.

He cops the hit to the brow harmlessly, then it lands on the covers below him beside where he's dragged you under.

You freeze for a second as he brackets your arms upward above your head in one large gauntlet.

"Stop," he bites out, "Just stop struggling."

You start fighting him again regardless, legs kicking out—knocking the book sidelong into the headboard with a thud.

Cato glances at source of sound, and then he's suddenly fixated on the wall above it.

His dagger's been hung up.

It's a little crooked, but that's expected when the hooks the sheathe and blade are lodged against aren't actually drilled in place. It's done with adhesive—it's your doing.

Cato can't exactly name the feeling that washes over him as he stays staring at it, but it feels thick, and viscous in his chest. Like pain, almost—like he's hurt himself. His tongue feels leaden in his mouth. Every ounce of retaliatory anger at your earlier antics dissipates into nothingness.

The shackles his large mitt's made on your wrists falls away.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it," He mumbles, before taking a deep breath—and his armour creaks at the gesture; servos humming as he settles into a crouch at your bedside, half strewn over the duvet—staring at you pinned under him.

The bed protests, because of course it does to that amount of bulk, but it still holds regardless.

You huff sourly, and suck your bottom lip into your mouth as you avert your gaze.

With a tired sigh, Cato leans close to you and frowns—straining to tuck his nose against your neck and scoop a vambrace under you to hold you close.

"I may have," he starts slowly as he smothers himself against you. "Overreacted."

A scoff escapes you, but you rest your cheek to his temple regardless.

You take a big breath in; and the politician in you jumps out—even if the politician is currently a little bit shaky.

"I-I am aware that... it's tedious to have me around given my bearing, amongst your kind," you stammer, gaze flittering to and fro from his eyes to his pauldron to the desk behind him. "I can take a snort and a scoff, but you made it worse, at the end—" your voice trails off, and you sit up; scrubbing your cheek with your palm, fussing. "It's easy to hear criticism from a stranger, but not—not from you. Not after... all of this, in a situation like that."

There was a time when Cato would've flat out turned his nose up at the prospect of apologising. He has done so to maybe ten baselines in his entire life, and he's including his parents in that number purely by an assumption—and Vedeah.

"Even in the moment," he says carefully, and tries not to think too hard about the wider implications of doing so, "I realised it was a cruelty, and I am sorry for it."

You simply hold onto him for a moment, and Cato buries his face closer; your hand combing across the side of his head.

"It's alright," you tut softly, "Seeing y-you... you getting all huffy about the First Captain for me was funny though... Throne, I feel so stupid sending him all those letters now."

"You weren't to know Agemman's a prick," he sniffs, laying a gauntlet on your thigh. "I've been on the receiving end of his sour judgment just as you, earlier."

"Were..." you start, voice hesitant. "Were you like that, when you were Captain of the Second?"

The question catches him off guard, which makes him harrumph.

Cato sets his jaw and leans back to look at you, frowning softly, "You would not have liked me in the slightest."

You look a little taken aback at his admission, and Cato feels the need to clarify before your habit of asking too many questions seizes you.

"I was..." Cato begins abruptly, cringing, "...reckless, and a lot more vain; always seeking victories at any cost despite the odds," he says, begrudgingly explaining himself and feeling a lot like his own Primarch was simply speaking through him, "I probably would have petitioned to have you tried for the simple crime of... being, despite my actual... ahem—predilection."

You eye him for a moment, and there's a familiar warmth in your gaze despite the fact he just admitted, out loud, he'd have you put to death for the crime of stirring his cock in another set of circumstances.

"Why do you think that?" You ask, curious.

Cato raises a brow, "I would have painted you a Slaaneshi temptress, like I had thought originally."

"You thought that? Really? I hadn't even—" You scoff, looking at him with a quizzical little grimace.

The deadpan expression on his own face answers you before you can even get it all out.

"Okay," you groan. "Okay, I get it."

He gives your leg a squeeze, and pulls back.

"Good," he hums and moves to stand.

"Wait, Cato—stay," you mumble, "Please."

At full height in your cramped room, he furrows his brows, "I cannot remain here, not tonight, not in this."

You sit yourself on the edge of the bed and look up at him, and Cato's forced to peer over his gorget to catch the full extent of the pleading, doe-eyes you're putting into action.

Cato has to fight back a dopey smile at the insistent, honeyed look you grace him with as you stare up at him.

So pretty, even when you're playing at guilt-tripping him.

It's risky, and quite frankly his dumbest, most thinking-with-his-cock moment; but he still offers it.

"You could accompany me, instead?" He dithers, and eventually acquiesces.

Your head cocks to the side excitedly, "...to where?"

"My quarters," Cato says matter-of-factly.

You're suddenly up and scrambling off the bed to stand beside him, and he hands you his helmet off his hip. You take it without complaint nor reason, even though Cato'd been prepared to give you an excuse.

Oh, it's an alibi, oh, it's this—it's that—it's the simple fact you looked irresistible amusing carrying his helm.

He unlocks your door, and shuffles out—with you tailing him eagerly.

Laterally, it's not too far from his quarters, but it is tedious given the levels between; and it has to be done quickly—if not for the fact if others see they will gossip, he'd throw you over his shoulder like a dead-weight and break into a run. So you need to keep up with his rush, given you wanted to follow.

He hastens down the corridor, and up a flight, and you keep pace, surprisingly.

Your breathing is a little heavy, but Cato attributes that to you having just scaled a fair amount of stairs, for a baseline.

He lingers at the top, in the elevator bay; and you bumble up to him and take the spot behind him.

Cato activates the lift and sighs as it begins to grind it's ascent into existence.

He's stunned to have not heard a peep out of you yet, and honestly that—hold on—there's a hand on his rear, and small fingers depressing the bodysuit over his left glute.

"Get off of there," he snaps, "We are in public."

"I'm just leaning to catch my breath," You huff, squeezing him a little.

Fifteen minutes ago you were sulking and seething, and now you're straight back to bothering him for entertainment.

"Don't start," he sighs, and takes a step aside from you—desperate to not dignify the heat crawling up his neck.

"What will you do?" You scoff, and he all but whips around at your snarky tone, "Snort and sneer me to death? I just fought you off with a book."

Cato rolls his eyes.

"I can and will use things against you," he says, a slight hint of a growl trailing his words.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Such as?"

"I know how easy it is to render you docile and silent, as you ought to be," Cato scowls harshly, putting some finesse into appearing menacing.

It does not work.

"You think I'm some animal to be scruffed?" Your laugh is painfully endearing, but—but he's firm in his rapport. At least, he's trying to be firm. One part of him certainly is firm and hard... and straining against his inners—stop.

"Much the same, seeing as you would preoccupy a single hand at most," he grits out flatly, but his temper wavers when he realises his own statement's double meaning—his cheeks feel a little warm, and it aggravates him that he reacts so easily.

You raise an eyebrow, staring at him, "Just your hand?"

He fights the urge to pout at the sheer cheek of you, and the lurid smugness you're letting show so brazenly.

It's a common situation now: you say something erring on insult, smile a tad, and then the brain in his cock takes the reigns from the one in his head. He thought he was past swooning starting at your antics by now; or at least he hoped to have become a lot more immune to it.

But no—despite being the belligerent, bitter bastard he is, you still manage to ferret out a weak spot for yourself in his hearts.

"I ought to take you over my knee," he says so softly it's practically an oath to himself.

Nonetheless, you apparently catch it—and blink dumbly up at him for a few seconds; a slow, creeping flush steadily finding it's place on your cheeks as you swallow so hard he hears the cartilage in your throat click.

The lift comes to a halt, and he all but harries you off it.

Thankfully, it is standard rest hours for the Victrix; that is to say those who aren't bedded down are likely on jaunts elsewhere in the ship.

It's the perfect opportunity to sneak you inside, in short.

The grand, carpeted corridor is empty, and you ogle it; and it's likely your first time having been near higher standard Astartes accomodation.

"I'll be back—" He opens the door in a quick input of numerals and ushers you in swiftly before huffing; "Don't open for anyone, not even Guilliman."

You nod and step inside, looking back at him a little sheepishly with his helm held to your chest; as the sliding mechanism activates, clicks shut, and promptly dead-locks behind you—while he quickly thumbs in his security code.

He breaks into a sprint to the nearest armour chamber, which is thankfully on this level; if not an eight minute jog at Astartes speed.

At first, Cato asks the mechanicum disarming staff to show some haste in doffing him from his panoply of ceramite—but he quickly loses patience and growls at the serfs who try to drag out the whole ordeal with longwinded rights and sermons while the adepts' machines hex-key open his vambraces. Part of the ordeal ends, war-gear shed, and Cato practically hisses at the gathered attendants when he starts to wrestle out of his body-glove and they try to smear him with unguents. He does, however, allow them to administer local numbing agents and analgesics for the more tedious, biological matters of unlinking from his interfacing.

They hose him down instead of scrubbing him at least, and Cato's glad that someone in that Void-damned room is listening to him.

He hurriedly lathers his arms and legs, dipping a cupped palm back into the presented urn of warm, fragranced oil to cover his neck and underarms—and bending, creasing points, as is typical.

He feels a little wobbly as he puts his sandals on at the hasty loss of the armour's weight—and in that aforementioned hurry, he trips a little while he tugs his tunic over his head and knocks over the servitor, who then knocks over one of the serfs, who then knocks over the tech adept.

It's not Cato's finest moment, surely, but he's in about as much of a rush to get moving as an Astartes can be in a non-combat environment.

He doesn't stop, because he has better things to do—more specifically, he has you to do.

He makes his way down the long winding halls, sprinting between the gaps in onlookers eyelines, stop-starting, like a fool. But damn, if he isn't on a mission with the thought of you waiting on him hanging over his head.

"Sicarius," the Chapter Master's voice abruptly greets curtly.

Cato swallows a scream and takes a step backwards, immediately entering grappling stance.

The aging Primaris seems to realise he's genuinely surprised him and raises a grey brow.

Cato rights himself with a forced cough and stumbles a little, "Lord Calgar?"

A huge power fist comes to rest on his tunic'd shoulder to steady him, "I did not intend to shock, but there is something you must hear of," Calgar says, manoeuvring to allow space for him to walk beside.

Cato matches the broader strides of the Chapter Master, although with him being a Primaris and Cato out of his war-gear—it's a tad more effort than normally required given the size disparity.

Marneus Calgar is typically a man of few words when he's not seized by his passion for monologuing... but he certainly has plenty words when he has gossip.

"I have a suspicion," Calgar huffs.

Cato swallows the lump in his throat, playing along, "And I assume you're not at all responsible for that suspicion travelling to other ears."

"Of course," The Chapter Master shoots him a downward, sidelong glance with his good eye. And if Cato didn't know any better, he'd have been amiss to the glimmer of amusement there.

Abruptly, Calgar pauses in step and quietly remarks, "One of our brothers is aberrant."

The metaphorical leaden brick that hits Cato in the temple works in his favour, because it makes it seem like he's in disbelief rather than panic.

"Corruption?" He hisses, eyes narrowing.

Calgar's grey brows furrow as he shakes his head, "Aberrant, Cato—not chaos-tainted, insofar as I am aware."

"How?" Cato snaps, and again, his bemusement that Calgar didn't equate the two for some reason surely works in his favour, making it look like a sincerely shocked reaction—but the problem remains that he, personally, would equate them. Throne, there—there must be a reason he's acted on his urges, there must be something he can blame.

Calgar purses his thin lips and sighs, "I have on good reason to believe there is a sort of... fraternisation is occurring."

"Really?" Cato huffs, he's simultaneously stunned and horrified that this conversation is even happening. Because if Marneus doesn't think it's the work of the Warp's wiles, then it can't surely have just been his own love partiality for you—that damnable, incessant yearning to have you close, and warm, and tucked against his side.

"And by that," Calgar starts, "I mean that one of them is engaging in baser ventures."

He tries very hard not to laugh out of sheer mortification, and the mental pict of Calgar clutching a string of pearls like a senile ecclesiarch.

"Are you certain?" Cato says, despite the looming dread.

The Chapter Master nods stoically, "I chanced upon an area reeking of Astartes sweat and... intercourse."

When every word may damn you, it is better to say nothing at all. And Throne, he can't bring himself to speak regardless of the fact; because his balls are in his throat. Even if it sounds as though Calgar's largely oblivious to the truth that the Astartes is him—Cato Sicarius—and although he is partially thankful he's in the clear; if Calgar's got your room identified as the source, you're in the hot seat. Every facet of your little existence would be so over for you it's almost unfathomable. Even if you escape the judgement of the Legionnes, you would be hunted down by the Assassinorum, in and beyond any Imperial system; fuck, he's going to have to smuggle you—

"I was sequestered elsewhere urgently, and I did not chance where it was coming from," Calgar continues, "But I know it occurred somewhere in the northeastern apartments."

Cato fights for his life not to sputter out a relieved sigh and buckle at the knees, boneless on the floor.

The ventilation systems must have dispersed the smell, which would have thrown off Calgar's vomeronasal organ.

He rejects most aspects regarding godhood placed upon the Master of Mankind ever since his agonising jaunt in the Warp, and from his conversations with Guilliman—but surely the Emperor must have leaned over on His throne and pelted a holy, righteous wrench at Calgar's big nose that morning.

The Emperor protects, albeit when He comedically feels like it.

"I will keep an eye out for... un-sanctioned behaviours."

"Report them to me, or Guilliman, should you find anything—no chaplains," Calgar says at last, and comes to a halt in a fork in the hallway. "Nonetheless, keep your wits about you—I must get going."

Cato blinks as Calgar rounds on his big heel, "Another vox-haling?"

"No," he sighs. "A meeting, for the next six hours."

"With the planetary governor?"

"No," Calgar says again, face completely dead-pan like a corpse, "With my cot—and if anyone needs me, tell them to piss off unless Guilliman's dying. Again."

Then he shoots him that wry, amused side-eye once more and stomps off down the adjacent passage.

Cato stands stunned in the hall for a brief time, genuinely flabbergasted.

Then he's a trans-human on a mission, thundering down the corridor—his mind immediately concocting several protocols to prevent the previous situation occurring again.

Firstly, the instant he gets to his quarters, he's going to stuff his incense burner into the ventilator grate.

Sound won't be an issue, he knows his chambers are proofed—surely not because he's woken screaming in that room without anyone saying anything. But that's besides the point, because the only screaming that's to be happening is his final plan of action; namely that, lastly, he's going to slide into you and have you crying his name—

Cato doesn't even consciously remember arriving at his door, nor coding in his numerals and doing the same behind him; but he's certainly in the present when he sees you.

Something in his chest lurches to a halt at the sight of you tucked in his sheets, the thundering of his twin heartbeats slowing and easing to a lulled calm.

There's less candles in his room than yours, but what little of your hair that peaks from beneath the blanket is bathed in flickering, warm light when he approaches.

His helm's lying against you atop the thin cover, and you're snoring softly.

Cato nears, and—with nobody to judge him, including you, simply stares.

Throne, he could live this scene out every day of his life and never tire of it—but matters need attending before he can bask in the domesticity.

Dutifully, he grabs his incense holder and follows through with his plan of action.

He doesn't intend it, but he wakes you at some point while jamming the vent back into place; and you groan softly, rubbing your eyes as you stretch and sit up.

The sheets over you slip away as you do, and he daftly fixes his haze at the drowsy, stark-naked Ambassador in his bed.

"...Cato?"

He swallow the proverbial bolt round lodged in his throat and grunts.

"When..." you pause to yawn, "When did you get in?"

It takes him a second to register the question with how intensely he's focused on ogling your tits, but eventually "...a few minutes," leaves him as an answer.

You blink lazily and harrumph, then slump back—and he's sure it's intentional, because the way your body curves with the motion is almost like you're presenting yourself. The sheets are low on your hips—not low enough that he can really take an eyeful, but the temptation of it raw and syrupy in his mind. What he can see is the warm, soft skin of your navel and stomach offered up to his roving gaze like a hunk of meat. It's bait, and it's obvious, and he's a slavering, starved dog in that instant.

He sits himself on the edge of the thin mattress, kicking off his sandals—and leans over you, breathing controlled but fast.

He splays a palm on your side, dragging it up, tracing.

You fuss a little, wanting.

He manoeuvres himself atop you, and you pout, as your elbow digs into the mattress.

He can tell in some fey way you're about to comment on the state of his bed—or rather, the lack of a real bed. Well, maybe not fey, it's mere prediction given your habit of complaining. You've probably been stewing on making a remark about it the entire time you've been dicking around in here. There's no headboard, no duvet. It's closer to a big, thin cushion on a fold out, bolted to a hinge on the wall at the top end.

You grumble, "This is the worst bed I've ever actually lain on," and there it is—the nagging, the backtalk.

"My mattress on Talassar is far nicer," he hums, nosing into the crook of your neck and sighing contently.

Your voice is barely a mumble as you say, "Well, we're not on Talassar—that's for sure."

"We could be," Cato mouths against your skin as he ventures lower.

"What?" You sit up a little and displace him enough that you can meet his gaze, and your eyes lock onto his in a hasty, focused manner—then Cato feels translucent again. As if you can see him for everything he is: prideful and doltish, disgustingly predictable—you've got him eating out of your hand.

"We... we could go to Talassar," he blurts out, one of your breasts against his chin. Then he ducks lower—planting a kiss just above your bellybutton. His voice comes out muffled against your skin, swallowing thickly, cotton-mouthed. "I'm sure I could... find an excuse, logistically."

The look you're giving him is just as flushed as his own face feels.

Cato Sicarius, High Suzerain of Ultramar, babbling—once again. Reduced to an illiterate, juddering wreck. His Astartesian dignity, honour and status petering to nothing. You have him swooning, on the back foot. Earnest and vulnerable—Throne, it makes him hot under the proverbial collar.

Cato stalls for a second, pursing his lips before digressing, "I could... I could petition an excursion to Glaudor to Guilliman, and then... arrange docking at Perusia."

Why does he feel so heated talking about this? Why is he, a several hundred year old, trans-human killing machine, flustering saying these things out loud?

"I don't actually know much about Talassar, aside from—well, aside from Guilliman's assigned readings on the Void Tridents, really."

Cato huffs, "I am distantly related to their Lord Commodore, Theodro Vethrus."

"Really? Huh..." you squint, trying to parse out his expression, "So do you... like him?"

Cato nods, "He's competent."

"High praise from you," you laugh softly, and wriggle yourself down—closer to eye level with him. "So what w-would we do? On Talassar, I mean..."

He breaks eye contact and stares at your lips instead, rearing up from you a little, "Well, there's a large hinterland that's quite nice in spring when it's not raining... and my Ancestral seat, on the coast. People sometimes swim and such, there—"

"I've never actually swam at a beach, before."

Cato harrumphs, "Really?"

"Never," you pout.

He smiles softly, "That can be remedied."

From the higher rooms of his duchy's fortress, you can get a good look at the long isthmus that sometimes peaks out from afore the sea walls when the waves calm down bi-yearly.

It's nicer on the other side where it's too small of a cove to support vessels, where the submerged canyon redirects the immense tidal forces sidelong.

You can swim in the carved rock lap pool, like he used to.

Because he's not about to run into the waves with his Tempest Blade should one of Talassar's less hospitable locals swim under the marine nets.

That, and to hell with picking the sealant-putty out of his interfacing ports. The annoyance of that is almost as bad as to be without it, and chock full of sand at exposed nerve points. With that mental deliberation settled, he lays both palms flat to the mattress supporting him either side of your shoulders, and raises a brow when your hand touches his chest.

Absentmindedly, he weighs the pros and cons or giving you the leeway to continue groping; it feels nice—but there's an aspect of mischief to your eyes he finds suspicious.

You start squeezing at his pectoral, fingers bearing down; watching the dense muscle contort and bulge.

"You really ought to bind these," you hum abruptly.

He scowls down at you, "I am not binding my chest."

"Why not?" You retort.

Cato sniffs derisively, "They are not breasts."

"Riiiight..." You drawl, dragging out the word still pawing at his left pectoral. "In my professional opinion, they seem pretty breast-like to me."

"They are not. Fucking. Breasts," Cato snarls, enunciating himself sharply while puffing up.

"No need to get defensive," you trail off, eyebrow quirking up slyly; laying the faux-pas down heavily, purposefully trying to irritate him by nipping at his metaphorical heels. "It's just that—well, even though they're hairier, they do feel simi—"

"That's enough talking out of you," he says, and promptly seizes you by the chin with his mitt, closing your mouth with his hand and effectively silencing you.

But stifling you had not wiped the smug, leering smile off your face. Yes, he can fucking feel it, you little bitch.

"You aren't funny," he hisses.

You grunt at him, huffing and puffing through your nose as you attempt speech even though your maw is held shut.

"Don't say something stupid," Cato frowns, and loosens his hold enough for you to get a few words out.

"I'd wager you could lactate w-wuh—with—" you race to say, thrashing as he quickly manages to shut you back up with his palm.

Cato tries not to grumble at the fact you're wheezing hysterically through your nose.

"Every time I think you are above something, you find a way to sink lower."

In response, you start thrashing, writhing enough in his grip to get four single words out from between his big fingers, "Sink—i-into your–cl—uh–eavage—" you manage to sputter, laughing behind his hand.

"I'll sink into you in a moment, if you do not stop," Cato growls openly.

You go still almost immediately, and whine against his palm.

"Really," he sneers, flabbergasted as he pulls his hand away and raises a brow, "Are you getting off on this, you degenerate?"

The comment clearly also stirs something in you, because then you're swatting at his face—missing, yes—but the effort still infuriates Cato to no end.

He rears back in avoidance, still keeping you nice and muzzled by his palm, but you manage to clap a hand around his mouth.

You push at him and squirm, fussing.

Then he inhales.

It's a little surprising his nose finds your fingers smell of molasses, and that means slick—the lingering hormonal melody of 'please?' is so blatant it's almost pathetic.

Cato raises an eyebrow and moves his hand from your face to ensnare the one you have on his, keeping it close.

"Is that why you're being such a scathing bitch? You're just impatient?" He scoffs, purposefully trying to taunt as he sniffs them again, just to be sure—and then licks across the underside of your pointer and middle, "Were these not big enough to entertain you while I was gone?"

You whine, flushed red with embarrassment, and try to wretch your hand away pointlessly.

A belated snort escapes him and he gives you a long, judgemental glare, letting you boil in your own shame.

"Don't start," you huff, petulant.

Cato huffs darkly, "I didn't say anything."

You frown knowingly—and his head descends, lower and lower.

You're all too willing to let him arrange you near his face.

Sure, you wriggle and flush and grumble at him as he makes sure to make a dramatic gesture of the act, but you're eager—and he knows it.

With an Ambassador's plump cunt to his mouth, Cato can't complain. But you certainly try to, despite the juddering thighs squeezing fruitlessly against the sides of his head. It's hopeless to try to fend off an Astartes, especially like this.

"C-Cato, just—"

He rolls his tongue over your clit again and again, delighting in the blissful hormone feedback lighting up his brain and the sounds you're making adding to it.

Some part of him'd be content lapping at your swollen nerve for hours, until you're a boneless mewling wreck. Tormenting you, letting you beg for him while he just roils in the simple goal of getting you to your end a dozen or so times.

"Please, just f-fuck—" you sob, squirming as he laughs against your sex at how toothless your frustration is. "Fuck m-me, Cato, stop being a-a—"

He drags over your clit again and feels your hamstrings tense, a fresh surge of slick wetting his chin.

"I'm—I c-can't," a shuddering whine leaves you, desperate.

The air practically vents out of your lungs like you're winded as he sucks; until you're so terribly close, all he'll need to do is bottom out in you to make you cum.

And that's exactly what he does.

He organises your legs off his shoulders and about his mid section as quickly as he can manage and then—

"F-f—fuh—uck," You writhe, head thrown back while you squirm at the heavy press of him rocking inside you, making your breathing stutter for a second. It's the familiar, obscene view of watching the massive slab of cock press into a cunt that's almost too small for him. But given the fact you take it so well, who's Cato to deny you? You love it, and that's the real thrill. A surge of pleasure sends you bucking; legs moving mindlessly where they're hooked over his hips, but he keeps still, simply letting you suffer your end on the thick length of him—all the while enjoying the feeling of being stuffed in you the whole ordeal.

It's only a quick orgasm, but damn if it isn't a hell of a show.

You're panting deliriously, trembling on his cock; and Cato's about to start drooling at the tightness he's being treated to.

When you stop trembling around him, you fight to steady your breathing—huffing out; "I—I ought-t-ah... squeeze you o-out."

"You'd need a dozen Dreadnauts to drag me loose right about now," he snorts and tips his head close, nudging his temple to yours a second later before smirking proudly.

The heavy swell of his balls sit flush against your ass, and you arch up, scrambling to pull him down into an embrace.

The small hands on his back are a nice counterpoint, and he moans when your fingers glide up to his shoulder; trailing the side of his neck before cupping his cheek. You pet him against the slightly grown out grain of his stubble with a skrrch skrrch, and he hums contently—and when that little hand rises to his pet his hair, it's sublime.

Your touch shifts away and he grumbles.

"I didn't tell you... to stop, damn it."

"So you are enjoying y-yourself, hm?" You smile, cupping his jaw and petting slowly.

"I don't... don't know what you're talking about, woman," he lies, nigh beside himself; pressing his bulk against you while pawing and groping at whatever he can.

He'd try for one of your tits in his mouth if the angle he's currently reaming you out at didn't make it impossible.

You work kisses across the high point of his cheek and down the heated column of his throat; seemingly emboldened by the dulcet, appreciative hums and rumbles that escape from Cato the entire time.

Doused in affection like this, he struggles to form sentences, damn it all.

He lets his head rest close, assailed with honest desperation.

"But, I..." he starts quickly, feeling a weight in his chest. His brain wants him to finish with a whole other word he refuses to even think of; because even if he's itching to say that he—he loves adores you—he's too stubborn to say it without sufficient prodding; but there's an arrow of longing lodged in his gullet and thankfully it doesn't dare to leave his mouth. "But, I do enjoy... you."

The prettiest whine escapes you in answer, and the flutter your tight cunt around him proves that for once, he's somehow said the right thing.

You swallow thickly and dither for a second, genuinely flustered but still able to get the words out, "I-I enjoy you, too."

A heady rush of heat fans across his face as he tries to properly process the information. The road travels both ways, and everything is serene, he's happy—you're happy, and that's all he ever needs. The duty and the honour, and the courage, seem inconsequential to it all in that moment.

He turns and kisses you swiftly, before leering away.

You rear up trying to close the distance again, but then Cato finally thrusts—and your eyes swim in their sockets, thighs shaking, mouth open with the heady gasp that leaves you.

So he nears, and gives you the other kiss you were eager for.

It's far messier than the former; his big tongue sticking in, dragging across yours and stifling you, saliva smearing down your chin as Cato practically laps the moans out of your mouth.

When he arches back at last, you're flushed and red at the lips, fluttering your lashes at him; eyes falling half-lidded under his gaze.

"C-Cato, move," You whine, imploring, and there's another eager clench around him when he obligingly ruts forward.

Cato can see the lurid glee on your face as your focus shifts suddenly to the point you both meet. Folded under him, it's given you a perfect vantage of the slab-of-meat that is his cock absolutely jammed down to the base in your guts.

You shimmy a bit and moan, "M-More?"

The scoff that leaves him is disbelieving, but he's well aware you're goading him to really set about fucking you insensible.

"If I fucked you as hard as you liked, you'd be getting augmetic hips tomorrow," he snarks, punctuating his point my pushing forward a little, so he's jammed riiiight against the soft ring of your cervix.

A soft gasp is all the receives for a second before you're suddenly grinning, "You're n-not that big."

It's so blatantly a lie he doesn't even dignify it with an answer. Instead, he shifts back a hint so only a third of himself stays inside you, letting you grow irate at the denial.

"I w–uh-was joking, Cato... please, don't s-stop," You whimper mournfully, raising yourself a little in attempt to coax him to slam in... and suddenly, there's a small hand on his flank.

Cato ignores it, focused on getting some much needed humility out of your darling mouth; then the hand claws at his rump.

"Needy bitc—" His would-be snarky sentence cuts short as he jumps a little, surprised, and clenches his rear; causing him to buck forward, sinking down to the hilt in you.

The thrilled gasp you make is priceless, and the shivering heat around his cock is sublime—but damn you for using that instinctive muscle reaction on him—you clever little bitch.

"Stop grabbing my ass," he grumbles, scowling down at you.

A crooked smile graces your lust-dumb features before it contorts into a flushed keen—surely not because Cato grinds deep to wipe the smirk off your face.

"This ought to keep your hands busy," He chides, rearing back and reaching sidelong for his discarded helmet on the far side of his cot.

You eagerly take it into your embrace, and Cato's impulse control violently derails seeing your tits sandwiched to the side panel; the white and red plume brushing your cheek—and you looking up at him with wanton lust.

Oh, Throne of Terra—that looks...

Cato swallows the saliva that suddenly over-accumulates in his mouth.

It's lecherous, and a glaring hypocrisy to everything the Legiones Astartes stands for—but there's something painfully enthralling about the visual that riles him up to strain at the bit like a warhorse.

Throne, he wishes he could fuck you in full-plate; just to see you drip and squirm, the adamantine of his thigh plating against your tender rear—the gooseflesh cold ceramite earns out of you to contrast the big hot slide of him into you. If only there was a way to keep the comfort of familiar war-gear upon him and the bliss of your soft skin on his simultaneously.

But he's got more than one round in him, and you've signed the warrant to be fucked to hysterics with all your insufferable antics earlier, no matter how cute you're acting now.

He's not going to last long.

Not like this.

Not with you so painfully eager, and pretty, and warm, and sweet.

He can't help acting on the urge to absolutely plough into you like his life depends on spilling inside.

"Ca–ah—to, Cato, C-Cato—" you drool, eyes shut tightly, fingers white with the exertion of keeping a grip on his helm's respirator. Each time you cry out his name it's followed by the sticky plap-plap-plap of his balls against your rear, and it's enthralling feeling you twitch and cramp on his length in rhythm with each stroke.

"Aren't you such a good little fucktoy," Cato pants, grinning when you nod on instinct. "Holding an Astartes' helm for him... while taking his cock."

A strangled 'y-yes' escapes you, breath fogging condensation against the cold steel of his helm.

"Perfect," he grunts, "My perfect... little whore," gritting his teeth, "You'll let me fill you, won't you?"

Another gorgeous few bleated notes of 'yes, y-yes, yes' meet him in answer.

"You want it here?" Cato hisses, breathlessly punctuating himself with a grind, "That's it... that's what you want?"

And that comment apparently does you in at last.

The pathetic little sob that pairs along with your frantic nodding makes him salivate like a rabid dog.

Your thighs judder as he pulls back to slam in, fruitlessly trying to lock at the ankles around the wide span of his hips; vainly attempting to keep him still—squeezing tighter and tighter as he keeps driving home into you—and the feeling is ecstasy, much like the view. You're so red across the cheeks it's almost the same colour as his plume, and you're hugging his helmet close, making the sweetest hiccuped sobs of pleasure against it.

He grits his teeth at the tightness that rewards him for pushing you to finish, helpless to it doing the same. Rutting into you, filling the eager hole he's sheathed in.

Cato slumps forward, shivering; careful to not squish you and his helm beneath his bulk despite the daze of him emptying a load in you—keeping pace even when the stimuli becomes unbearably tender and your heels dig into his flanks.

Heaving, he halts at last after the pleasure begins to really hurt, and meets your hazy gaze with a long, content sigh.

"C-Cato," you start softly, and nose against his cheek.

"Yes?" He begins in an airy tone, looming close to your ear and letting his exhale taper off into a long, curious hum.

"Your helm's d-digging into my ribs..." you cringe, and he immediately lifts himself away with a strong hand and pulls his helmet away and to the side.

Redness in the vague outline of the ceramite is imprinted on the soft skin of your side and he tuts, hand tracing the minor injury.

Kneading the area a little, you start to squirm, and Cato's suddenly hyperaware he's still inside you; and looks down.

He's fucked your combined fluids into a frothing mess.

With an air of unimpressed amusement, you snort at the show he makes of pulling out—he grabs you with a mitt on the underside of each thigh, functionally spreading you as inch after thick inch drags free so slowly it's almost jarring just how much of him you fit. The flushed head of his cock pops out, dripping a final fat rope of cum across your vulva; and then your overfilled insides start leaking more.

"Still got the implant?" Cato queries, using his thumb to pull your labia aside and eye just how deep he's emptied into you.

"Yes," you snicker weakly, "Y-Yes, I do—why?"

"It's a simple question," he tuts.

"I know w-what you're really asking, Cato."

He raises an eyebrow, "It's got nothing to do with the fact you're hard to avoid finishing inside."

A laugh leaves you like a bark, "You've never tried to a-avoid it."

"You'd throw a fit," he shoots back, and shuffles over to lie beside you on his back.

With a disgruntled huff you retort, "H-How would you know?"

"I remember your opinion on a certain... 'theoretical hypothetical scenario' quite well," Cato says slowly, and prides at the flustered smile you fight to hide in his peripheral vision.

"I... I stand by that statement," you sigh, still half-smirking.

He pouts, "You do, do you?"

"Yes," you huff, "Because now there's the t-temptation of leave to a seaside paradise on the proviso of being gravid," you say pointedly, and roll onto your side to face him—worming closer until your cheek rests on his pectoral. "Which becomes more tempting by the minute."

"You lazy little shit, I never said you had to be pregnant to get there," he scoffs, grinning, sitting up and resting his back to the wall. "Besides, I can assure you Guilliman's homework will find you even on a barren death world."

"I'm sure I can come up with something," you say, glaring at him with a conspiratorial smile. "And what was that about me not having to be knocked up to get this vacation?"

"The stipulation is I'd have you squirming on my lap daily," Cato rumbles, eyeing you arranging yourself to settle atop him. "Hourly, even; and the side effect of that may very well be a procreational one—"

"Such an egalitarian bargain," You snicker softly, saddling yourself on his hips instead of remaining prone—lifting your legs, straining to splay yourself wide enough to let him slot between them. "You're a better statesman than I thought, Commander Sicarius."

He rumbles a smooth subvocal sound of assent, and the big palms on your hips slide to cup the flesh atop your thighs.

The simple feeling of your warm skin pressed to him, and he is panting softly through his nose already. You kiss him then, with a tender sigh—more a sweet thing than a desperate scramble.

Cato stares when you pull away, keen eyes lingering on your own as you look up at him.

Something about that look plays havoc with his mind, and your next words double down on the heat in his blood, "Does the Grand Duke want for heirs so badly?"

"Fuck, yes—well, no—but... should one of your gene-stock occur by chance, who am I to object," he jumbles his words a tad when you reach down to hold his cock straight.

Throne, he wants it; he really does. Even if it's more likely considered a luxury well beyond anything he deserves, he wants you beside him in whatever way, shape, or form you'll allow.

"So," you snort, and the thick head of his length catches at the rim of your still-dripping cunt, "I'm to be an infant factorum?"

"Duchess," he groans, bristling at your soft lips against his cheek in unison with you sinking down, down, down to the hilt on him. "You're to be... a Grand Duchess, moron."

The languid sigh you make when he's buried in you is so content he's genuinely giddy as you ask, "I-Is that so, Cato?"

"You're going to adore every second of it," Cato rumbles softly, palming your ass. "Spoiled little heifer, that you are."

You make a strangled sound at the harsh grope of your rear and smile against his jaw, "...what's a heifer?"

"A female bovine that's never calved," he expects a slap for that—and yet it never comes.

You lean away, looking deeply unimpressed, and he sulks a little because it's not the reaction he was after. But it's a reaction nonetheless.

"Why do you, as an A-Astartes, even know that?"

"When Guilliman's mood ebbs to a trough, he lectures me on farming techniques," he says offhandedly, "He does so for hours."

Cato feels strange talking of his Father, the Lord Primarch, when his balls are currently smooshed against your perineum and his cock is playing whack-a-mole with your cervix.

"Would t-that make you a male bovine, then?"

Cato considers for a second before arching close to drag his tongue across your throat, grinning.

"So this i-is a breeding attempt b-by you?" You laugh with a daft, pleasured sort of delight and lift yourself a little, fucking yourself on him at your leisure.

"Yes," Cato pants, and rolls his hips upward—meeting you in the middle.

The contact makes a lewd plap along with a mixed combination of his moan and yours.

"W-Well," you sigh, "You're really trying—ah—aren't y-you, Cato?"

"For once," he rasps, mouthing a nice big bruise onto the soft skin on the side of your neck, "Keep talking."

"S-So, how m-many do—" you start meekly, stuttering a little with hesitation; your mouth to his ear. "How many do y-you want?"

The question makes Cato's head spin.

A sound that he can only assume is a braying moan escapes his gullet, because all his focus is cross-haired on the implication you've just given him on a platter.

"You're... you're going to get that implant removed next cycle," Cato pants, raring. "And," he bites out as he struggles not to just give in to the moan trapped in his throat and forsake words altogether. "You'll let me... let me breed this eager cunt of yours, won't you?"

The shaky gasp that leaves you in answer is divine, and Throne, aren't you the perfect little wife whore.

Then you nod, and that fucked-out smile is the most gorgeous thing Cato's ever seen.

It's conjecture, it's fantasy. Because Guilliman's going to skin him if anything like that ever gains actuality—and he may still very well be chemically sterile, after all of this; but it feels right to indulge in that impossible want at this instant. He'd take you as a bride, by the sea—in the high courtyards that look down at the great harbour. He'd have his pretty little wife, maybe a dozen bairns as stubborn as himself and as insufferable as you—and everything'd be perfect. He doubts you'd allow that many, but it's a discussion point. He'll barter—hell, who's he kidding. He'll take anything, even if it's just the two of you.

Whatever you'd ask he'd give; because in the end, he'd enjoy nothing more than to have you with him—and whatever boon might come from that conjunction—something made out of love, that he's not supposed to have.

He takes a firm hold of your hips on either side and bounces you, managing to steal a kiss on the up-lift and ripping a moan out of you on the down-pull—again and again; until you're squirming, slumping forward, squeezing on his cock as you're forced into a racketing orgasm.

Overwhelmed, you all but squeal, scrambling at the wide expanse of his shoulders in an effort to lock him closer, clawing at his deltoids.

It's the last push he needs.

Cato empties his balls right where you want it, groaning and heaving in desperate gulps of air as he slumps back against the wall; dragging you with him.

Your head rests limply against his shoulder and you wriggle, overstuffed—taking every drop.

He grits his teeth as each shudder milks him dry, arcs of pleasure lighting up his nerves.

It leaves him huffing and puffing into your nape, grumbling to himself.

"Perfect," he whispers, nuzzling against your neck. He can feel the sticky heat of his cum dripping out of you and onto his thighs and balls.

Cato supposes if this is what de-facto baseline marriage is like, it's not half bad.

#cato sicarius x reader #space marine x reader #reader insert #cato sicarius #warhammer 40k #ultramarines #warhammer 40k x reader #warhammer fanfic #writing #calgar omg hiii #oughgh theyre happy and cute and im going to hit cato with a steel chair after this #my little scrunkly #cato sicarius my favourite cringefail husband #giant asshole wife guy #if the breeding thing wasn't obvious enough by the fact he oogles his load EVERYTIME im EVERY CHAP LMFAOO #HES FINALLY ADMITTED ITTTTT #ambassador please do not let him he will make your kids duel endlessly

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