#I LOVE Severus' hair here

[megwritesriddles]

In the Back of Your Mind ༊*·˚

18+ MDNI !!!

Pairing: Young! Severus Snape x F! Reader / You

Summary: Kinktober 2024 Day 4 - Stalking. Severus is in love with you from afar. Severus is also very good at legilimency. You show a tiny bit of interest by helping him out in class and he loses a little more of his self-control.

Tags: Stalking, P in V, Unprotected sex, Oral sex (f receiving, a LOT of it), Very dubious consent, Mind manipulation / control, Brainwashing, Improper use of legilimency, Toxic relationships, Yandere Snape, Creepy perverted behaviour, Fantasising, Implied loss of virginity, Self-blaming.

READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED!!!!

Word count: 3.7k

Read it on ao3! | Masterlist

Authors note: Severus in this fic is written to be a walking red flag, don't seek this kind of relationship irl!! I started to get a headache toward the end of writing this, sorry if it's noticeable in the writing!! Hope you like it anyway mwah ( ◕◡◕)っ ♡

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Splat, Severus’ books thud to the ground. A cacophony of laughs erupts behind him, led by James Potter, a satisfied smirk on his face from having caused this mild inconvenience. Severus huffs and rolls his eyes, luckily hidden by his mop of long black hair. He bends down to pick up the books, not at all surprised when James nudges one further away with the toe of his shoe. He shuffles forward and picks it up too, straightening himself back up, head hung low. He shuffles across the hall to lean against a wall further from the marauders, who hoot and laugh at him. Even putting himself in their shoes he can’t understand what’s so funny about watching someone pick up books. None of it matters anyway, because you’ll be here soon. Perfect you. You always arrive at this class at 12:56, with your friend by your side. You’d usually be chatting, finishing off a pastry from lunch, whatever had taken your fancy that day, Severus guessed it would be the Pumpkin pasties today. He watches the clock above the door into the potion's dungeon, feeling a familiar tingle of excitement. Just as he knew you would, almost exactly as the clock struck 12:56, your voice drifted around the corner down the corridor. He watches behind his hair as you come into view, chatting happily with your friend, carefully holding a hand in front of your mouth as you chew. He imagines you spotting him, smiling and making your way over, giggling and offering him a bite of your pastry. He’d go to bite it and you’d withdraw it playfully, just to tease him, you’d laugh that bright laugh you have and he’d give you a chastising look before stealing a kiss from you, making you smile wider. You’d wrap your arms around his neck, pushing closer so that–

He’s yanked from his thoughts by Slughorn opening the doors to the lab, the heavy wood scraping unpleasantly against the stone floor. Everyone starts to head inside, he keeps his head down as he enters, hanging back at his usual spot at the back of the room, the spot with a perfect view of you. He places his books down, watching as you quickly scoff the last of your pastry, a pumpkin pasty as he’d guessed before the lesson started. Throughout the lesson he’s watching you, barely concentrating on the topic at hand, he doesn't need to, he already read up on it in his own time so that he can watch you. He’s lucky, in a way, that he only has you for potions, no matter how much he wishes you always there, always by him, always in view, else he may never learn anything at all. You lean forward on the desk, your chin in your palms, legs swinging under the desk. He can vaguely make out the outline of your bra through the back of your uniform shirt, it’s black, clasped on the final row. He almost jots this down on his parchment before he catches himself. He imagines that if he told you this, you’d laugh and call him something childish and endearing, like a ‘silly sausage’, flicking his nose gently. He’s lost in this fantasy, this world where he can tell you that he’s watching you and you find it sweet, going through the motions of setting up his workstation for brewing. He doesn’t even realise that Slughorn is calling out to him until your head turns towards him, looking curious. He notices with a start that the entire class is looking at him, the marauders laughing tauntingly among themselves.

“Er… what?” he croaks out, his voice a little rough from barely speaking all day. He hears a few more chuckles, but not from you. Kind, perfect you. You just glance between him and Slughorn without a hint of judgement in your eyes.

“Your hair is getting rather too long, boy, you’ll have to tie it up for this potion, it’s very volatile,” Slughorn chortles from the front of the room. “Do any of the ladies have a spare?” He addresses the room. The marauders and a couple of the other boys explode with laughter, several of the girls immediately shake their heads, or do nothing, except beautiful, perfect you. You’re picking up your bag and digging through it without a second's hesitation and he could kiss you right now, not that there was any time he felt like he couldn’t. Your friend, obviously shamed into action by you, flicks half-heartedly through her bag too. The rest of the class returns to setting up.

“A-ha!” you exclaim, pulling out a plain black hairband from your bag. Black like your bra, his brain supplies, but he shakes that off because you’re walking over to him. He’s immediately sweating, luckily you’re unlikely to notice through his robes, although you may notice the growing sheen on his forehead. You stand in front of him, smiling like an angel. He’s not this close to you often, somehow you’re even more ethereal up close. He takes a shaky breath as you extend the hairband to him. "Don't listen to them, Black is only about an inch away from needing one himself,"

“Th-Thank you…” He mumbles, brushing your fingertips with his own on purpose. It feels like a thousand fireworks exploding under his skin and he smiles shakily. You smile and shrug.

“Just get it back to me when you can, or keep it honestly, I have hundreds and you’ll probably need it again,” you explain happily. You always seem to have nothing bringing you down and he admires it, wishing he could be so positive, perhaps it’s easy when you’re as flawless as you are. You skip off back to your workstation to your friend. He has something in his hand that is yours, something he’s allowed to keep, something he didn’t have to snatch when you left the room. There’s a couple of your hairs stuck around it and he shivers in excitement. This is something you have used, and he has it through legitimate means. He’s floating on air. While everyone else is beginning to brew, he hides behind his cauldron carefully laying down your hairs in his notebook, making sure not to break them, securing them so they don’t fall out.

Eventually, once he’s sure he can’t extract any more of yours from the hairband, he finally ties his hair back into a low ponytail, getting to work. He’s confident he can catch up on the brewing time he missed, even as he keeps being distracted by the sight of you across the room, your hair pulled up out of your face in the same type of hairband you gave him. You’re gorgeous, somehow more than usual, which shouldn’t be possible or, frankly, legal. He’s often wondered if you’re part Veela somewhere far back, because of how absolutely perfect you are. Through extensive research of your family tree, he was able to prove himself wrong, but he still wonders. His potion expertise allows him to catch up on the potion, still being awarded the best potion in class by the end of it. He almost feels bad for everyone who actually put some effort into brewing just to lose to him again, but that feeling melts away when he spots you grinning at him as Slughorn announces his win. The two of you have never been friends, but you have always been silently friendly toward him, refusing to be swayed by the rumours about him. It’s perhaps what he loves the absolute most about you. He’s packing up when you approach him again, smiling softly.

“I actually like your hair up like this,” you whisper, reaching over to gently flick the end of his short ponytail. Severus doesn’t know if you’re teasing him or not. He feels like he’s been struck by lightning, both by your words and your playful touch. A hundred images of fantasies he’s had about you over the years flash through his mind. You’ve touched him! Willingly! In that playful way, he’d always imagined you would. It takes a lot of effort to remind himself that he can’t just kiss you right now. His mouth falls open and he lets out an undignified throaty noise. He quickly covers it up with a cough, blinking rapidly.

“I um… you… do?” he chokes out. You study his face for a moment, he’s sure you’re about to change your mind. You could never be so cruel though, he knows this, you’re too wonderful.

“Yeah… it’s nice to see your eyes sometimes,” you tease. Severus forces himself to laugh back casually, trying to force down the love hearts that are practically forming in his eyes. He also has to stop himself from grabbing you, never letting you move away again. He regrets holding himself back when your friend comes up behind you and ushers you away to your next class. You smile at him over your shoulder as you begin to leave. He quickly decides to use the compliments you’ve just given him against you. He wonders how much you really meant to them, but he has to try anyway. He invades your mind, silently smug about your lack of defences even after all this time. He feeds you a vision based on what you’ve just said. His head between your perfect supple thighs, looking up at you with wide needy eyes, his hair pulled back just like this, devouring your sweet cunt. He knows he’s been successful as he watches you suddenly flush and turn away, your cheeks bright red.

He doesn’t really know how you feel about these visions. He’s been invading your mind and planting them since the end of the fifth year. He would love to stick around in your brain, find out how you react to them, do some digging, and find out how you really feel about him, but he can’t risk it. The longer you’re in somebody's mind, the more they can feel the foreign presence. You’re still yet to put up any wards, even rudimentary ones, so he assumes you don’t realise you’re being invaded. You also haven’t started to avoid him more than normal, if you realised these visions were coming from someone else, there would only be one logical conclusion as to who they came from, but you haven’t withdrawn or confronted him in any way, so he figures he’s safe for now. The nature of the visions he gives you is probably enough to distract you from the momentary uncomfortable tingle of someone else being in your brain. He’s been experimenting for a long while to see what thoughts you react to the best. He often sits in the dining hall, somewhere where he has the perfect view of you, and plants various thoughts. You don’t seem to school your emotions very well, so he gets a vague idea of how you react to each scenario. He’s tried visions of him bending you over, roughly taking everything he wants from you, he’s tried visions of him begging on his knees to please you and everything in between. You blush beautifully at each one, whether from embarrassment or arousal, he isn’t sure. He can’t wait to feel your cheek heat up under his hand, because he will get to feel it, some day. You don’t seem to like the more extreme scenarios, complete domination or complete submission, but you don’t seem to mind either way if the power dynamic is a little milder. He doesn’t mind, he would be anything for you, do anything. What you seem to like best is when he feeds you a vision of him eating you out. He supposes it makes sense, it’s completely focused on your pleasure, so it’s practically all he’s been giving you lately. Sometimes he holds you down and calls you a good girl, sometimes you’re riding his face and calling him a good boy, you seem to like it either way. It makes him unbelievably smug.

After dinner, he’s trailing you and your friends to your common room, just to make sure that you’re safe, nothing more. He’s a little careless, feeding you the same vision over and over, enjoying watching you blush and stutter from afar as you try to chat with your friends. You probably think you’ve been hit with a lust potion or something, as he isn’t letting you think of anything else. It seems you hadn’t lied when you’d told him you liked his hair in the ponytail, as every time he gave you the same vision from earlier, he noticed your thighs tense. This isn’t a reaction he gets from you often at all, usually, it’s so subtle that he can be convinced it was unrelated, but this vision, in particular, seems to have you doing this every time. He’d dropped his fork at dinner just to duck under the table to watch your thighs clench, the sight nearly making his mouth water. He wished he could get under your table and spread your legs, make that vision a reality, but sadly he could not. He would do it in a heartbeat if you asked, fuck the consequences, fuck who could see. Maybe one day, if he kept torturing you with this vision, you would come begging. He feels his cock twitching eagerly in his trousers at the thought. You disappear into your common with your friends, him watching from around the corner. He sighs in disappointment, deciding to leave you be for the night since he can’t delight in your lovely little reactions any more. He hangs around at the corner for a moment, debating whether to head outside onto the grounds to watch you through your dorm window like he often did. The mini telescope he had to buy for Astronomy had turned out to be a fantastic use of money, even if he did often see your roommates instead. He had seen them all in various states of undress by now, but he couldn’t care about any of them in the least, he only had eyes for you.

Over the next few days, he eases off a little, realising how reckless he’d been. He couldn’t risk you knowing what he’s been doing, he can’t imagine that would end very well, even if you had seemed to grow to like the visions he gave you. He didn’t stop altogether, because that would have arguably been just as suspicious. He keeps it tame, one or two a day, maybe a little more innocent than normal. He can’t help but continue to use the information about you liking his hair back, making sure every fantasy he feeds you has him that way. He keeps your hairband, pulling his hair back every day now, because it makes you look at him just a second longer, and he’s obsessed with it. Lucius comments on it, saying it looks odd, but he couldn’t care less. It makes secretly watching you harder too, as he can’t hide behind his hair so much, but he makes do, all for those extra glances. He continues his routines, waiting for you to emerge in the mornings from your common room by hiding around the corner, watching you at every mealtime, trailing you back to the common room in the evening and then watching you through your window whenever he feels the need.

One night, once he’s happy you’re safely back in your common room, he turns to leave but trips slightly over his feet. He glances down, realising with an exasperated huff that the laces on his oxfords have come undone. He crouches down to tie them, setting his other knee on the ground. He fumbles with them unnecessarily, frustrated with himself. He vaguely registers footsteps approaching him, but not enough to react before he hears a voice.

“Oh… Severus, what are you doing here?” your soft angelic voice echoes slightly in the empty corridor. You seem confused, and, arguably, you have reason to be. The only thing down this corridor is your common room, and he has no excuse to be here. He swallows, staring straight down at the ground, his mind working a mile a minute.

“Here to return the hairband,” he grunts, thinking fast. It’s the only excuse he has, even if you had told him to keep it. He looks up at you from his crouched position, you’re a lot closer to him than he thought. He realises how similar this position is to some of the ones he’s forced into your brain. He’s pleased to notice, from the flush on your face, that you make this connection too, without it being planted. He shifts slightly, lowering both his knees to the ground and facing you properly. He looks up at you, his eyes burning with barely contained arousal. You’re flushed and shy as you look down at him and he dares to invade your mind to see what you’re thinking. He can’t fight the twitch of his lips as he creeps into your mind, only to find you’re imagining him, just as he is now, pushing up your skirt and burying his face between your legs. He shivers, you’re thinking of this all on your own. There’s a nag at the back of his mind, telling him you don’t quite seem to want to be thinking this, but he ignores it, reaching up for your thighs. You yelp in surprise as his cold, long fingers press into the warm skin of your thighs and he pulls you forward.

“Wha- what are you doing?” you squeak, stumbling helplessly toward him. He doesn’t answer, he feels possessed, and he’s already salivating. He brushes his nose against the skin of your thigh, just under the hem of your skirt, making you gasp. You smell divine, a vague hint of your perfume, presumably stuck to the fabric of your skirt, a hint of something that he realises, with a growl, must be your arousal. You try to step away, but he grips you harder, keeping you in place. He knows you want him, even if you don’t seem to know it yourself. You whimper as he licks a stripe up your thigh, the taste is faintly salty and he groans in pleasure. He hears the old castle creak slightly, reminding him that the two of you are out in the open. He withdraws slightly. You look utterly dazed above him like you don’t understand what’s going on. You realise that he’s walking you to a cleaning cupboard nearby, and your legs just blindly follow him. You want to protest, but can’t seem to find it in you. You had been fantasising about this for years now, even if the reason for these fantasies never seemed to make sense. He brings you in, shutting the door behind you. He’s kneeling again in an instant, he almost looks crazed as he bunches up your skirt. He doesn’t even give you time to acclimate before his tongue is on you through the material of your underwear. You gasp out loudly as he tastes the small wet spot of fabric, when did you even get wet? He takes a long deep sniff, his nose nudging at your clit through the fabric. He licks at you desperately until the material is soaked through, both with his saliva and your arousal. You were shocked by just how intensely your body was reacting to all this. You let him slide down your underwear, figuring there’s no point stopping him now. You lean back against the wall as he buries his head between your legs, shaking his head slightly to get even closer, the movement making you moan softly. He’s undeniably eager, lapping and slurping at you, but it’s fairly clear he’s never done this before. This is all he’s ever wanted, and he’s determined to make the most of it, the scent and taste of you making him feel insane. He rubs you all over his face, wriggling his tongue against you, gripping the flesh of your buttocks to keep you in place. He’s mumbling against you, about how long he’s been picturing this, but you can’t quite hear him, which is probably for the best. He makes up for his lack of experience with his enthusiasm, the way he’s looking up at you like he’s desperate to please. You find yourself falling apart all over his face shockingly fast, biting your lip to stifle your whines.

“Thank you, thank you,” he mumbles over and over as he laps you all up. He pulls away and you go a little limp, sliding slightly down the wall as he stands. You barely register what’s happening as he turns you around pressing you up against the wall, your eyes widen as he pushes inside you, but by now you’re well past the point of no return, so you simply brace yourself against the wall. He humps you like a dog in heat, sloppy and fast, you’re glad he made you orgasm earlier because you don’t get the feeling you will be cumming from this. Not that it feels bad, in fact, it feels quite good, making you moan as he bullies against you. He grips your waist tight with his slender fingers. “This is perfect, everything I’ve ever dreamed of,” he whimpers in your ear. “Now that I’ve had a taste of you, I’m never letting you go, you’re mine now,” you know what he’s saying is worrying, but your fucked out mind can’t quite realise the true danger of what he’s saying and what your lack of protesting is solidifying in his mind. “All mine,” he growls, his hips stuttering violently. He buries himself as deep as he can. “Fo-forever,” he groans shakily as he spills deep inside of you. He holds you there for a long time, your body limp in his arms as he pants against the back of your neck. You feel lightheaded, you can’t believe everything that’s just happened to you. He kisses your cheek, over and over, as if it's some sort of compulsion. “Mine, mine, mine,” he mumbles repeatedly, the reality of everything starting to sink in for you. Maybe you should have believed the rumours about his mental instability, maybe you should have kicked him away when he first grabbed your thighs, perhaps you should be telling him right now that you’re not his, but instead, a string of words come out of your mouth, feeling like they’re only half your own.

“Can you eat me out again?”

And he happily complies, sliding back down onto his knees.

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xoxoxo

[rainydayathogwarts]

Off limits pt.2 - Remus Lupin

summary: remus can’t help but liking the one person who’s off limits, but it seems like they him too. black!reader - read part 1 here!! wc: 1.3k+

It was becoming harder for Remus to ignore his feelings for you, especially after that dream. He started thinking of you cuddled next to him, on his lap, on his dick, in your pyjamas, in less than your pyjamas. Remus felt disoriented the entire way through the day, remnants of the dream still pounding in his head. He didn’t think he could believe a single thing that would happen throughout the day. And even worse, Sirius held some sort of animosity towards him ever since he’d witnessed your interaction at the Three Broomsticks. This officially turned into Remus’s worst nightmare.

Remus felt as though he spent the entire day trying to convince Sirius that there was nothing going on between you. In other words, he spent the day lying to both himself and his best friend. At lunch in the Great Hall, Sirius sat out of the conversation, instead training his eyes on you from across the hall. Sirius saw as your eyes moved towards his general direction, but since you didn’t return the glare he was giving you, he became confused. That was until he realised that you weren’t staring at him, but the boy beside him. Remus chatted along with James as he ate, a smile gracing his features, clueless to the way you stared at him with admiration.

Sirius glanced back and forth between you and Remus, furrowing his eyebrows as you propped your chin up on your hand, sighing dreamily. What the fuck? Thought Sirius. Narcissa stood up next to you, slinging her bag over her shoulder and you quickly followed, tearing your eyes away from the chestnut-haired boy. From across the vast hall, Remus’s eyes were caught by your sudden movement, dozing out of his conversation to watch you leave to your next lesson.

Sirius huffed, crossing his arms as Remus said his goodbyes, claiming Slughorn wouldn’t be happy if he were late to class. Sirius scoffed; he’d had Slughorn as a teacher for long enough to know that he was one of the most lenient professors in entire the castle. Remus trotted through the hallways, hoping to catch you before class started. He slowed his step down just as he rounded the corner to the Potions hallway, but his face fell when he found Narcissa waiting in front of the closed classroom alone.

Remus tried not to look too disappointed, attempting a nonchalant expression as he ran a hand through his hair. When he made eye contact with Narcissa, he froze, eyes going wide. Your cousin had her arms crossed over her chest, a smirk on her face. The knowing look on her face scared Remus, and when she cocked an eyebrow up at him in question, he feared he would be spilling all his secrets to her. “I-” Remus shut his mouth, turning away from the intimidating blonde to find you rushing down the hallway, a nervous smile on your face.

“Hey.” Remus nervously greeted, both hands gripping the strap of his book bag. “Hi.” You responded, but before you could bring the conversation any further, Slughorn opened the door to his classroom, ushering you all in. With one last look to a terrifying Narcissa Black, Remus slid into the classroom. Similarly to the day before, it didn’t take long for you to become bored of Slughorn’s slow drawl, but at least today you were brewing a potion in pairs.

Remus turned to find Frank on the opposite side of the room, who he usually paired up with, but he was stopped by a hand placed atop his. He turned towards you, mouth agape. “Pairs?” You asked, looking deeply into his eyes with a sweet smile on your face. Remus sputtered, looking past you towards Narcissa, who was already speaking to Severus, seemingly unfazed by your decision. Remus turned his attention back to you, nodding eagerly. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d love to.”

But there was one problem to this: Remus had forgotten about his dream and how it would affect his interactions with you. “I’ll go get these ingredients.” You announced, disappearing into the ingredient cupboard. It was only when you walked out, carrying jars of ingredients in your hands that Remus’s mind flashed back to the dream he had. Of you, walking towards him as though he was your prey, before you demanded him to kiss you. Remus shook the thought away, rushing towards you to help with the ingredients you carried. You both worked quickly and efficiently, with the exception of Remus zoning out when your fingers grazed, or you smiling too sweetly at him whilst you waited for Professor Slughorn to come examine your potion.

“Are you doing anything this afternoon?” You asked Remus, who shrugged his shoulders, a pink hue unfolding onto his cheeks. “Any surprise appearances to Hogsmeade?” You laughed at the humiliated look on Remus’s face, who began stuttering in an attempt to explain himself. You giggled, cocking your head to the side. “It’s okay Remus, it was a nice surprise. It cleared out any doubts I had about your feelings towards me.” Remus’s face went impossibly redder, and just as he opened his mouth to respond, Professor Slughorn made his appearance. You had to suppress the roll of your eyes and the annoyed scowl, instead smiling respectfully at the old man.

Every time you attempted starting the conversation up again, Slughorn either interrupted you by finishing up his lesson, or people were too close for comfort. You sighed disappointedly, waiting awkwardly for Slughorn to dismiss the class before jumping up excitedly. You and Remus waited until the rest of the students cleared the crowd, emptying the hallways out until you finally walked out together. “So… What did you mean by your doubts about my feelings towards you?” Remus finally spoke up, coming to a halt outside the classroom. He had spent the entire rest of the lesson thinking of your words which echoed in his brain like an ear worm.

Turning to face Remus, you mustered up the most confident tone possible. “Well I like you, and it’s good to know that you like me back.” Remus’s quiet gasp made hope flutter in your chest, but your confident stance was breaking down with every second he stayed silent. Remus opened and closed his mouth in uncertainty before finally landing on “You like me back?” You grinned widely at the reassurance of the boy’s feelings towards you, and you rolled your eyes jokingly, muttering “Yeah, don’t beat yourself up over it.” Remus laughed happily, watching as you rocked back and forth on your feet. You glanced down at your feet, hesitantly clutching the strap of your bag. “Well-” But Remus’s hands on your cheeks were quick to silence you, pulling your gaze back on his face. He stared at you for a moment, as though mentally debating something before finally leaning down to peck your lips quickly.

You smiled widely when Remus pulled away, your hands travelling upwards to grip the bottom of his jumper. “Well, you sure have plans for this afternoon now.” You said, watching as Remus’s eyes shone with a happy gleam.

“Yeah?” “Yeah.” “I’ll find you after class then.” “Okay.”

But your happy little exchange was short lived, for when you turned around to make your way to your next class, you met Sirius’s angry stare, glued to you from the other side of the hallway. From Remus’s quiet “Oh no.” behind you, you knew that you weren’t the only one in trouble. You cleared your throat, spinning on the balls of your feet to quickly begin making your way to class. Loud footsteps followed you, and you groaned, immediately knowing that you were in for a scolding. A scolding that would probably cause you to skip your next class.

taglist: @treefairy-28 @screechingovercaffeinatedgumball @therealmsmisery @ilovejamespottersomuch @plk-18 @lxdystxrdustt @ravisinghs-wife @moonyswifee @jimeniita

[sevilynne]

"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.

[liv2post]

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.”

[professorsnape394]

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.

[ms-snape]

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.

[snowyslytherinowl]

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.

[metalomagnetic]

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."

[vyzz-undercover]

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

———————————————————————————————————

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

———————————————————————————————————

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.

[multifandomfix]

Imagine Snape taking care of your daughter so you can sleep in.

The room is still and quiet, wrapped in the soft shadows of early morning. You barely stir as the sound of the door creaks open, then shuts with careful precision. Somewhere in the haze of near wakefulness, you hear Severus’ deep, gravelly voice. Low, soothing, and unmistakably calm.

“Shh,” he murmurs. “Your mummy is sleeping.”

Your toddler’s giggle follows, light as a bell, and you imagine her perched on his hip, her tiny fingers likely tugging on his hair or the edge of his robes. You keep your eyes closed, a rare opportunity to let yourself drift back into slumber without worry. Severus is here. He’ll handle her.

From the hallway, the muffled sounds of his footsteps retreat, and you catch snippets of his soft spoken commentary. “No, you may not chew on the hem of my robe. That’s hardly sanitary… Yes, you may have juice, but only after breakfast. That is non negotiable.”

You smile faintly into the pillow, but your body stays heavy, reluctant to break the spell of much needed rest.

Time slips by, and when you finally stir again, you realize the house is quiet. It takes a moment to push yourself upright, the lingering pull of exhaustion still clinging to you. Padding toward the living room, you find the two of them there, Severus seated in the armchair, your daughter nestled in his arms, clutching a soft, worn blanket as if it were her most prized possession.

He’s reading to her.

His voice is even, steady, and somehow softer than you ever thought possible for him. There’s no trace of the sharpness he wields so well in the classroom, no biting dry wit. Instead, his words are deliberate, gentle, as if the weight of his love for her exists in every syllable.

Your daughter shifts in his lap, leaning her cheek against his chest. He adjusts her automatically, one arm curling protectively around her, and continues reading without pause.

You lean against the doorframe, unnoticed, letting the moment sink into your heart. This is Severus Snape as only you and your daughter will ever know him —a man who softens when he thinks no one is looking, who allows himself to be vulnerable, just for her.

When he finally looks up and sees you, his expression doesn’t change, but there’s a flicker of something warm in his eyes. “You’re awake,” he says quietly, as if reluctant to disturb the peaceful scene he’s created.

“I am,” you reply, voice still husky from sleep. “Thank you.”

He nods once, returning his attention to the little girl now dozing in his arms. “I’ll let you handle the next tantrum,” he says dryly, but the corner of his mouth twitches with a hint of a smile.

You walk over and press a kiss to his temple, resting your hand briefly on your daughter’s soft curls. “Deal,” you whisper.

And in that moment, everything feels exactly as it should.

Forever Tag: @valencethefriendlychangeling, @crimsonwidow666, @rebelbossheart, @thedailyspiritualist, @orangeisnttheonlyfruit, @aperol-with-izzy, @leonoralessoem, @ellepossum69, @lakita-fisher, @trexsuit, @analuw, @luvlesavyy, @malfoyfeed, @aliciabrower, @sparrowspixie, @imaginationismyworldlypleasure, @og-kxsh-420

Severus Snape: @brienneseveruscalaway, @darkthought15, @superninjapervert420, @meeksmusic83, @whither-the-wind-goes, @eternal-silvertongued-prince, @unexpected-character, @yourdailymemedelivery, @impulse-anchor, @becomingthedreamversionofme, @bloodinthedarksworld, @gothtrash6969, @music-bird, @severusish, @chaotic-mushroomz, @iciclesandsnow, @thenazwife, @phantomofclownery, @animeloverfreak310, @m-rae23, @asocialrandom, @beyondgaby, @scarlettmal, @icanotbelieve, @bibliosophie, @saranasr, @strawberrycakeblog, @wynt3rrr, @geekyandgay98, @pink-sunrise-56, @sweetyprincesschaos, @witchthewriter, @anarrowtotheknee, @thekirbishow, @lannister-apologist

[deatheaterv]

Hiiii I love your imagines and was hoping you’d agree to write my silly idea.

Reader is very much happy go lucky, sunshine kind of person in relationship with Severus Snape. Reader always makes sure to wake up long before him and he doesn’t understand why until one time he wakes up before her and finds out she’s the grumpiest morning person, a complete 180 from her normal self

SUNRISE SECRETS

hello sender! i’m glad to know that you liked it

pairing : severus snape x fem!reader

genre : fluff

summary : as in the request

it’s still dark when severus wakes, the quiet stretching over the room like a blanket. something feels...off. normally, by this hour, you’d be up, humming softly or clattering in the kitchen, radiating warmth like the morning sun itself.

but today, you’re still curled under the covers, face smushed against the pillow, hair a wild halo around your head. peaceful, he thinks. until the alarm clock chimes.

you groan like you’ve been mortally wounded. with the grace of a disgruntled cat, you slap at the clock until it goes silent. severus watches, equal parts intrigued and concerned.

“bloody mornings,” you grumble, voice thick with sleep. “who invented them? i just want... five more years...”

he raises an eyebrow. this is the person who greets him with sunshine and laughter every morning?

you attempt to sit up, but collapse back into the pillow dramatically. “nope. can’t do it. tell the sun to come back tomorrow.”

severus exhales through his nose, fighting a smirk. “you do realize you can’t hex the sun.”

“watch me,” you mumble, face still buried in the pillow.

he shakes his head, sliding out of bed. minutes later, he returns with a steaming cup of your favorite tea. he gently nudges your shoulder. “here.”

you crack an eye open, and when you see the tea, your whole face softens. “you’re too good to me.”

“debatable,” he murmurs, but his hand lingers at your back, tracing soothing circles.

you sip the tea and finally, the familiar warmth returns to your eyes. you lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “you’re my favorite person. even if you’re a morning person.”

“i’m not,” he corrects. “i simply cope. unlike some.”

you nudge him playfully. “lucky me, then.”

he presses a rare, soft kiss to your temple. “indeed.”

[elegantlyeva]

Can you please do shy!reader with Sirius? but she's a little more comfortable with him? and maybe something with gifts

DAY FIVE

Priceless

Summary: Finding the perfect gift for his perfect person was harder than Sirius thought.

Word Count: 1.1k 

After hours of dragging his feet through shops and flirting his way out of a scolding from two old women—because he shoved their kids trying to get to the front of the line—Sirius has decided he’s done with the holidays.

“What’s wrong with him?” Remus’s voice cut through the haze. He must’ve just gotten out of class.

“He’s being insufferable,” James replied with the kind of dramatic eye roll Sirius didn’t need to see to picture.

He groaned, sinking further into his chair.

“Is it the girl again?” Remus asks, placing his stuff on the table.

“Of course it’s the girl. It’s all he talks about anymore,” James yelps when Sirius brings his hand to smack the back of his head. “Ow.”

“You’re speaking of me like I’m not right here.”

“You’re acting like a sad lump. I told you, girls are easy. Get her flowers and write her name on them.”

“That’s impersonal,” Sirius muttered. “She’s not just any girl. She’s…” He trailed off, not knowing how to put it into words. She was perfect, but that hardly covers it.

“Why don’t you just ask her what she wants?” Remus asks, confused. James answers for Sirius.

“You’ll be alone forever, Moony. What girl wants you to ask? We’re supposed to know what they want.”

“Sounds like rubbish to me.”

“Enough. Both of you. You’re horrible friends and even less help,” Sirius groans.

Remus gives him a kind look and a pat on the shoulder. “S’alright, Padfoot. Have you gotten her anything to work with?”

Sirius sighs, nodding his head. “Practically something from every shop at Hogsmeade.”

“There’s the creepy drawing as well,” James brings up.

“Creepy drawing?”

“I’ll turn your hair green and say you did it to show your admiration toward Severus,” Sirius warns.

James puts his hands up in surrender.

Remus sighs. “Can we please stay on topic? What creepy drawing?”

“I had Roger Hughes help me paint this photograph of her and me together.”

“That’s nice,” Remus says. “What’s the problem?”

“Sirius is a horrible boyfriend,” James quips.

“I’m not her boyfriend,” he replies, rather mournfully. You had told him you wanted to move slowly, and he’s sure it’s because you think he’ll drop you for the next girl.

“I’m worried it’s too much,” he says instead.

“Why don’t you give her a label for the holidays?” James mumbles. Remus hushes him before Sirius can strangle the boy.

James gave a dramatic sigh. “You’ll figure it out. You always do.”

Sirius let the conversation drop, gesturing for them to change the subject.

Two days later, he found you by yourself, your bag slung over your shoulder as you made your way through the corridor. He stepped up behind you, reaching for the handle of your bag to take it off your shoulder.

You flinched, and he cursed inwardly. “Sorry,” he mumbled, pulling his hand back, but you shook your head.

“It’s fine,” you smiled softly, letting him take your bag. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be looking for me.”

“No? Well, clearly they’ve been poisoned. I would’ve come looking for you earlier had I thought you’d be alone.” He takes your hand in his free one.

You laughed quietly. “Most of my friends have left for break already.”

“Shame,” he said, then added, “Good thing I found you before you started pining for their company.” He laced his fingers through yours, watching as a small smile tugged at your lips.

“Actually,” he said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze, “I got you something.”

Your smile faltered slightly. “Why?”

Sirius blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean why? It’s the holidays, love.”

You narrowed your eyes. “I thought we agreed not to do gifts. You said it was too… relationship-y.”

“That was different!” Sirius protested, squeezing your hand again. “That was for my birthday. You shouldn’t be spending money on me.”

You frowned, clearly unconvinced. “You spent money on me.”

Sirius tsks. “Hush, woman. Let me finish.” Your glare and the urge to kiss you overtakes him, but he keeps his hands to himself.

“Before I give it to you, two things. One, if you poke fun at me, I’ll be heartbroken forever. Two, if you hate it or think it’s creepy—”

“Did you get me a voodoo doll or something?”

“Wh—no.” He frowns. “As I was saying, if you think it’s weird or whatever, I can give you some of the stuff I got you at Hogsmeade. Or if you really want, I can get you basic flowers like James suggested.”

You smile hesitantly, bringing a finger to poke him in the side. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

He sighs. “Yeah, you would say that now.” He grabs something out of his bag—a poorly wrapped square... something.

He makes a move to hand it to you but takes it back. “Open it when I’m gone.”

“Sirius.”

“Fine, fine,” he sighed, finally giving you the package.

You pulled him over to a window ledge, sitting down as you carefully unwrapped it. Your expression softened immediately, face contorting to one of surprise, then fondness. “Oh.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, nerves creeping back in. “Oh?”

“Oh,” you repeat.

He sighs. “Darling, I’m gonna need more than that. Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad ‘oh’?”

“Very pleased ‘oh,’” you say, smiling, cheeks feeling warm.

Relief washed over him. “Yeah?”

It’s a picture—well, a painting—of the two of you. A very pretty one at that. The two of you are outside on the lawn, and Sirius had said something that evidently made you laugh. The way his eyes are painted almost convinces you that he likes you. Like really, really likes you.

“I didn’t know you could draw, much less paint,” you add, a light tease in your words, but your eyes look so kind that he hardly cares.

“I can’t. Well, I couldn’t. I had to pay this Ravenclaw—Hughes—more than I’m willing to admit to teach me how.” 

Then, uncharacteristically nervous, “So, you like it?” You were staring rather hard.

You lean over to press a kiss to his cheek, surprising him for the first time that day.

“I love it. It’s pretty.” wrinkling your nose sweetly, “you put thought into it.”

“Don’t get sappy now.” Then, softer, “I’d like to be your boyfriend.”

He hears your breath hitch, and he’s ready to mask his hurt feelings when you respond, “I’d like to be your girlfriend.”

Sirius grinned, his confidence returning. “Yeah? Means you can’t get all cozy with other boys.”

“What other boys?” you ask, confused and a little dazed, still looking at the painting with adoration.

“Tricked you. If you agreed, I would know you’re seeing heaps of people.”

You laugh, and he can’t help himself any longer, pressing his lips to yours.

You tense at first but soon melt into him, eyes closed and lips soft.

When you pull away, matching smiles are on your faces.

[muiitoloko]

Hi! I LOOOVE ALL YOUR STORIES!!! And I wanna ask for something I just thought: virgin Severus (not student, already being a professor but you know he would not even dare to sleep with someone after Lily's death, full celibate against his own will lol) so virgin adult Snape in a new relationship with another f!professor but she's so careful with him seeing how scared he is for all this new sexual experiences, from being shy to being scared of hurting (idk why I imagine that and think it's cute af ON HIM) also being tender, asking him what he's feeling and taking their time to process the whole act until he gets the hang of it of course ❤️❤️❤️

Title: The Love Potion

Summary: Severus reveals a truth he’s long kept hidden, allowing you to lead him through a world of intimacy. Through careful guidance, you both experience a connection that is as magical as it is transformative.

Pairing: Severus Snape × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your order!

Also read on Ao3

The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across Snape’s chambers, highlighting the intensity in his dark, piercing eyes as he looked at you, as if searching for any hint of ridicule. When he admitted, almost in a whisper, that he was still a virgin, your surprise must have shown. His gaze flickered away, his mask slipping into a familiar cold indifference, as though he was expecting you to mock him, dismiss him, or even turn away.

"Forget it," he muttered, his voice suddenly low and guarded, hiding behind that armor of indifference. "I’m sure you think I’m a fool now."

You quickly reached out, your hand gently covering his, the warmth of your touch pulling his attention back to you. "Severus," you whispered, your voice soft and reassuring. "There’s nothing shameful about it… I’m just surprised, that’s all." Your fingers traced soothing circles over his knuckles. "Someone as brilliant—and as handsome—as you… I just thought…"

He tensed at the compliment, his cheeks tinged with a faint flush that you’d never seen before. It softened him, made him almost vulnerable. Seeing him like this, a side of Severus Snape that no one else would believe existed, sent a thrill through you. Carefully, you lifted his hand, pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

His breath caught as he watched you, his gaze searching, hesitant. "I never… after Lily, I never thought about… anyone else," he admitted, his voice barely a murmur. "And with you… it’s different. I find myself thinking… things I haven’t dared to in years."

A rush of warmth spread through you at his confession. You leaned forward, bringing your face close to his. "Severus," you murmured, your fingers reaching up to brush a stray lock of his dark hair back from his face. "If… if you’re ready, if you want this, I’ll be here with you. We can go as slow as you like."

He swallowed, visibly nervous, but a flicker of desire lit his gaze as he nodded. "I… want to," he whispered, his voice thick and uncertain. "But… you’ll have to… guide me. I—I've never…"

You silenced him with a soft kiss, feeling his initial tension melt away as he began to respond, hesitant at first, but growing bolder. His hands settled on your waist, his fingers trembling slightly as they rested there. You pulled him closer, letting him feel your warmth, your heartbeat.

You took his hand and guided it over your shoulder, letting him feel the bare skin beneath his fingers. He shivered, his breaths coming faster as he touched you, as if in awe of each sensation. “You’re doing perfectly, Severus,” you murmured against his lips, feeling his heartbeat quicken under your touch. "Just relax… let me show you.”

He nodded, his usual sharpness replaced by a quiet vulnerability that tugged at your heart. “Tell me what to do,” he whispered, his voice laced with both apprehension and desire, his eyes locked on yours, seeking your guidance, your assurance.

You brought his hand to the clasp of your robes, guiding his fingers over it. “Unfasten it,” you whispered, watching as he swallowed nervously, his fingers fumbling slightly before he managed to undo it. His eyes widened as the fabric slipped from your shoulders, his breath catching as he took in the sight of you, his gaze intense and hungry.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice a rough whisper as his hand slid over your skin, hesitant yet yearning. His fingers brushed lightly along your collarbone, down your arm, as though memorizing every inch.

“Yes, Severus,” you replied, guiding his hand lower, letting him feel the way your body responded to his touch. “Just keep going… just like that.”

His gaze darkened with desire, though he still held a hint of nervousness as his fingers traced over your skin, exploring tentatively. “You’re so… beautiful,” he murmured, almost as if he were speaking to himself, his voice filled with awe. His lips followed his hand, trailing soft kisses along your neck, down your shoulder, each one sending a thrill through you.

You could feel his hesitation as he watched you, still caught between the layers of insecurity and wonder. You smiled, letting your fingers trail down the dark, heavy fabric of his robes, resting on the clasp. “Let me help you with this, Severus,” you whispered, your voice gentle, reassuring.

With a flick of your wand, his robes loosened, slipping from his shoulders. He tensed at first, but the sight of your calm, steady gaze softened his resolve. As the fabric pooled around his feet, revealing his long, lean frame, you saw a faint blush color his pale cheeks. He looked away, as if unaccustomed to such vulnerability, such intimacy.

You reached out, tilting his chin gently back toward you, your eyes meeting his. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw. His dark eyes locked onto yours, searching for reassurance.

Your hands moved to the hem of his shirt, lifting it slowly, savoring the way his chest was exposed to you inch by inch. Beneath the austere fabric, his body was lean and surprisingly defined, a testament to years of discipline and restraint. He shivered as your fingers traced down his chest, his breaths coming faster, uneven.

“Have you… ever experienced a blowjob?” you asked softly, your voice carrying a hint of playful mischief.

Severus swallowed hard, his eyes wide as he shook his head. “No… is that… is that bad?”

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his collarbone. “Oh, no,” you murmured, voice filled with reassurance, “that just means I’m going to be the first… the only one to give you that experience.” Your fingers trailed down his torso, resting just above the waistband of his trousers. “And I get the privilege of this view… of seeing you, Severus, like no one else ever has.”

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers gripping your shoulders tightly as you knelt before him. His eyes were locked on you, a mix of fear and anticipation swirling within them. “Are you… are you certain?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, tinged with vulnerability. “I’ve never… I don’t know what to do.”

You looked up at him, offering a reassuring smile. “Just relax, Severus,” you murmured, your voice filled with warmth. “Let me take care of you.”

He nodded, his hands trembling as he watched you, utterly captivated by every movement. You gently tugged his trousers down, your fingers grazing his skin, feeling his muscles tense and then relax under your touch. His reaction—so genuine, so raw—sent a thrill through you as you pressed a gentle kiss to his hip, hearing the sharp intake of his breath.

As you took him into your mouth, you felt him shudder, his hands tangling in your hair. He gasped, his voice rough and breathless. “Merlin… I never thought…” His words trailed off, replaced by a low groan as he closed his eyes, letting the sensation overwhelm him. He tried to keep quiet, but soft, ragged sounds escaped him, each one filled with wonder.

You moved slowly, savoring the way he responded to each touch, each flick of your tongue, guiding him through the pleasure. “Is… is it supposed to feel this…” His words were cut off by another shuddering breath, his hand tightening in your hair as he struggled to stay grounded.

You paused, looking up at him, your lips curling into a gentle smile. “Yes, Severus,” you whispered, “this is exactly how it’s meant to feel.”

As you continued, Severus seemed almost overwhelmed, his usual stoic demeanor melting away with each flick of your tongue, each gentle, attentive movement. His breath came in shuddering gasps, his hands clumsy and unsure as they found your shoulder, then tangled in your hair, gripping tighter as if he feared he might drift away in this unfamiliar sea of sensation. The normally composed Potions Master was unraveling under your touch, his fingers flexing, trembling, his control slipping with each passing second.

Soft curses slipped from his lips, unfiltered and raw, breaking through his usual restraint. “Bloody… Merlin, what…,” he mumbled, his deep voice ragged, tinged with disbelief and awe. Every now and then, he’d catch himself, his mouth snapping shut as if he couldn’t believe what he was saying. But as your lips slid down his length, taking him deeper, his restraint shattered. His voice, usually so composed and cold, was now thick and desperate. “Gods… yes… just like that.”

You tasted the saltiness of his pre-cum, his body betraying just how close he was to losing all control. It spurred you on, urging you to take him deeper, savoring the way he responded to every flick of your tongue, every gentle suck. He groaned, his grip tightening, his other hand reaching to steady himself on your shoulder, his fingers digging into you as he struggled to remain grounded.

“You—” He tried to form a sentence, but his words were lost in a throaty growl, his voice filled with helpless wonder. “You’re… remarkable… utterly… sinful,” he murmured, his tone rough, almost reverent. You glanced up at him, meeting his gaze, and the sight of his dark, half-lidded eyes watching you sent a thrill down your spine.

The intensity of his gaze grew as you continued, his breaths coming faster, each one a raw, guttural sound that made your heart pound. His fingers tangled tighter in your hair as he leaned his head back, surrendering to the pleasure. The sight of Severus Snape, usually so composed and guarded, completely undone before you was a sight you would never forget.

His hips jerked involuntarily as he neared his climax, and you felt his entire body tense, his hand clutching you tightly as he came, his release spilling into your mouth. You took him in fully, feeling the warmth and the weight of his climax as he shuddered, his breath catching in his throat.

Throwing your head back in ecstasy, you swallowed, savoring every taste of him, feeling a sense of satisfaction unlike anything you’d experienced before. When you looked up, he was still catching his breath, his chest heaving, his dark eyes fixed on you with a mixture of amazement and disbelief.

“Merlin… you…” he whispered, his voice barely a breath, his gaze softening as he looked down at you. The vulnerability in his eyes was something rare, something precious, and you felt your heart swell at the sight of him like this, unguarded and exposed.

You rose slowly, moving to stand beside him as he regained his composure, his gaze never leaving yours. He reached out, his hand brushing over your cheek with surprising tenderness, his fingers still trembling slightly. “I’ve… never…” He struggled to find the words, his usual eloquence lost in the aftermath of such intense intimacy. “I never imagined it could feel like that.”

You smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his face, your own heart pounding as you met his gaze. “You deserved this, Severus,” you murmured, your voice soft, reassuring. “To feel wanted… cherished… you deserve all of it.”

He looked away, his cheeks tinged with a faint blush, but his hand remained on your face, his touch gentle, lingering. “I… thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet gratitude, a vulnerability he rarely showed.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, feeling him relax beneath your touch, his usual sharpness softened in this rare, unguarded moment. And as you held him, you knew that this night was something that neither of you would ever forget—a night where the enigmatic, guarded Severus Snape allowed himself, for once, to be truly seen.

With a gentle smile, you took Severus’s hand and guided him to the bed, watching as he settled himself beside you, still tentative, his gaze flickering from your face to the bed as if uncertain of what lay ahead. You placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, leaning in to meet his dark, intense eyes.

“We can stop here, if you want,” you murmured, your voice soft and inviting, allowing him the choice. “There’s no rush, Severus.”

But he shook his head, a determined look settling over his features. “No,” he replied, his voice low and sure, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I want to… I want to please you, to make you feel what I just felt—if you’ll… teach me, that is.” A faint blush crept up his cheeks, and his gaze softened, a vulnerable earnestness showing through his usual guarded demeanor.

You couldn’t help but smile, warmth flooding through you at his words. “Oh, so I’m to teach the great Potions Master something new?” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes.

He grumbled under his breath, a hint of that familiar, dry wit shining through. “Must you joke about this?” he murmured, his gaze shifting away for a moment before returning to you, filled with determination.

With a reassuring smile, you rose, slipping your bra off and letting it drop to the floor, followed by your panties, allowing yourself to stand before him completely bare. His gaze lingered, captivated, his dark eyes widening, lips parting slightly as he took in the sight of you. The faint flush returned to his cheeks, and you noticed the way his body responded, his cock beginning to stir once more, reacting to the vision before him.

Slowly, you straddled his thighs, letting him feel the warmth of your body against his. His breath caught, and his hands rested hesitantly at your waist, trembling slightly. You leaned closer, guiding one of his hands to rest between your thighs, over the softness of your skin. “Follow my lead,” you murmured, your voice soothing, reassuring as you held his gaze.

With your guidance, his fingers began to explore, tentative at first. You gently led his hand, letting his fingers slide over your most sensitive spots, rubbing slow circles over your clit. His hand was large, calloused yet gentle, and under your guidance, he began to gain confidence, his movements growing steadier, more assured.

“That’s perfect, Severus,” you whispered, letting out a soft moan as his fingers pressed just right. “Just like that…”

He swallowed, his eyes never leaving yours, dark with desire and wonder. His fingers moved, tentative but increasingly skilled, following every soft instruction you gave him. As he rubbed your clit, you let out a breathy gasp, and his eyes flickered with satisfaction, a hint of pride flashing across his face.

Then, you gently guided one of his fingers inside you, showing him how to curl it just so, the way that made you shiver with pleasure. “Feel that?” you murmured, guiding his hand as he explored you, his touch growing more confident with each movement.

“It’s… incredible,” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper, filled with awe. His dark eyes were intent, focused entirely on you, as though he was determined to memorize every reaction, every shiver, every soft sound that escaped your lips.

With each movement, he grew bolder, curling his fingers inside you, pressing against that sensitive spot that made you gasp, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body responded to his touch. He watched your reaction, his eyes darkening with desire, his lips parting as he took in the sight of you, writhing beneath his skilled fingers.

“You’re… remarkable,” he whispered, his voice a low, reverent murmur as his fingers continued to move within you, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. “So responsive… so beautiful…”

A shudder ran through you as he leaned in, pressing his lips to your neck, his hand still working you with a practiced precision that sent waves of pleasure through your body. You clung to him, feeling yourself unravel beneath his touch, your breath coming in soft, ragged gasps as he brought you closer to your climax.

“Severus… oh, Merlin…” you gasped, your fingers gripping his shoulders as his hand continued its steady, skillful movements, each stroke and curl sending you spiraling further. The way he learned, the way he responded to your every reaction, was a testament to his brilliance, his meticulous attention to detail.

As your breathing settled, you whispered, "Severus, stop." He froze immediately, his expression shifting from one of raw desire to immediate concern. His fingers withdrew, his gaze searching your face with worry. "Did I… did I hurt you?" he murmured, his voice soft and apprehensive, as if bracing himself for a truth he feared.

You shook your head quickly, reaching up to caress his cheek with a reassuring smile. "No, Severus," you breathed, feeling the weight of your own arousal pulsing through you. "I just… I want to feel you inside me. I want to cum on your cock." The words hung between you, and his face softened with understanding, a hint of vulnerability mingling with his desire. He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he absorbed the intensity of your request.

You brushed a soft kiss to his cheek, letting your lips linger as you asked gently, "Would you like to be on top?" He nodded, his gaze darkening with both eagerness and a slight apprehension. The two of you shifted, moving slowly together until he hovered over you, his tall, lean figure casting a shadow over you in the dim candlelight, his piercing eyes filled with a mix of uncertainty and determination.

You watched him, feeling your own anticipation mounting as he took himself in his hand, positioning himself as you spread your legs wider for him, inviting him closer. He paused, meeting your gaze with an unspoken question. “Do you… know what to do?” you asked, your voice a quiet murmur, filled with warmth and understanding.

He nodded, glancing away briefly, a faint flush creeping up his pale cheeks. “Yes… I’ve read about it,” he admitted, his voice almost hesitant. “There were… books… illustrations, even. I know that… when two wizards connect like this, sometimes… the magic between them manifests in strange ways. Unstable at times, powerful.” His gaze flickered back to you, his dark eyes searching. “It’s… intense.”

You nodded, pulling him closer, feeling his heat against you as you whispered, “Yes, exactly. It’s a bond—an exchange of magic as well as bodies. Sometimes, it can even… explode.” His breath hitched as he pressed himself against your entrance, feeling the heat of you drawing him in. You reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from his face as he hesitated, his voice a whisper.

“Will it… hurt?” he asked, his gaze vulnerable, revealing a hint of that nervousness beneath his composed exterior. You stroked his cheek softly, meeting his eyes with a reassuring smile.

“No, Sev,” you murmured. “For me, maybe… but for you, it won’t hurt. Just… let yourself feel it.” You pulled him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist as you encouraged him to press forward.

His gaze never left yours as he slowly began to slide inside you, his fingers tightening against your waist as he let out a shuddering breath. “Merlin… you’re… so warm,” he murmured, his voice rough with wonder and desire, as he sank deeper, inch by inch, his control unraveling with each passing second. The sensation sent a shiver through both of you, a hum of magic sparking and swirling around you, brushing against your skin like a living thing.

As he moved, finding a rhythm, you could feel his hesitation begin to melt, replaced by something raw and powerful, a hunger he had never allowed himself to feel before. His movements grew bolder, each thrust driving him deeper, filling you completely, his breath heavy as he let himself fall into the rhythm, his dark eyes intent on yours, the vulnerability fading, replaced by unrestrained desire.

"Gods… you feel… incredible,” he whispered, his voice thick, a mixture of awe and disbelief as he pressed deeper, his fingers tracing down your sides. The magic between you seemed to respond to his every movement, pulses of energy surging with each thrust, filling the room with a faint hum, crackling with intensity.

You arched against him, matching his rhythm, savoring the way he filled you, the way his body pressed so perfectly against yours, fitting together as if made to be one. His hand gripped your thigh, pulling you closer as he moved, a soft groan escaping him as he began to lose himself, his control slipping further with each passing moment.

“Severus… you’re perfect,” you whispered, gasping as you felt his thrusts grow harder, more desperate, his breaths coming faster as he buried himself deeper, the magic swirling around you, igniting with each thrust. His gaze locked onto yours, filled with a primal intensity, a fierce possessiveness that sent a thrill through you.

With each thrust, you could feel the magic building, crackling and surging, an overwhelming wave of energy rising between you both. His pace quickened, each movement more intense, more powerful, his voice a low growl as he whispered, “You’re… mine… only mine.”

“Yes, Severus,” you gasped, your fingers clutching his shoulders as you felt yourself nearing the edge, the magic between you sparking wildly, filling the room with a radiant, pulsing glow. His hands tightened on your hips as he drove into you with a desperate, hungry fervor, his face flushed, his breathing ragged.

And then, as you both reached that peak, the magic exploded, a blinding surge of energy flooding the room. Glass shattered, every fragile object in his chambers breaking as the wave of power swept through, leaving nothing untouched. You cried out, clinging to him as the energy surged through both of you, binding you together in an unbreakable, consuming bond.

When the intensity faded, you found yourself lying together, both of you breathless, bodies entwined, your skin still tingling from the lingering effects of the magic. Severus looked down at you, his expression softened, a mixture of wonder and disbelief in his gaze.

“Did… did we just…?” he whispered, his voice filled with awe, as if unable to believe the depth of what you had shared.

You smiled, reaching up to brush a hand along his cheek. “Yes, Sev,” you murmured, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. “That… was us.”

Severus glanced around the dimly lit bedroom, his dark eyes sweeping over the shattered remnants of glass scattered across the floor. The faint glow from the still-flickering candlelight reflected off broken pieces—a mead bottle lay in shards by the nightstand, a few cracked potion vials scattered near the bed, and fragments of other glass objects glistened in the shadows.

His lips curved into a wry smirk, and he let out a quiet, exasperated sigh. "Well," he said, his voice a low, rich murmur, "it appears I’ll have to use the Reparo spell quite liberally this evening. I do hope you’re pleased with yourself."

You couldn’t help but laugh softly, snuggling closer into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his lean, solid frame against yours. His sarcasm only endeared him to you further, especially in this vulnerable, unguarded moment. “Oh, I am,” you replied, your voice filled with teasing satisfaction as you looked up at him. “And I think you are too, even if you’re too stubborn to admit it.”

A faint blush crept up his pale cheeks, barely visible in the candlelight, and he quickly looked away, as if the sight of you, so close and so content, was too much to take in. “That’s… hardly the point,” he muttered, trying to keep his usual cold indifference, though it softened with every second he spent with you.

You traced a gentle finger along his jawline, feeling the slight stubble beneath your touch, savoring the rare, unguarded look in his eyes as he met your gaze. “Severus, I think it’s exactly the point,” you murmured, brushing a soft kiss against his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin. “I’ve never seen you so… carefree.”

He scoffed, though his tone held none of its usual harshness. “Carefree is hardly a word one would use to describe me,” he replied dryly, though the faint hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “But perhaps, just this once, I can allow it.”

You smiled, pressing yourself closer to him, letting your head rest against his chest as his arm wrapped around you, holding you gently. “I think I quite like this version of you, Severus. The one who lets himself relax… who lets himself be cared for.”

His fingers traced absent patterns along your shoulder, his other hand coming up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear as he looked down at you, his piercing dark eyes softening, filled with a warmth he so rarely showed. “Only for you,” he murmured, his deep voice quiet and steady, a confession wrapped in simplicity. “You’re the only one who’s ever seen me like this… the only one who’s ever truly cared to.”

You reached up, cupping his face, your thumb grazing over his sharp cheekbone as you took in the rare vulnerability in his expression. “I’ll always care, Severus,” you whispered, meeting his gaze with all the sincerity you felt. “And I think, perhaps, you’re worth more than even you realize.”

A faint smile touched his lips, and for a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the comfort of your touch, the warmth of your words. “Perhaps,” he murmured, his voice filled with a quiet wonder as he looked down at you, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe this moment was real. “Perhaps I am.”

The chalk squeaked under your hand as you wrote on the board, the words of today’s History of Magic lesson taking shape in neat, tidy letters. You’d always preferred doing things by hand rather than relying on magic for every little task, a habit most of your students found a bit old-fashioned but charming. As you worked, the low murmur of conversation floated around the classroom, a hum you usually silenced with a single glance. However, today, you found yourself allowing the chatter to continue, as it seemed to be centered around a rather intriguing subject.

“Did you hear about Snape today?” a Gryffindor whispered to his friend, a mixture of disbelief and excitement in his tone. “He didn’t take a single point from Martin after he melted his cauldron in Potions! Just told him to be more careful next time.”

“What?” another Hufflepuff gasped, turning wide-eyed to her neighbor. “Snape didn’t yell at him? Are you sure we’re talking about the same Snape?”

“Positive,” the Gryffindor replied, nodding eagerly. “He just seemed… relaxed, almost like he didn’t care. The whole class was holding their breath, waiting for him to start docking points, but he didn’t.”

The gossip spread quickly, whispers of Snape’s newfound calm weaving through the classroom like a spell. You felt a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips as you continued writing on the board, your face carefully turned away from the students to hide your amusement. So, all it took to soften Severus’s edges was a little bit of intimacy, was it?

“Well, maybe he’s in a good mood for once,” one of the Hufflepuffs muttered. “But still… this is Snape we’re talking about. Something must have happened to make him this way.”

“Think he’s sick?” a Gryffindor asked, her voice laced with genuine concern, as though the idea of a kinder Snape had unsettled her deeply.

Biting your lip to keep from laughing, you continued to jot down the day’s topic, hiding your amusement behind a pretense of focus. If only they knew the truth. You had spent the night unraveling those tense lines of Severus’s, peeling back layer after layer of the man he kept hidden from the world. Beneath his cool exterior, you’d found passion, vulnerability, and an intense desire to be seen for who he truly was. And now, it seemed, a few traces of that newfound peace had followed him into the daylight.

Another Gryffindor chimed in, her tone hushed but filled with amazement. “Do you think it could be… love?” she whispered, her eyes wide, as if such a notion were almost too fantastical to believe.

“Love? For Snape?” her friend snickered, rolling his eyes. “Please. Snape doesn’t have time for things like love.”

You turned back to the class, raising a brow as you caught their startled expressions. “If you’re quite done discussing Professor Snape’s private life, we do have a lesson to cover,” you said, your tone light but pointed. The students quickly quieted, a few exchanging sheepish glances, though one or two looked as if they still weren’t quite over the shock of Snape’s unusual behavior.

As you resumed the lesson, your thoughts drifted, replaying fragments of last night: Severus’s tentative touch, his whispered confessions, the way he’d looked at you with such awe and vulnerability. It was hard to reconcile that tender, exposed version of him with the intimidating Potions Master your students were so accustomed to.

In your mind, you could almost hear Severus’s low, velvety voice, laced with that familiar sarcasm. “I suppose this new softness is all thanks to you, then?” he might have murmured, his eyes narrowing as he gave you one of his dry, unimpressed looks. The thought made you smile, knowing that you held a secret version of Severus that no one else would ever see, a version hidden behind his usual cold mask.

You moved to the side of the classroom, letting the students dive into their assigned readings. As you glanced out the window, your mind wandered back to Severus’s chambers, to the way his guard had melted away in the dim candlelight. You wondered if he realized just how much he’d allowed himself to let go, even if just for a night.

Well, Severus Snape, you thought with a quiet chuckle, it seems you’ll just have to get used to the idea that you, too, are deserving of softness.

[sacredsnape]

May I request a one shot about virgin severus, wanting his girlfriend to ride him but feeling too embarrassed to ask.

Virgin Sev my beloved <3

Genre: smut

Warnings: loss of virginity, handjob, mentions of masturbation, sub Sev, dom reader, praise kink, gentle and loving sex, aftercare

Masterlist

You and Severus were lying in bed, your finger slowly stroking his cheekbone as you admired him. He was so beautiful, his Roman nose perfect for kissing and perhaps riding.

Severus smiled at you, shyly pressing his lips to yours. You've only been dating for a few months, and Severus was still shy with you, forever amazed that someone as kind and patient as you would ever want him.

You allowed your lips to linger on his, curling your fingers in his hair. The moment was pure perfection, the fireplace crackling merrily in the corner of your bedroom as rain pattered against the windows, and just you and Severus here together.

Severus slowly ran a hand up and down your side before resting it on your hip, his eyes darkening as he gazed at you. You recognized that look; for the past few weeks, he'd been pinning you with that look of lust, keeping his desires and urges pushed deep down inside of him.

He was a virgin, and you were not, and you knew how shy he was about sex because he had several insecurities about his body. You and him had only recently started showering together after you coaxed him into it, promising him that his body was nothing to be ashamed of.

"Something on your mind, prince?" you asked Severus as you noticed him fail to sneakily catch a glimpse at your cleavage in your pajama top. You smirked, scooting closer to him until your cleavage slightly spilled past your top.

Severus licked his lips, his breath hitching as you moved closer. His fingers dug into your hip, suppressing a whine as he felt blood quickly rush to his cock.

"Nothing's on my mind," he lied, sighing as he felt his erection strain against his sweatpants. He tried to cross his legs in the position he was in to no avail, wheezing nervously and pulling the blankets around him.

You watched his movements, spotting his erection. He was big as you knew from your showers together but looked even bigger in sweatpants. Your smirk grew, dragging your finger down his face and chest, stopping just above his waistband.

"You can tell me anything, baby. You know there's no shame in anything you tell me," you reassured Severus, smiling warmly at him. "I'm here to make everything a comfortable experience for you, no matter what it is."

Severus smiled a little, feeling himself relax. He only grew harder at feeling your hand so close to his cock and he tried to ignore it, focusing on your soothing words and voice.

"It's just..." he trailed off, tearing his eyes away from your face as he became embarrassed. "I... have this habit. Some nights after you go to bed, I sneak into the bathroom and masturbate while thinking of you- you riding me."

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise, a warmth spreading through you. Your pussy clenched and you felt it soak with arousal, your breathing becoming heavy as you replied, "Yeah? You think about that?"

"I do," Severus whined, so hard at this point that it was unbearable. "I want it so badly, but I've been too shy to tell you up until now."

You sat up, stroking his waistband before pushing your hand past it. Severus gasped, squirming his hips around as your hand hovered directly above his clothed erection.

"Is this okay, baby?" you asked Severus in a sultry voice, your eyes half-lidded as you gazed down at him. He was visibly nervous, his eyes wide and his chest heaving.

"It's okay," Severus confirmed, wiping his sweaty brow. "I'm just nervous, I'm sorry. I don't want to ruin this by being nervous."

You gave him a sympathetic smile, leaning down to kiss him tenderly. "You won't ruin this, Sev. I'll be gentle and careful with you, okay? If anything hurts or you feel uncomfortable, let me know, and I'll stop," you mumbled against his lips, rubbing circles into his cheek.

Severus nodded, swallowing thickly. You kissed him again, sitting up and straddling his lap. The both of you gasped together at the contact, your hips squirming as his hard cock rubbed against you.

"Mmm, baby," you moaned, pressing your palms flat onto his chest. "You're throbbing and so big."

Severus whimpered, a beautiful sound that made your clit tingle with need. "You feel really good on top of me like this," he said, his voice breathy as he gripped your waist. "I- can you fuck me? Please?"

You could've come just from his words alone. He sounded and looked so desperate, his eyes wide and pleading, his bottom lip jutted out in a pout and his voice a soft whimper. His hair was a mess around the pillow, and his cheeks were covered in a bright blush.

"Of course, baby. How could I say no to my pretty boy?" you smirked. Severus moaned at the nickname, desperately bucking his hips upwards. He forgot for a moment that this would be his first time, too focused on wanting to feel your pussy wrapped around his cock instead of his fist.

You lifted yourself up to slide down your pajama shorts and underwear, Severus's bottoms following suit. He hissed as the warm air of your bedroom washed over his cock, which stood rigid and aching for your touch.

"Please," he begged you, almost feeling dizzy from how badly he needed you. You wrapped a firm hand around his cock, smiling at the sharp gasp that escaped him. You began to pump the shaft, satisfied to see precum quickly gathering and spilling over your fingers.

"S-so good. Your hand feels so much better than mine," Severus moaned, twisting the sheets in his hands. You moved your hand faster, relishing in the little moans and gasps that left him. He sounded ethereal, and you wanted to keep his noises of pleasure in your mind forever.

"You're doing so well. Does that feel good?" Your question caused his cock to twitch in your hand, a telltale sign of orgasm, and you were surprised that he'd be coming so soon.

"Ahh, please. Feels so good, please!" Severus gasped as your thumb swiped across his tip, gathering a bead of precum. You switched hands to bring that thumb to your lips, sucking on the tip and tasting him.

Severus could have imploded at the sight of you tasting him. You hummed at his flavor, earthy and a bit salty. "You taste as good as you look, just how I imagined you," you said, flicking your wrist in a way that made Severus shudder.

Severus felt his stomach clench, knowing that he was close. He was so used to coming quickly, and with you stroking him so amazingly, he knew that his orgasm would be explosive.

You continued stroking him, going even faster now. You kissed him deeply, diving your tongue into his mouth and driving him wild. When he came, he released the prettiest whimper you've ever heard from him followed by a shout of your name.

Severus trembled as ropes of hot cum shot all over his stomach and your hand. He breathed unevenly, gasping as his cock twitched and throbbed from his release. He had come so much, and it was the most gorgeous sight to you.

"Good job, handsome. I'm so proud of you," you praised Severus. He blushed deeply, giggling weakly as you removed his hand from his still hard cock.

"I like being praised," he admitted, his head feeling fuzzy as you removed your top, your breasts bouncing back into place. He stared at them, his mouth watering at how soft and supple they looked.

"You deserve all of the praise in the world, my love," you replied sweetly, sighing contently as Severus slowly ran his large hands up and down your bare torso. They ghosted the undersides of your breasts, and he seemed hesitant to touch them.

You grabbed his hands, leading the way and placing them over your breasts. You sighed in relief, and he moaned as he squeezed them curiously as his thumbs circled your erect nipples.

"You have pretty breasts," Severus observed, grinning up at you. "They're so soft. I've always enjoyed looking at them, but finally touching them is a whole new wonderful experience."

His eyes then trailed down to your pussy and your slick covered thighs. He felt his nerves melt away, being replaced by eagerness and excitement.

"Can you fuck me now?" he asked sheepishly. As much as he loved feeling and admiring your breasts, he was desperate for your pussy.

"I thought you would never ask," you teased, grabbing his cock and casting a non-verbal lubrication spell. Once he was fully lubricated, you lined him up with your entrance, the two of you sharing a deep look of love with each other.

"Remember to tell me to stop if you need to," you reminded Severus, the tip of his cock brushing against your hole. "I love you, Severus, and I'm honored to be your first time."

If Severus wasn't so horny right now, he would have sobbed out of gratefulness for you. His eyes momentarily stung with years as he responded, "I love you too, Y/N. You're my everything."

He leaned up and kissed you passionately, resting his back against the headboard and pulling you with him. You slipped his cock inside of you and you moaned into each other's mouths, entranced by the feeling of your bodies finally becoming one.

"Merlin, you're incredibly warm," Severus chuckled, pecking your lips once. "I don't know how to explain this feeling. It's unlike anything I've ever felt."

You pressed your hips further down onto him, feeling snug. He inhaled sharply at your movement, his eyes flicking between your face and breasts.

"The tip of your cock is nudging my g-spot right now," you mewled, your eyelids fluttering as his thick girth stretched you out. It didn't hurt; it was an incredible feeling of erotic bliss.

"It is?" Severus asked in astonishment, knowing about how pleasurable the g-spot was from what you've told him in the past.

"God, yes," you whimpered, beginning to rock your hips. You started off slow, giving Severus time to adjust, and he was amazed by how fucking good you felt.

"Mmm, right there. Do that with your hips again."

"Y/N, you're so good. Your pussy feels like magic... don't stop fucking me."

"Ah, please! Faster!"

Severus's filthy words spurred you on, motivating you to give him more. You snapped your hips hard and fast above him, pinning his hands above his head and attaching your lips to his neck.

"My good boy, the best boy," you hummed, leaving behind hickeys on his neck. "You have such a great cock to fuck, honey."

Severus couldn't speak anymore, long gone in the pleasure. He only made whiny noises in response to your praise, every snap of your hips shooting sparks of lust up his spine.

"I can feel my orgasm, it's so close," he breathed, needily kissing your breasts. His hands were shaking, his eyebrows furrowed together as you continued to fuck him.

"Mine too, baby. I want to feel your hot cum shooting inside of me and dripping out of me, and I know you'll come nicely like the good boy you are," you replied huskily, your clit throbbing as it begged for attention. You let go of one of his pinned hands, letting it fall onto his chest.

"Touch my clit, sweetheart. Make me come and I'll give you the best orgasm of your life," you cooed, directing Severus's hand to your clit.

Severus nodded obediently, pressing two slender fingers into your clit and rubbing. You clenched around him, making him groan, and you felt your climax start to crest.

"Oh my gosh, I'm coming!" Severus ezclaimed suddenly, his orgasm taking you by surprise. He came hard, filling you up. He sobbed as he came, so overwhelmed by his orgasm that he saw stars burst behind his eyes.

He felt so much relief and felt so loved by you, grateful that you had been the one to take his virginity.

Your hips stuttered as Severus came, snapping them a few more times before you came yourself, soaking his cock with your arousal. He cursed as your pussy squeezed him and milked him of every last drop of his cum.

There was a beat of silence before you collapsed into his arms, your panting paired with his soft whimpers and mumbles of affection.

"Thank you, Y/N, thank you for taking my virginity," Severus was mumbling into your hair as he kissed you there. "It was an amazing experience, one that I'll hold in my heart forever."

You giggled at his words, snuggling him closely. He was still such a romantic even after having his brains fucked out.

You and Severus cleaned up shortly afterward, running a bath and then cuddling in bed. You gave him a full body massage with scented oils and kissed each and every one of his scars, telling him repeatedly how well he had done for you.

Severus was very glad that he had asked you to ride him.

[turvi]

Could I request anything fluffy with Severus Snape x reader?

(Man, I love Alan Rickman… c:)

Y/n sighs as she looks at the snow falling outside. Her eyes fell on the stack of papers that were right in front of her. It took everything in her not to doze off on the desk. Just as she was about to take another paper out of the stack there was a knock on the door. She frowns yet she gets up to open the door as the person behind continuously knocks "Easy easy be right there".

She opens the door and instantly there is a smile on her lips "If it isn't my favourite man" Severus quirks his brow and clears his throat "I am here to... invite you to watch the snow fall"

Y/n smirks "You want to watch the snowfall? Since when?" Severus sighs and grumbles "Are you coming or not"?

She takes her coat off the coat hanger "I am coming don't get your knickers in a twist", she yelps as Severus pinches her waist "Don't talk to me like that woman". Y/n scoffs and pinches him back "Don't pinch me like that". His hand moved to pinch her again but she slapped his hand away "Stop it", her heart fluttered when she heard him chuckle, that one singular sound made her weak.

Severus held her hand and gently tugged her out of the castle. Y/n couldn't help but giggle at how eager Severus was to see the snowfall. As soon as they stepped out Severus' eyes fell on her watching the snow fall on her hair and nose.

Y/n was too focused on enjoying the snowfall to notice Severus getting down on one knee. He cleared his throat and she felt her heart rate increase. Is this really happening?

"Y/n L/n, you have become the light in my life, the reason why I want to wake up the next morning and even though when I first met you I could barely tolerate your existence, now I can't imagine living a life without you. And I know I have not made it easier for you to tolerate me yet you do...so would you please spend the rest of my life, because I do not know what I would do without you, my love"

A soft sob leaves Y/n's lips "Yes...yes". She hugs him tightly, sighing softly as she felt his arms around her waist.

"Why are you crying"? Y/n chuckled at Severus' question "these are happy tears my love. I can't wait to spend my life with you". A shiver ran down her spine when she felt his cold nose on her neck.

Their private moment was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Severus grumbled as he pulls away from the hug looking at the source of the sound. Dumbledore stood there with his arms behind his back. "I believe congratulations are in order."

Severus sneered at the Headmaster "what are you doing here"? Dumbledore chuckles lightly "You know Severus, I am everywhere and I was walking around and spotted you two I couldn't help but overhear your conversation."

"Stop being everywhere" Snape grumbled as his arm tightened around Y/n's waist. She placed her palm on his chest and speaks sternly "Severus"

Dumbledore's smile widens "this is great news we need a party-"

Before Dumbledore could even finish his sentence Severus waved his wand and vanished along with Y/n into thin air. The headmaster couldn't help but laugh before walking away towards the Hogwarts castle.

A/N: Sorry for the delay I just finished my dissertation. If you like this shit REBLOG AND COMMENT

[liv2post]

Hii!! I'm not sure if you're still taking requests but I have one if you are, one of my favorite chapters in itlt is the baking one, and I was wondering if you could write a separate fluffy baking fic!

Hi gracie! Thanks for the request! I hope you enjoy it :D

Cinnamon Rolls

Summary: After a long first day of the school year, Severus returns to your chambers in need of your presence and excellent baked confections.

Word Count: 1179

it's the little things story here (if anyone wants to read!)

The door to your office closed with a punctuated clang, the grumpy potion master leaning against it and letting out a weary sigh. He had gotten used to the summer months he was afforded that he had forgotten how cumbersome each new batch of first years’ incompetency was. One boy had not been paying attention during the safety demonstration for handling sharp tools properly and had cut his thumb open so deeply that he needed to be sent to the Hospital Wing. He swore each new injury or exploded cauldron was going to give him a new wrinkle or grey hair.

It was only until the sound of soft music and the smell of cinnamon spice hit his senses that he was able to let go of his frustration. They were a sign of your presence. His love.

He trudged silently through your living space toward the kitchen where he was met with a sight that made his heart flutter with equal intensity each time. 

You were flitting about the kitchen, a jumper with the sleeves rolled up to your elbows and lounge shorts on, but the front of your legs was partially covered by the apron you had tied around you. Your hair was clipped up and out of the way, allowing him a view of the chain you wore around your neck, one that held the ring Severus gave you that remained hidden beneath your day clothes. He could also make out a bit of flour caked along your jaw and near your neck, how you always managed to make a mess he’ll never know. It didn’t matter though. He thought you looked adorable.

As you finished stirring the bowl of glaze, you felt a pair of arms wrap around your middle, pulling you back into a firm chest. 

“Hi, Severus,” you smiled, letting go of the wooden spoon and resting your hands on his forearms.

He sighed into you, his face nuzzling into your hair as he inhaled your scent, loving the way your natural fragrance mixed with the sweetness of the confections you baked. 

“You smell so good…” he remarked quietly.

You chuckled. “I sure hope so.” 

He tugged you a little to the side with one arm, the other coming up to grasp your jaw and tilt your head back and up, his lips eagerly connecting with yours. You hummed into the kiss, your lips moving just as enthusiastically against his whenever he was domineering with you. You felt his tongue swipe against your own and on your bottom lip, sampling the remnants of cinnamon rolls and the glaze you had been perfecting for the last five minutes.

“You taste good, too,” he pulled away with a smug smirk. Oh, how he loved the way such words reduced you to a blushing mess, your face blazing with redness as you managed to turn into his hold and bury your face into the crook of his neck, your arms coming to wrap around his back. His arms readjusted similarly, stroking up and down the length of your back as you both breathed each other in, missing each other's presence as the both of you had classes to teach on the farthest sides of the castle. The both of you had gotten so accustomed to waking up next to one another, absorbing each other's constant presence in your summer cottage. But it was autumn now and the both of you had your respective duties in the school. On the flip side, it was also a school term he greatly looked forward to because you’d bake some of his favorite treats which just so happened to be in season.

What felt like many minutes passed before either of you spoke up once more.

“I missed you,” you said, voice partially muffled by his body.

“And I, you.” He pecked the side of your head.

“How was your first class?”

Severus huffed, holding you tighter. “The words necessary to describe the anticipated ineptitude I’ll be dealing with elude me.” He could feel your smile in comiseration against him. “Yours?”

“I have a feeling I’ll know who my ‘problem children’ will be, but otherwise not bad.” You kissed his neck before he released you. “I imagined you would have a rougher day than I would, so I made cinnamon rolls!” you announced, pouring the glaze over the brown, puffy rolls. “And I believe we still have some Earl Grey in the cabinet.”

The longing in his gaze deepened, the need to be close to you making him press against you his hands lightly grasping your waist as he pressed his lips to the back of your neck, just above the chain. “You’re too good to me…” he murmured. His fingers began to undo the tie around your waist as well as the one resting on the base of your neck. “Allow me to make us the tea. Have a rest on the sofa.”

“Severus, I still have to clean up—”

“Have a rest...on the sofa” he repeated more firmly, a mixture of a warning and a plea. You had done something so nice for him and now he wanted to reciprocate. And he knew that you knew this. “Don’t be stubborn, you silly girl,” he kissed you once more, this time on the forehead as he peeled the apron off of you and proceeded to kick you out of your own kitchen.

The low fire blazed away, washing the office in warm yellow-orange and flickering on along the tan pages of your book. It wasn’t even dinner yet, but the dungeons had a way of making it seem like it was always nighttime. Severus’s soft footsteps caught your attention as he entered your field of vision. A snort escaped you.

“Something amusing?” He lifted a brow. 

“It seems the flour on my apron transferred onto your black robes.”

He looked down at himself and scowled. Indeed, the flour from your apron and on your face had imprinted onto his robes and collar. He set the cups of tea down on the coffee table and handed you the small plate holding two of the cinnamon rolls so he could swipe off as much of the flour as he could manage, though some appeared to be stuck.

“You could always just turn your robes white,” you teased.

“Absolutely not,” he gruffed, giving up on the attempt to clean himself in favor of being next to you. Severus settled down on the couch with you. His side pressed against you as he took a cinnamon roll and bit into it, moaning quietly at how good it was, how the sweet glaze mixed wonderfully with the spiced dough. You automatically leaned back against him, resting your head against his shoulder. The simple bliss of being with one another and enjoying the little domesticities of life washed over the both of you, his other hand interlacing with yours and his thumb gently rolling over the skin of your hand, grateful for his love that brought him so much peace. 

His love, who smelled like cinnamon rolls.