What am I doing on this fine, sunny day? Writing smut about Severus Snape eating peaches while Hermione watches and squirms.
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@annabellerivers
What am I doing on this fine, sunny day? Writing smut about Severus Snape eating peaches while Hermione watches and squirms.
And here I am, thinking about Severus Snape eating someone out.
She's standing against a tree. It's a sunny day.
He's kneeling, his chin glistening with moisture dripping on the ground.
His nose buried in curls.
@fafodill - Wrote it. Gifted it to you.
His Nose Buried In Curls - Annabelle_Rivers - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]
It was hard to tell who reached forward first, her own hands twisting in the fabric of her flowery dress at the same time his did, pushing it up and away as she leaned her back more into the tree. Legs parted, thighs offered up, the damp spot on her light cotton knickers likely the single most beautiful thing he had seen in his life.
Until they vanished.
A whispered charm. The dance of a few clever fingers. And then she was revealed to him.
Severus groaned, a filthy, raw sound pouring from him at the sight.
Her curls. The ones surrounding her like an invitation. Damp and dark and wild. If he had spent all this time lusting after the curls that crowned her head, these would be the sweet, secret Alleluia chorus for the rest of his life.
Hands sliding up her thighs to ground them both, Severus leaned in. Burying his nose into the crook of her thighs, into the way her curls surrounded him with a deeper, more true scent of the witch he simply couldn’t get enough of. He pressed a kiss here, and then another. Peppering across the triangle with light kisses and murmured praise.
“So beautiful, Hermione…” he rubbed his nose along the soft curls, breath heavy with need. His tongue flicked out, tasting her and he moaned into his next words in sheer adoration.
“So goddamn beautiful.”
He traced his hands up higher, one coming to rest on her hip, his other fingers coming to part her folds for him. His tongue followed, a long, deliberate, and slow stroke that coated his tongue in the tart, maddening taste of her.
“Sit.”
One word spoken with clear certainty from Barty Crouch Jr. that said much more.
Something flared inside Luna Lovegood’s chest hearing his command. Her body tensed, whether ready to flee or fight she wasn’t sure of yet but she was filled with adrenaline either way.
She turned back to him, watching how he filled the doorway. Her mind scrambled for a way out, a way to stop what she had already invited to start.
Then she saw him. Saw his face in the dim light.
This wasn’t the Barty that sneered down at her at Malfoy Manor, or the Barty who held an arrogant air about him in the last secret Order meetings before the final battle, or even the Barty who barged back into her life since then with deadly glares.
This was a man. One standing in front of a woman, obvious attraction threaded through him. And even more obvious vulnerability. He was strong still but not unyielding, letting her see him as much as he saw right through her.
His normal sharpness seemed to have somehow faded, the look on his face one of that could almost be called caring. Almost. Barty wasn’t commanding her outright. He was asking and expecting that she would follow suit. Just in that realization, Luna felt more mutual trust bridge between them. The unspoken spark that had existed before came fluttering back to the surface.
Alone with this wizard she could be free.
Carefully, Luna sat down on the edge of her bed, her hands nervously fiddling with the end of her long, braided hair. She may trust him in this private moment, but that did nothing to quell the nerves twisting around inside of her. Not when he looked at her so intensely.
There was another pause. One too many between them that made her question if she even liked pauses anymore if they were filled with him not being close to her. She heard her own breath, the way it shook slightly on each exhale.
Thankfully, Barty began to step closer, his eyes running over her face as if for any trace she was backing out. She nodded and he returned the gesture as something flicked in his eyes she couldn't name. He filled her vision, drowning out anything else that wasn’t Barty in this moment.
Her breath hitched when he reached out for her, his hand caressing her shoulder before it moved to trace the column of her throat. For a moment, his hand stretched across, fingers curling around one side as his thumb pressed against the other.
She wondered if he was thinking of how easy it would be to break her, too. That part of him may never die.
“What’s this?” His fingers grazed against the base of her throat, a shiver running down her spine at his touch as Barty picked up the chain around her neck. The silver pendant shaped like a bulb of garlic hung down from the necklace, the swinging motion it made at being disturbed catching her gaze as they both looked down at it.
“It keeps away vampiric pixies which have been reported to be one the rise since-.”
He tugged on the chain, just hard enough to pause her words. Her usual and practiced patter about the creatures ended once their eyes met again. The heat in his look and the way his fingers continued to move up and down the chain so close to her skin took all of her attention again.
“Take it off.”
There it was again. Another suggestion that she imagined would have been barked at anyone else. An insistence without any of the sting. Just like before she could refuse, but Luna couldn’t forget that she had asked for this. For him. This had all started with her invitation, after all.
As slowly as she had walked to the bed, Luna reached for the clasps and removed the necklace, setting it into Barty’s awaiting palm. His fingers closed around it, turning away from her to set it at her vanity.
When he returned back to her, he knelt. Their faces were more level now, so close with barely a few inches between them. She could feel his heat and knew he could feel her halted breaths back. The squirming feeling in her gut came back tenfold as his warm hands slid up her thighs.
She would melt completely at this rate, the way his heat sank into her thighs made her want to squeeze them shut to relieve some of the pressure. The glint in his eyes told her that he was all to aware.
“And this?” Barty’s fingers were now brushing against a patch sewn onto her yellow trousers a few inches above her right knee. A jolt ran up her legs that she could only hope he hadn’t felt.
“The symbol there is from a magical tribe in the Caribbean. Wearing keeps your footing steady.”
He didn’t scoff as she expected but glared down at the little blue patch of embroidered cloth. “You don’t need it.”
Another pause stretched between them and Luna was sure he could hear her heart pounding as he inspected her again. He reached up to hold the end of her plait, pushing her own fidgeting fingers away.
“What’s this for?”
Luna had to look down to remember. There at the end of her braid were a few beads tied together with red string. One of the larger beads had a spiral painted on it in white.
“It attracts sprites to help with-”
His fingers had moved again while she was answering, something she only realized when she felt them land softly on her lips to quiet her. Every urge inside her begged for her to kiss the pads of his rough fingers and she couldn’t help but be proud that so far she had resisted.
“Why do you wear it?”
She repeated her same answer but her voice was now shaking, “The sprites help with creative thinking.”
Barty raised a dark brow, fixing her with an annoyed look she’d seen him use when Mundungus tried to redirect meetings. “You’re more honest than that, little Luna. Try again.”
He was right. She was. Or at least she used to be until it became too hard to tell the truth when the dark had seeped in. Luna didn’t want to answer his question. It itched too much deep inside to reveal this.
She let the space stretch out again in silence until he scoffed and shifted as if to move away.
Grabbing an arm to hold him there, needing him to stay now more than ever, she whispered, “I don’t know how to not wear them.”
“Better,” he praised, rewarding her as his warm hands settling back on her thighs. The heat radiated from right above her knees to a place that made her want to squirm and whimper, images of him touching her higher up flooding her mind.
He seemed happy enough with that answer and moved on to focus on her hands. She was still, watching with fascination as rings were slid off fingers, his motion caring and delicate.
Barty no longer asked her to do it herself. The bangles on her wrists were removed one at a time, at an achingly slow pace. His eyes stayed fixed on each one, moving them up to watch them glint in the light before tossing them onto the floor. A pattern of delight and destruction .
It was different from how Neville had been. They’d used quick charms to disrobe and jump into bed in a string of nervous giggles. Two people fumbling through a first time as they threw themselves into a new world of adulthood.
This was Barty dismantling her. It was a process to him and as she watched on, transfixed and completely his. Too often, she hadn’t seen why he still scared people. Why folks skittered away from him even with all he did to ensure Voldemort was defeated in the end. But here, in the quiet of his disarming touch, she could see it. Men who enjoyed the process of taking things apart often did so at the expense of others.
But, oh how she wasn’t scared. Overwhelmed. Turned on. Desperate for him to touch more of her, yes, but she understood something deep and unspoken about this man.
Once her wrists were free of the bracelets, Barty offered her another wicked grin. It made her thighs clench again and he chuckled lowly at her reaction.
“Masks. All these baubles are masks.”
He kissed the word into the palm of her hand. The roughness of the stubble lining his jaw on her skin made her shiver. Barty smirked again, taking her other palm in his hands, leaving another wet kiss there, his tongue tracing up to a finger so slowly it further enthralled her. Heat rushed through her, a pitiful sound of wanting fell from her lips.
“You hide behind them, these baubles of yours.”
His sharp honesty spurred her reply. Luna tilted her head, daringly reaching for his chin to make sure he caught her eye again. “You do too. You intimidate people...keep them away.”
Dark eyes stared deep into her own. She watched as his throat moved around a swallow. At the same slow pace everything had been since they first came into her bedroom, Barty pulled her hand back away from her face and positioned his body so that he was kneeling over her.
“They should stay away.” His breath was unsteady as his eyes flicked back and forth between her own.
They should stay away. Barty’s words hit her in the chest. How lonely it must be to believe that everyone should keep far from you .
Luna bit down on her lower lip as she worked up the courage to reach out for his face again, cupping his jaw and urging him closer. He flinched and glared but didn’t remove her hand this time.
“To keep them away,” she repeated. “They meaning me?”
“Yesss,” the s of his whispered response dragged on for another beat before he ducked down, lips crashing together in a kiss of unrestrained passion.
Take It Off - Annabelle_Rivers - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]
I want to talk about how authors approach canon characters in our writing, because if you’ve been reading fanfic for any length of time you know there’s a lot of versions or interpretations. People often emphasize the importance of writing canon-compliant characters (there’s even fandom awards for “most canon-compliant depiction” all over the place). I see lots of complaints about authors writing characters “ooc” or saying they don’t understand characters because of how they’ve chosen to write them.
This post has been swirling in my head for a while, because there does seem to be this juxtaposition of enjoying characters written 1000 ways yet at the same time viewing canon-compliance as the ultimate goal as a fanfic writer.
Because here’s the thing: As a writer, ensuring characters are canon-compliant often isn’t my goal and sometimes I even purposefully write them “wrong”. There are a lot of reasons I choose to portray characters certain ways, and most of the time I know that’s not how they’d act if they were their 100% canon selves and sometimes they bear little relation to whom I picture in my head, but that doesn’t mean it’s not valid character exploration or that authors who write similarly are somehow less knowledgeable or less skilled than ones who stick to canon closely.
Sometimes I want to write close to the canon characters as I see them and explore their intricacies and motivations in different contexts.
Sometimes I want to take a tiny piece of their personality, break it off from the rest like a square of chocolate from a bar and let it melt on my tongue and savour it, until I can’t taste anything else.
Sometimes I want to imagine who they might be given time and different circumstances.
Sometimes I want to give characters what I wish they’d received in canon but didn’t as an act of my love for them.
Sometimes I want to explore how other people view them just to see how it might work, even if I don’t agree with them.
Sometimes I want to explore particular ideas or themes and I will pick the parts of a character I need to make that work.
Sometimes I want to have fun and be horny with my favourite characters and I don’t care if they’re not acting exactly as I think their canon selves were but don’t care because it’s fantasy and I’m having a good time.
Sometimes it’s several of those things all at the same time.
The best part of writing fic for me is exploring characters beyond what I see on the pages. Like, canon is already there; I don’t really want to recreate it, because that’s boring to me. That’s what meta is for imo. Other writers might feel differently. I think both approaches are valid and beneficial.
It’s also okay if readers don’t enjoy when writers don’t write to their preferred version of a character. As a reader, there are versions of my favourite characters I don’t like to read too (mostly when they get turned into personality-less mary sues that are flatter than a paper cutout). I think it’s important to understand and explore who characters are in canon, but that’s the foundation for me. What gets built on top can be anything I want and I love that freedom.
What’s canon can be interpreted so many different ways to begin with, and I don’t know… I think it’s unfortunate when people judge an author’s knowledge of a character or try to make them feel less than for not being “canon compliant” enough. Like, a lot of us know and that’s just not the story we want to tell.
Regardless of how I choose to portray my favourite characters in fanfic, it’s always coming from a place of genuine love for those characters. It feels like playing pretend with my best friends except my best friends are imaginary too.
Curious how other writers feel about this!
Just because Severus Snape didn't consent to surviving the war, doesn't mean he'll let Hermione Granger wither away.
Damn Permanent Reverie - A post-war story of healing and finding life again.
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Every other May afternoon of Severus Snape’s life at Hogwarts had been greeted by a serene, green hillside from the castle doors, sloping gently down to fields below. Leading to the dark quiet of the Forbidden Forest or the gentle lapping of the shore of the Black Lake, everywhere he had once looked beckoning him closer in a peaceful invitation.
For years, it had been his favourite time of year, the weeks between the last of the students leaving and when he would journey back to Cokeworth. A quiet serenity.
In years past, between the wars, he would leave the dungeons to find a tucked away spot to read. His back pressed against the bark of a tree, birds chirping around him as he lost himself in passages for hours. The smell of the Scottish Highlands warming herself again, summer around the corner making him linger.
What remained this May was a scarred, pitiful sight.
The peace of the space was broken, the beauty ripped open.
A hillside was now torn apart, gashed by the deep hits from giants’ weapons and burned by stray spells. Stones and debris littered the fields below all the way to the forest edge of broken trees and burnt sections that still smelled of smoke. A large part of the castle above was still torn open, the grounds below pummeled by its massive stones.
Wrecked and ruined, Severus saw the peace of the ground severed despite the end of the war. It matched his own energy, broken and lacking.
The garish sight of it all softened by the popping of light violet and white wildflowers down the slope, peeking out as if Nature hadn’t gotten the message that this was a place of destruction and death. Trees bloomed, the white buds dancing on the breeze. Spring moved along as May would blur soon into June, the immediate world around the ancient castle showing none of the damage.
To some, it may give a spark of hope but not a single bit of the beauty woven among the ruin around him brought any warmth to his heart.
It only made him more bitter. Weighed on him heavier.
His sharp eyes glared over at a starling calling from a nearby stone, the bright sound of its call too pure to be over a place where the most innocent of those torn apart in the war had died. Children who should have been worrying about final exams instead of running for their lives.
The mix of life moving on in a place that had soaked up blood and magic only weeks ago was an affront to his senses. At least the sun had the good sense to slink back behind a cloud, softening the brightness around him.
He swallowed hard, forcing back memories of the sounds of screams. Never allowing himself to fall apart in it all.
The uneven terrain was a punishment on his body every few steps. One Severus concluded that he deserved, clenching down his jaw to endure it. His boots sank into some spots, skipping with hesitation over others in a way that jolted his knees, sending waves of responding pain up his still sensitive nerves.
He hated it. Hated being out here.
His was angry about the way his legs were stiff and protested the simple movement, too used now to lying in bed. Furious even at how it still seemed peaceful out here, even with the reminders of the damage of the battle.
He most especially hated that he was alive to see it.
Everywhere was life, a reminder of a world still turning. His own life forced upon him.
Who to blame for his continued, pathetic existence shifted by the hour.
Potter’s little sidekicks, for rushing back to where he’d fallen with help from some of the Order.
Potter himself, for shouting Severus’s allegiance across a bloody battlefield and making his survival a cause worth fighting for.
Kingsley Shacklebolt, for carrying his half-dead body back to the castle and keeping him from being arrested.
Minerva McGonagall, for being the first person he saw when he woke, her eyes wet with unshed tears.
This particular hour it was Poppy Pomfrey who caught his ire. Blame settling on her more often these days than anyone else. Severus reasoned that the old bat could handle it, the witch made more of steel than flesh.
The meddling mediwitch who had fussed at him enough to force his boots on, leaving the quiet of his secluded corner of the Hospital Wing for the first time since he’d woken there weeks ago.
The very same mediwitch who had played too great a hand in saving him, her steady, calm voice the first he heard he woke with a ragged gasp, lightening searing through his blood. Her hands gently holding him down as she called out orders to unseen helpers, pouring hissing elixirs over his gaping wounds.
Of course it was Poppy who pulled him from the brink of death, interrupting what should have been his final, long sought after peace. The same Poppy oversaw his care as she too often had done over the years he played spy, determined to help him despite his bark and bite.
For not the first time, his own talent at potions had cursed him. The vials he’d tipped back at the critical moments of the battle were only meant to keep him alive enough to get the right message to the Potter boy. Nothing more. And yet, he woke from the attack by the Dark Lord’s bloody familiar, the antivenom working wonders.
His left ankle twisted on a limb uncovered in the destruction of the grounds, the jerk of the motion making Severus stiffen too quickly, a jolt of fire along his neck and shoulders.
“Get outside, she says,” he muttered bitterly, still happy enough to blame Poppy for every single moment of this damned adventure.
He would stomp his feet in frustration if it wouldn’t promise to bite him in the arse when it triggered nerve pain. “‘Breathe fresh air, Severus,” he mimicked. “‘A walk will do you good, Severus.’ In- fuckin’ -deed.”
He’d much rather be back in the too narrow bed in his corner. Where charms and dark curtains hid him away from the world, leaving him there to glare up at the ceiling, lost between wishing for the freedom of death and planning how far he could manage to run away before his damnable loyalty to the women fussing over him led him back to Hogwarts once again. The curse of living.
There was no other easy place for him at the moment. Headlines of stories he refused to read in the Prophet had told him that much. His old home, the battered shell of a house called Spinner’s End was no more. Destroyed by either wayward Death Eaters or good, normally law-abiding folk who had taken Skeeter’s exposé of the traitor who may or may not have saved the world to heart and set it to flame in punishment for the children he couldn’t protect.
Good riddance, either way. Yet another sign to Severus that he should be below the dirt and not trudging on another day above it.
Minerva’s bleeding Gryfindor heart may have made him stay at Hogwarts instead of some hole of a hostel but it didn’t mean he’d make it easy.
A part of him that he itched to rip out, his conscious begging to make up for past pain put upon the new Headmistress kept him at Hogwarts but it didn’t force him back into the dungeon quarters that had been his true home for more years than not.
Instead he made himself a sore in Poppy’s side, an attempt to punish her for bothering to try and save him and stayed in the Hospital Wing far beyond what was necessary. In his corner, far enough away from the few other occupants, and still feared enough that no one tried to bother him, he could disappear for hours upon hours.
Except for the pair of busy-body witches that seemed to think they were his new masters. A point proven in how he’d listen to their demands, still always a man seeking to prove his worth to others despite how much he tried to fight the instinct.
There was Minerva with her daily delivery of the newspaper and tea, trying to talk with him about work done around the damaged castle. Her way of apologizing for believing the lies he needed her to believe to do his part. And he halfway listened in his attempt to apologize back, she being one of the very few exceptions of people he didn’t want to think ill of him.
Then Poppy with her potions and murmured healing incantations. Urging him to stretch this way and that, puttering about that he should go for daily walks, which he had refused until today. Making snide comments about the need of a good Potions Master as Horace Slughorn was woefully behind in the potions she still needed in the recovery from the battle. As subtle as a hammer over the head but still he refused to find his way to a cauldron.
That would require him to participate back in life, something he still refused to do. What was there left for him but duty? What ever was there for him besides that?
Severus grit his teeth, making his way towards the greenhouses at his slow pace down the hillside.
Word had it that Pomona Sprout had also stayed for the summer, aiding in the repairs. He knew from too many years at the castle that Pomona kept strong spirits tucked away behind the shrubs of dart flowers behind her desk. If he was lucky enough, the old gossip was up working in the castle, or more likely talking off Filius’s ear as he worked, leaving her office ripe for the nicking. It would serve her right too as Severus knew Pomona completed the unholy trifecta of meddling matriarchs taking full control of the castle and its occupants by now.
It almost made him smile to know he’d find a dark amber reward to this inane little walk about the ruined grounds. He almost wanted to flaunt it in front of Poppy, the rebellious teenager deep inside him still wanting to stick his tongue out at the mothering she offered, bucking against her care with his own defiance. Pointless but about the only entertainment awaiting him, a tugging reminder that if he had to be alive, he would do it his way.
Severus rounded the row of greenhouses, eyes locked on the first for his soon-to-be prize when something pulled his attention away, slowing his halting steps to a stop.
There, on the east side of Greenhouse Three, leaning over a bench with rows of dirt-filled pots was someone entirely unexpected.
Hermione Granger.
READ MORE HERE
Severus Snape blushing furiously when he's shy or upset
Severus Snape with a vein throbbing on his temple when he's stressed
Severus Snape going pale in fear or in frustration
I just love how this man's face is so goddamn expressive – he wants to hide his emotions, but it won't let him. There is something very poetic about that. He can't forbid himself to be human. He can't stop himself from feeling.
And yet he had to become a spy at 20.
Gutter Filth in Yer Bed - Part Two!
Because the lovely @fafodill had to go and post more Midlands inspiration -- I wrote a bit more.
___
It fell easily from his lips this time, the Midland grit he’d spent half his life hiding, the filthy, battered thing inside him that this witch seemed to crave more with every touch.
“That what ya need, lass?” The way her lips parted instantly spurred him on, making their game all the more fun. “ Want me ter ruin you proper?”
Her “please” in response was all he needed. Severus scooped her up, depositing her firmly on the counter as he stepped between the legs she now wrapped around his hip.
“Filthy, fookin’ girl,” he crooned in her ear, making sure she felt his hot breath there before capturing her earlobe to suck hard enough to make her hips jump forward. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, nuzzling the sweet spot behind her ear that made Hermione purr.
“ Y’want me to fook ya like this, don’t ya?” He ground himself against her, making sure she felt how hard he was for his woman and smirking at the pulse of her heat there. “Yeah? Righ’ here. Mouth first. Cock after.”
Her head fell back in submission, leaning onto the cabinet behind her as her legs pulled him in closer. Severus ran his blunt nails under her dress, scraping lines up her creamy thighs.
"Spread ‘em, lass," he rasped, kissing up the column of her exposed throat. “Wide fer me.”
READ THE REST HERE
Snape + physical stress responses / stims
A muscle twitched unpleasantly at the corner of Snape’s thin mouth every time he looked at Harry, and he was constantly flexing his fingers, as though itching to place them around Harry’s throat.
Snape eyed Harry, tracing his mouth with one long, thin finger as he did so. ... Snape stared at Harry for a few moments, still tracing his mouth with his finger. When he spoke again, it was slowly and deliberately, as though he weighed every word.
The office dissolved but re-formed instantly. Snape was pacing up and down in front of Dumbledore.
The adult Snape was panting, turning on the spot, his wand gripped tightly in his hand, waiting for something or for someone. … Snape was wringing his hands
Snape paces when he is stressed
Snape touches his mouth when considering what to say
Snape is prone to muscle twitches when (more) stressed (than usual)
Snape wrings his hands and flexes his fingers
Headcanons (autistic snape time):
Snape would naturally stim more obviously, but between his father and being unpopular in school, he had to keep things subtle and/or internal. When he's alone he shakes/flaps his hands, or rocks. He likes to lean back to feel his hair on his back, and finds it soothing. In public he just flexes the fingers, though he'll also stretch/fold his toes if he thinks nobody can see, or rubs his fingers together inside his robe pockets
"Snape loomed behind them, half in shadow, wearing a most peculiar expression: It was as though he was trying hard not to smile." wrong, harry - he's biting the insides of his cheeks and/or tucking his inside lips/rubbing his gums with his lips because it's soothing and wtf is happening rn, mrs norris is maybe dead
random long and complicated words (usually to do with potions/ingredients) are a favourite internal stim. he'll repeat whatever word is stuck in his head so often he gets sick of it, but he can't stop. the syllables sometimes match whatever he's doing, like an internal beat matching his actions, but if he falls into this rhythm whatever he's doing has to stay matched with the 'beat' of the syllables or it feels wrong. once he got a spell stuck in his head but he had to stop letting himself repeat spells internally once he became competent in nonverbal magic, because he accidentally cast it once without actually meaning to
do you ever get reminded that severus has family history of substance abuse and just kinda wonder how he didnt fall down the rabbit hole of addiction especially since hes a POTIONS MASTER??? and with the life he had too???
Heyy I’m coming from my second account @sacred-slytherin
But!! I’ve been thinking about your Midlands accent Severus for DAYSSS-
'Told ya I were rotten t’core.'
'Want me ter ruin you proper?'
'Y'alright wet fer it.'
'Cos you look so foine clenchin' round me prick,' he slurred, the vowels stretching obscenely. ''Makin' them fookin' noises like some back-alley stunner.'
damn... I gotta give this another crack...
Gutter Filth In Yer Bed
Completely inspired and in honor of @fafodill and their brilliant post about Severus's accent slipping back in during the heat of the moment.
To have Hermione at last, her lips searing a line down his throat, her hands yanking at his clothes, dragged up something raw from deep inside him.
Something that didn’t know how to be gentle. It was a damn good thing she wasn’t being soft about it either as her legs hooked around his waist, pulling him closer on top of her. He wanted to tear her apart and put her back together again.
A lifetime of loneliness, of chasing after rough, empty fucks when the ache got too sharp to stand it anymore, left him needy for this. For her. For something more than the quick, silent, forgettable nights that never truly met his need.
But this? This beautiful, delicious witch he had yearned for since she came back into his life as Healer Granger, the mediwich whose wit and fire drove him mad. The very one tearing at his shirt as if she needed to feel his bare skin as desperately as he needed to feel hers.
Gods fucking above, he would combust if he wasn’t inside her soon.
He groaned, lips crashing back into hers, breaths stolen as he ground her deep into her own mattress, his body making promises he was damn sure to keep. The heat of her soaked through their clothes, his hips thrusting down hard enough to move her and the mattress.
“Fookin’ hell, lass!”
It was out before he could catch it. Thick, rough, and wrong. His accent dragged through every syllable, filthy as the streets he’d come from, betraying the home of his youth in the stretch of his words.
No! The verbal mask slipped for the first time since he was a teen. An utter loss of his control that made Severus stiffen in a whole new way, pulling back quickly to end this all in sheer embarrassment.
The first good thing he had touched in years, and he’d gone and ruined it with that. Made it clear his less than accepted birth in both Muggle and magical societies.
Severus jerked back, pulling away from her as shame clawed up his throat. Almost forcing out a just as foreign apology as his mind scrambled to find some dignified way to end this.
But her fingers curled into his hair, yanking hard enough to catch his attention again. With a whisper, her nails scraped his scalp as she urged him back down to her. He looked down, taking in the flush of her face and the way her lips parted with a breathy whine.
“Say it again, Severus.”
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ROOM AND BOARD - Chapter 26 Preview
“Say it,” he pleaded against her mouth, nipping at her lower lip. “Tell me what I do to you.”
Hermione arched under him, nails biting at his shoulder blades when he rolled his fingers around a dusty-pink nipple. “You make me ache. I can’t - I can’t think. Need you…more.” Her words deliciously incoherent as he ground against her.
“Good.” He whispered huskily in her ear. “I’m going to…undo you.”
ROOM AND BOARD - Chapter 25 Preview
There was almost nothing in this world that made reading difficult for Hermione.
A lifetime spent training herself to tune out the world and lose herself in whatever pages were in front of her had honed her skills so well that even the distractions of her two best friends chattering around her, or more accurately getting into petty squabbles about Quidditch or classes, did little to break her from the spell of the written word once a book was in front of her.
But the press of Severus’ lips to her temple, his breath ghosting over her skin, and the hum that vibrated against her back as he clearly enjoyed the freedom to do so made the words swim on the page. Her eyes uselessly traced over the same sentence for a third, fourth, time when he nuzzled his nose against her hairline. Whatever arguments Eudora Blackwell was making on the art of brewing poisons were become entirely lost on her as his fingers traced small circles through the fabric covering her upper arm.
For the first time in her life, Hermione wanted to throw a book to the ground, careless of where it landed in order to climb onto the lap of the man making her concentration so poor.
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ROOM AND BOARD -- Chapter 24 Preview
His nose brushed alongside hers.
Gentle. Asking.
Her breath hitched before a soft sigh unfurled over his face.
Sweet. Welcoming.
When his lips finally brushed against hers, it was so light that it still felt like a question. As if he couldn’t imagine that she was actually inviting this. Inviting him.
Hermione didn’t pull back, her warm lips trembling slightly before he felt her push back ever so slightly. Lips pressing against lips. His entire being flooded with the intensity of the feeling.
Her kiss back answering him once and for all. Silencing his uncertainty that she would think this was too soon.
For a moment, time stood still as he was caught up in the impossible softness of her lips pressed to his.
It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough, as the urge to devour this moment completely filled his chest and yet, it was perfect. Soft. Slow. Tender. Everything that he had always wanted but never expected to find. Carefully, as to not break the softness of this kiss, he pressed only a bit closer with more confidence.
The kiss broke when her lips stretched into a wide smile, moving against his as a smile pulled at his too. A first connection breaking into twin looks of joy and nervous laughter as she shakingly murmured, “That was…er- wow.”
Pride filled him, broadening his chest as his lungs expanded. He grinned properly, pulling back enough to gaze into her eyes as he tightened his grip on her hand in his lap.
This beautiful woman had just kissed him back and said wow in return. He felt almost drunk off the feeling, wanting to kiss her again and again and again until they both lost their breaths completely. It was his care for her that held him back, wanting to ensure her comfort.
Letting go of her hand, the loss of her touch strumming against his heart for a moment as he reached out to stroke along the softness of her cheek, his smile deepened. Stretched almost too big to fit his face as sheer elation took over his senses. The feeling of the heat of her flushed skin under his fingertips was the greatest of rewards until she engulfed his hand with her own, pressing him firmer to her cheek, cradling her delicate face. Complete and utter perfection.
“Hermione…” he sighed out again, as if it was the only word he knew now. A lifetime of vocabulary lost after one simple kiss.
His mind blissfully shut off as he knew nothing more in this fragile moment than her. There was nothing to worry over beyond this witch. Nothing more to fear as they stared at each other and took in shaky, deep breaths. All he knew was Hermione had kissed him back.
His heart pounded, unsure whether he could survive the next touch as his thumb worshipfully stroked along her cheek. But then, part of her lower lip disappeared between her teeth, her warm eyes dancing with equal delight before he saw the conviction take over her face.
One heartbeat to prepare before Hermione leaned forward, capturing his lips properly with a boldness that made every single one of his senses soar.
As her lips crashed into his, pulling him under in a torrent of yearning and passion, a strange, new thought echoed through him. I am wanted.
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Thank you, Bob Ogden - a New Year's One-Shot featuring a drunk Luna and a cranky Barty Crouch Jr.
For a moment, Barty was too dazed by the strangeness of the Ravenclaw witch clearly covered in gaudy Gryffindor attire spinning languidly in front of him to do or say anything else. Seeing her smiling and covered with sparkles contracted sharply to the Luna he’d known before. He’d known a scared girl in a desperate time. But he’d seen enough images of her in the minds of others to know this was a closer resemblance to her true self. A more grown-up version of herself. Well, except for the clearly drunken state on New Year’s Eve.
Barty cleared his throat once, sending a signature glare her way in an attempt to bring the witch’s attention back to him. She giggled again but continued on until one turn too many caused Luna to stumble. His arms reached out instantly to catch her but she caught herself first on the doorframe.
“Oops,” Luna said with another lopsided grin. “Gravity doesn’t seem very pleased with me tonight!”
Barty donned his best look of disapproval, remembering vainly how it used to cause a sudden silence even at the loudest dinner tables at the Order safehouse. As with everything else when it came to Luna Lovegood, her reaction was not what he wanted. His deepening frown and furrowing brow only made her smile wider as she fiddled with the flashing badge on her hip.
“That thing,” Barty nodded towards the badge, “is foul. You look like their bloody mascot.”
“I once was … I bet even you didn’t know that, hmm..”
Luna giggled loudly again. The obnoxious sound was strange to hear from the normally soft-spoken woman. Barty lowered his head to see she was wobbling still in sparkling heels he wished to fling off her feet for their disservice to her. With a heavy sigh, he moved to grab a cloak from inside, pulling her gently across the threshold when he saw her trying to hide another shiver and yet another stumble.
Barty carefully pulled the heavier fabric around her, careful not to touch her skin lest the action would further muddle his thoughts. He wanted to keep a firm grip on his irritation of being rudely interrupted right before he went off to sleep. Getting distracted by the strange beauty of the wide-eyed witch would do him no good and letting her see any hit that her company may be welcomed would surely be used against him.
“You still haven’t explained yourself,” he said through a clenched jaw.
Luna swayed again, a little pout forming on her face. She leaned forward too quickly, the motion launching her into him as he steadied her back against the now closed door. He glared while her pout quickly turned into a mischievous grin, making him question whether helping the witch to not fall on her drunk arse was a good idea after all.
To drive his point home, Barty gave her a shake, fixing her with a glare. A snarl escaping his lips.
A puff of breath moved the light hairs clinging to her face as another blasted giggle sounded from the inebriated witch. “Don’t you know it’s almost midnight? I’ve come for my kiss!”
“Oh, fuck me,” Barty growled.
“Okay!” Luna cheered back, obviously too pleased at her own joke.
With fingers clenching into fists to avoid either pulling her closer or pushing her too hard into the door again, Barty stepped aside and made his best attempt at leading her into the front sitting room. He watched as her eyes traced his outstretched arm
Still guffawing at her own innuendo, Luna tripped her way across the short expanse of his foyer and made a wide, looping turn into the small but proper sitting room. An obnoxious snort sounded from the room which might have normally set him over the edge had the witch not at least had the decency to give him an apologetic look over her shoulder.
Even in her state, she knew better and it made the tension in his shoulders ease a little. That look, the one that said she knew where the line still was between them did more to assure him than any words could.
Barty saw the cloak he had only just leant to her start to fall to the floor and she attempted to fling it off in another clumsy twirl, but one swish of his wand wrapped it around her bare shoulders once again.
Luna moved as if to push it away again, stopping once their eyes met. Another show of respect, one he rewarded with a grin of his own. The cloak stayed on.
He banished her shoes next, slowly raising a brow in a thankfully unmatched challenge as her newly bare feet made her last steps into the sitting room easier.
Luna returned his smile and plopped down onto one of the high-backed chairs in his sitting room. The centuries old furniture from a unfashionable collection the Ministry had supplied with the townhouse was clearly unyielding as she issued a surprised little oopmf! Pinching the bridge of his nose in a manner that made him feel far older than his years, Barty sighed heavily and followed her lead to take one of the other chairs.
Once they were settled across from one another, the drunk witch grinned again, her arms stretching wide as if to cheer him on for the simple act of sitting more gracefully than she was.
“Barty! Hello!”
He mocked her overly excited tone in his reply. “Luna! Good night!”
This only made her laugh more as her fingers dove into her long locks to twist her hair. She began to mumble something about whiskey and fairies before trailing off to gaze at the now roaring fire as if he wasn’t sitting there anymore.
“Little witch, I am not a patient man.”
He leaned forward in the chair to rest his elbows on the tops of his knees, the thin fabric of his sleeping trousers reminding him once again of the privacy she had invaded with her drunken visit. When he asked the question again, Barty was sure to say each word clearly and slowly. “Why. Are. You. Here?”
Her answer was as infuriating as he should have expected.
“Well Ron said that to be an horno-honorary Gryffindor I had to be brave.”
“And why are you an honorary Gryffindor?” his voice a low drawl.
Luna paused, her blonde brows furrowing as if she was trying to remember. At last she said, “There was a party with my friends for the new year. Hermione and Dean were going to teach us all some fun Muggle games. I wanted to go—waiting for the new year sounded lovely! But it was a House party, you see.”
Barty leaned back in the chair, accioing a sobering potion he silently thanked Snape for sending after hearing of the monstrous headaches too many nights of drinking in his early days of the new house assignment had left him with.
Luna continued to explain. “And I thought a House party was a good idea only if we were still in our Houses but we aren’t, you see. Hermione thought the same. She invited me, suggested that with everything from… well, from before… that I was an honorary Gryffindor afterall. Oh! I learned the best games tonight… would like to play some?
“No, girl, I don’t. Now, drink this.” The bottle landed softly in her lap, surrounded by the gold and red fabric of her dress.
Luna moved to tuck the bottle away but at his glare she paused. “I will once midnight comes. I want to stay feeling floaty until the clock strikes,” she offered in explanation, her pout from earlier returning.
“You’d risk being alone in the presence of a madman for another,” Barty leaned back to spy the old clock on the wall, “quarter hour for such a feeling?”
“If you’re mad then I’m looney.” Barty noticed that even in her bedraggled state the joke held bitterness.
“Besides, I’ll only be here for a bit while more,” Luna continued unphased, ticking off her ridiculous to-do list as she chatted. “I’ve already been brave to come here. Ron said he’d never! Then we.. that’s you and me..,” she gestured sloppily between them, “kiss at midnight and I get to go back as a real Gryffindor… oh!...and then I sleep. Easy peasy!”
Barty paused before speaking again. He let the silence stretch on until he saw Luna squirm in her seat, the false confidence of whatever cheap booze warmed her blood slippling, if only for a moment. Slowly, he leaned slightly forward and pressed his elbows even harder against his knees.
“Ah yes, the kiss you feel so brave to demand of me.”
To his delight, her eyes widened before she gave a more nervous sounding chuckle. As if she had never felt any hesitation at all, Luna ran her fingers over her long, light locks and smiled brightly again. “Exactly What’s braver than coming to kiss a man shrouded in mystery.”
Not to be outdone, Barty said, “You mean what’s braver than coming to kiss a man you watched murder someone for you.”
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Rolf Scamander not only knew he was an extraordinarily lucky man, he relied on it.
It was only through pure luck that he could have survived many close calls including a pogrebin attack, a near-drowning by a kelpie, and a swarm of irate doxies- well, luck and a few well-timed potions and charms.
Of course, his luck went beyond helping him escape when his adventures went array, for it was his very occupation that Rolf found to be the luckiest part of his life so far.
Only a wizard as lucky as he could have spent a life not trapped by the typical line of work, chained to some desk processing paperwork or stuck behind a counter filling orders, but instead under the warm heat of the sun. He spent his days sailing on his little boat from port to port, learning all he could about this world, magical and non-magical alike. He was an adventurer, or as classified by the Ministry- a naturalist .
A funny little word that really meant Rolf was free to do as he pleased, of course, providing he had the proper funds from his sponsors. Another area where luck had truly graced his life; Rolf had a seemingly unending supply of well-to-do wizards waiting to sponsor his work in trade for a good night of sharing adventurous stories and trinket or two
Through it all, what he loved most about his adventures was the collecting of stories to tell. Sure, samples of shining unicorn hair or snippets of lilies growing in a pond full of gridylows were always welcomed by his benefactors and helped him allocating more funding into magical creature research but what Rolf and his sponsors shared was a need for new stories to relish in.
They were all staunch businessmen, doing as was expected of the wealthy wizards in Britain. They complained behind closed doors that their wives were all boring, children too well behaved. They wanted to hear of danger and excitement, something grand to live in if only for a few minutes that made the walls surrounding them seem to disappear.
Rolf had a particular understanding of this need, keeping two journals with him all the time. One for his official work and one for tracking his adventures. Never omitting a word, he compiled story after story to share with his eager investors and friends.
That is until something so incredible happened, while he was studying the migration habits of merpeople in the sea around Euboea, that Rolf was certain no one would ever believe him.
There, standing before him on the beautiful, Grecian beach was what Rolf could only describe as a Goddess. Oh, she was the most iridescent Goddess with long, blonde hair and the biggest, bluest eyes that swirled with the very secrets of the universe!
His heart had nearly stopped at the sight of her twirling on the white sands with not a stitch of clothing on her milky skin, her happy song the sound of a thousand veelas and just as enchanting.
She had looked at him that day with those gorgeous blue eyes and his soul knew, in an instant, that she was his . It was unexplainable, never meant to question. Their magic reached for one another across the space between them. Entwining.
He was lucky beyond all imagination that he had found her.
Rolf had run to her, his heart filled with so much joy that tears streamed down his face when she met him with a tight embrace.
“ Asteri tis zois mou, ” he had whispered, rubbing his whiskered covered chin along her bare shoulder.
“ Agapi mou, ” his Luna had whispered back. “I have at last found you.”
Luna had insisted that they marry straight away, teasing that he should collect her before it was too late. He was happy to oblige, swearing his eternal devotion to her under the moon as they sat entwined on the deck of his little boat, floating a few miles from the Euboea shoreline.
When the men back in Britain had begged for Rolf to tell his stories from his migration research trip, he had avoided the topic by dishing out one of their favorite tales from the Orkney Islands instead.
He wanted to keep the secret of the goddess-like witch he had fallen instantly in love with on that adventure for a bit longer. There was something sacred in not sharing about her. Of course, they would all find out soon enough that he had taken a wife, but a man as lucky as Rolf Scamander knew to never test his luck. Not now that he had found her at last, his Luna .
They would never believe it anyway- no one would ever believe that a mere mortal man, even one as lucky as Rolf Scamander could ever be this fortunate.
Adenium Obesum - A story of managing grief and shifting world views. Luna Lovegood x Percy Weasley
Snippet:
Percy let out a bark of a laugh, trying to suppress the urge to run right back out the door and leave the eccentric witch behind to rot in her self-made prison of creepy flora. "I thought you liked know-it-alls." He hoped that by referring to Hermione, the one person Luna still managed to keep in touch with through letters, the tension in the air would dissipate.
He was wrong.
"I don't like know-it-alls, actually. And she isn't like you one bit. Hermione seeks knowledge and understanding for things she doesn't know. You assume you know about things you do not. You're doing it now with your eyes judging how I've chosen to arrange my home."
He bristled, wondering how everything had gotten so far off track in a matter of minutes. "Now, now, I don't think that label is entirely fair. Luna, I am sorry if I've offended you-"
"You're not." She interrupted him, jumping down from the table, the volume of her dress bouncing around her as she came closer to him. "People are rarely sorry they have offended, only sorry if they have to face the consequences of that offense."
Luna stopped walking only when she was a few inches away from bumping right into him. He looked down, mesmerized by the way her silvery-blue eyes caught the beams of light poking through the shutters. Percy chose his next words carefully, remembering his training.
"You're right, Luna. I did come here today with an assumption based on what I have been told instead of letting you share your story with me." When he saw her relax a bit, he pressed on in a calm voice. "Hermione told me you hadn't responded to her letter earlier this week and well, Ginny said that she misses you. They worry."
"Then why aren't they here asking questions instead of you?"
It was an honest question, one asked without a riddle around it and Percy felt relieved that perhaps they would be able to make some leeway after all. "Would you prefer it if they were?" He glanced over as the slow movement from a set of pots holding glistening, red plants he remembered from Hogwarts. Dragon Flytraps, his mind supplied and he repressed a shudder at the memory of having to carefully feed them beetles in his third year. "To be perfectly honest, Luna, this place- "
"My home," she interjected.
He nodded. "Yes, of course. Your home...well, er- it doesn't seem all that inviting. You don't appear to want anyone to come by and even your garden seemed determined to keep me from reaching your door. Your flowers...are they really all deadly?"
Luna's answer made the tingling in his spine return. "Life is deadly, Percy Weasley. Do you not recall that from watching you own brother fall in the battle? After all the point of living is to someday die. Perhaps, I prefer the company of things that are not ashamed of their poison and are truthful of their danger."
Interesting. Percy paused, searching her bright eyes for any sign that he had gone too far. She tilted her head again to the side and made a motion for him to continue. "I've been studying as a Mind Wizard with St. Mungo's and working with people who have had a harder time adjusting to life after the war. I - well, I certainly mean this respectfully, I really do, but I wonder if you are doing okay."
"You assume I am suffering?" She volleyed another question his way.
Percy couldn't stop his eyebrows from raising high at what she was asking. "Now, Luna, certainly you can admit that something is wrong here. You have a maze of poisonous flowers blocking your home on all sides. Your windows are barricaded by them and I even see more hanging from the banister outside this room. For Merlin's sake, please just tell me, what are you protecting yourself from?"
The silence that met him from his last question was louder than screaming until at last, she spoke again.
"So it is as I thought. The know-it-all brother has come to do the fixing of what doesn't need repair." Luna smirked, her tone softening in the smallest of ways but as she continued, Percy realized her softness was a trap. Much like her flowers.
"I wonder...what would a wizard of logic understand of the emotional mind?"
At this, he sighed. Percy wanted this conversation to be done and over with, already planning on returning home and insisting that if the two that sent him here wanted to see the odd witch then they would have to come themselves. "I understand enough to see this can't be a good thing for you, Luna. Nothing good could come from being surrounded by all of this."
She moved even closer, thrusting her face up towards his and her silvery-blue eyes turned at once into cold, hard steel set out to cut him down. "Surrounded by what? Life? Death? Danger? Purpose?"
Luna made a growling sound, turning her head sharply away to stare at the shutters hidden by flowers but never made a move to step out of his personal space even though he was silently begging her to. "Do you think the others are so well adjusted that you must seek out someone who doesn't hide or pretend that being ripped from her father's arms and held hostage by killers didn't leave a scar not easily seen?" She looked back at him then, eyes staring nearly through him. "Does it soothe your own guilt to watch your sister hide behind her ambitions or for you to hide behind your own? I'm sure if you looked around with eyes not clouded you would see enough pain you can soothe with half-hearted words without coming here. Or is it more intellectually stimulating for you to witness a more truthful unraveling?" Luna paused for a moment, her breathing uneven.
Her next question came several heartbeats later, in an airy tone Percy almost recognized. "Perhaps the know-it-all brother would like to see more of my assumed suffering?"
Without waiting for his answers, Luna spun on her heel, the voluminous, green dress brushing against him in her sudden movement. Percy followed behind her without invitation, mostly to not be left alone amongst the plants he hadn't confirmed the danger of yet. He felt confusion at her questions and replayed them in his mind as they walked up a stairwell and into another room.
In the center of this room was a large shrub-like plant with flat, green leaves and five- petaled, pink flowers with centers that trumped out in a paler colour decorating every branch. The blooms glistened as if it had just rained inside the boarded-up room and a ball of magical light shone on the branches. Percy turned back to find Luna leaning against the doorframe, her bony hands holding up folds of her dress as she watched him carefully.
"What is this?"
Her smirk returned. "You don't already know?" The question was clearly rhetorical and he made no move to answer it. With a light sigh, she continued, "Adenium obesum. The Muggles call it a desert rose. Professor Snape called it the dart flower... if you remember. It's beautiful and the sap can take down large animals if injected into their blood." Her eyes glazed over, a dreamy look Percy remembered more clearly of the Luna he had known before today taking over her face. Her fingers began tracing a pattern into the fabric draped on her slight frame. "My mum taught me how quickly its poison will work to stop a heart from beating."
Oh. Percy looked warily back at the plant, racking his brain for the right thing to say at her revelation. She beat him to it though, stepping forward to catch his eye again. "Would you like to see the rest?"
He smiled at the slight eagerness he could see in her expression. "Would you like to show me?"
"Yes, I think I would. And you certainly could use some paradigm shifting."
Read the full one-shot here.