Can you write a fic where Severus and Y/n are soulmates? She's the astronomy professor and is a few years younger than Severus. Some angst with a super fluffy ending! Love your work btw💗
Title: Language Of Stars (believe me when I say I don’t even remember writing this😕😥)
Warning: Angst
Words Count: 2000+
Masterlist
___
The Astronomy Tower had always been a place of solitude, perched high above the trembling chaos of teenage magic and flurried footsteps. To most, it was a distant spire in the cold, a place for stargazing and assignments, nothing more. But to you, it had become something sacred. Something lonely.
You were not new to Hogwarts anymore. Three years had passed since your appointment as the new Astronomy professor, and the once-piercing sting of imposter syndrome had dulled into a low ache, like the phantom of a burn long healed. You’d grown into your role with grace—students liked you, colleagues were kind, and Dumbledore never failed to offer a gentle word or twinkle-eyed compliment when your eyes flickered with self-doubt.
But there was one figure—one shadowy constant in the castle—who remained as closed to you now as he had been on your very first day.
Severus Snape.
He had been polite—painfully, professionally polite—the first time you’d introduced yourself. You remembered that moment vividly. You’d reached out your hand, eyes searching his for some thread of warmth or recognition.
“I’m the new Astronomy professor,” you’d said, voice a little too eager, hoping to bridge the quiet chasm between you.
He had merely inclined his head, pale hand remaining folded in the sleeves of his robe. “Yes. I am aware,” he had replied. Then he had turned away.
And that was the beginning—and the end—of your first exchange.
Over the years, your attempts had grown in delicacy and restraint. You weren’t a fool; you knew his reputation, the whispers about his past, the guarded way he moved through the halls like a man always expecting danger. But he intrigued you in ways that made sleep elusive. It wasn’t just his mind—razor-sharp, quick, dangerous. It was the quiet melancholy in his eyes. The way his voice folded in on itself when he spoke of things that mattered. The rare, almost imperceptible softness that would sometimes pass over his features when he watched the students walking back from dinner—soft and gone in a second, like a star swallowed by dawn.
You wanted to know that man. That softness.
But he kept himself locked away from you—curt nods, glances that passed through you as if you were smoke. It hurt. And still… still, you found yourself watching him. Still, you found yourself making excuses to speak to him after staff meetings, lingering in the Great Hall in case he looked your way. He never did.
Sometimes, late at night, you would sit on the cold stone of your tower, your telescope forgotten, and wonder if you were insane. If you had simply projected your aching, lonely heart onto the nearest unreachable thing.
After all, that was what you did with stars, wasn’t it?
⸻
“Professor Snape,” you called, catching him just before he disappeared into the dungeon corridor after dinner. You held a small roll of parchment in your hands, heart beating far louder than you thought was reasonable.
He paused—but did not turn around. “Yes?” he said, voice as flat and unimpressed as ever.
You caught up to him, steps quick on the stone. “I… I’m sorry to bother you, but I found this old paper in the archives. It’s about the astrological impacts of potion-brewing during certain moon phases. I thought it might interest you.” You offered it to him, parchment slightly crinkled from how tightly you’d held it.
He stared at it for a moment. Then, slowly, he reached out and took it with the barest tip of his fingers. “Thank you,” he said stiffly. “If I have time, I’ll read it.”
You tried to catch his eyes—just once. “I—I thought maybe we could talk about it sometime. If you find it useful, I mean.”
Something in his jaw twitched. “I doubt I will,” he said, turning away with a sharp swish of his robes.
He left you standing there, heart clenched tight, the smell of damp stone and potion ingredients sharp in your throat.
You did not cry. Not yet. That would come later—alone, in the tower, when the stars blinked their cold light down at you and you could pretend they were blinking back in sympathy.
⸻
You stopped trying for a while. At least, you tried to stop trying.
You still said good morning to him when you passed in the halls. Still offered soft smiles during meetings, though they were never returned. Still watched his hands—so precise, so elegant—when he handled flasks and ingredients with impossible delicacy.
He never saw you looking.
Or maybe he did. And he just didn’t care.
The other professors noticed, of course. Minerva gave you a look now and then—gentle, but concerned. Sprout patted your hand at lunch one day, muttering something about how “some roots take longer to grow.” Only Dumbledore ever met your eyes without pity.
“Stars burn quietly,” he once said to you over tea. “And some things must fall into darkness before they shine.”
You didn’t know what that meant, exactly. But you smiled anyway.
Still, it was getting harder. The silence from Severus wasn’t neutral anymore. It had become almost purposeful, like a punishment. As if your very presence irritated him. As if your affections were an insect’s wings beating uselessly against his skin.
It was late November when it happened.
The corridor near the dungeons was cold, icy mist curling in from the outer archways. You were hurrying after him, coat wrapped tight, clutching another foolish hope in your chest.
You’d made a chart—a beautiful one, inked by hand—showing the correlation between planetary retrogrades and potion instability over three decades. A labor of love. A labor for him.
“Professor Snape!” you called.
He didn’t stop.
You reached him just as he pushed open the door to his classroom. “Wait—I just wanted to show you—”
And then it happened.
He turned. Fast. Cold.
“What is it now?” he snapped, eyes sharp as obsidian, voice low and venomous. “Another star chart? Another desperate excuse to engage in pointless conversation?”
You froze. The chart in your hands suddenly felt like lead.
“I—I just thought you might find it interesting—”
“I don’t,” he said, stepping closer, dark robes rippling with the movement. “I never do. I never have. You mistake professional civility for personal interest, and I am exhausted by it.”
You took a step back, heart crumbling in your chest.
“I don’t need your charts. I don’t want your insights. And I certainly don’t want your company.” His voice was like ice cracking across a frozen lake. “Stop following me. Stop looking at me like that. I will never—ever—love you.”
The chart slipped from your fingers, fluttering uselessly to the stone floor.
Silence fell. Not the silence of stars or snow or sleeping children, but the brutal, dead kind—the silence of something irrevocably broken.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t.
He stared at you for one more beat. Then he turned, stepped inside the classroom, and shut the door behind him with finality.
And you stood there, alone in the corridor, the cold settling deep in your bones, where no amount of starlight could ever reach.
⸻
You didn’t cry.
Not there. Not then. Not in the corridor with your chart strewn across the floor like the torn remnants of some childish fantasy. You simply picked it up—slowly, methodically, folding the parchment with trembling hands. You didn’t glance at his closed door. You didn’t look back.
You walked away.
Not toward your tower. Not toward the Great Hall, where too many familiar eyes might read your face like an open wound. You walked aimlessly, letting the cold castle walls swallow you, winding through forgotten staircases and quiet alcoves. Eventually, you found an abandoned classroom—dusty and dark—and sat on the floor with your coat still on.
Only then did the tears come.
They were not dramatic. They were not loud. They were the kind of tears that hurt more because they were silent—salt burning the rims of your eyes, throat clenched around sobs that refused to rise.
You cried for yourself, for your hope, for every soft, invisible way you had reached for a man who had only ever turned his back. You cried for the affection you had offered him freely, only to have it thrown at your feet like something unclean.
And then—finally—you were empty.
You wiped your face on your sleeve, stood, and made your way back to your tower.
That night, you taught your fourth-year class with a quiet smile and careful voice. You pointed at constellations and asked thoughtful questions, and none of your students saw the ghost of pain behind your eyes.
You were done.
You didn’t speak to him again.
⸻
It was subtle at first.
The empty seat beside him in staff meetings—once something you quietly maneuvered toward—was no longer occupied by you. You sat beside Professor Flitwick instead, nodding politely, keeping your eyes on your hands or your tea.
He noticed. Of course he did. Snape noticed everything.
But he told himself it was a relief.
When you passed in the corridors now, you didn’t call his name. You didn’t try to catch his eye. You didn’t offer him papers, research, or suggestions. You didn’t offer him anything.
You had vanished from his immediate life—but not from the castle. And that, somehow, made your absence sharper.
He still saw you, of course. Occasionally, from across the Great Hall. Your laugh was quieter now. Your eyes always looked a little tired. You had never been loud—but now, you were muted, like parchment left too long in the sun.
He tried to tell himself he had done the right thing. That he had been merciful. That it was better this way—for you, for him. He was not capable of love. He knew that. He had tried once, and it had destroyed everything.
You didn’t deserve to be burned by his ruinous heart.
Still, the silence between you had grown cold, and it haunted him in strange ways.
⸻
It began, as most of his regret did, in the quiet hours of the night.
The dungeon walls offered no stars—no windows—but he found himself wondering what the sky looked like. Wondered if you were awake, in your tower, the moonlight touching your face the way he never had the right to do.
He remembered things he had tried to forget. The way your voice softened when you spoke to students. The way you lingered near him with hopeful eyes, always so careful, so gentle, as though you were afraid he might shatter if you were too bold.
The pain in your face that day in the corridor—it returned to him unbidden. Not dramatic. Not pleading. Just… hurt. Quietly, terribly hurt.
He had meant to crush your hope so thoroughly that it never rose again. And he had. You had left him entirely alone.
But instead of feeling triumphant in his solitude, he began to feel… hollow.
He told himself it was for the best. That he had spared you.
But he had seen the change in you. How you no longer lingered after meals. How you slipped out of staff rooms as if trying not to be noticed. How you only spoke when spoken to, and even then, only with polite distance.
He found himself listening for your laughter—and hating himself when it did not come.
He told himself he had no right to want it.
⸻
By January, he was waking up with your name on his tongue. Not aloud. Never aloud. But in the silence of his chambers, with the fire dying low, he would close his eyes and see the way you had once looked at him.
Like he was someone worth reaching for.
He hadn’t been looked at that way in decades. Not since Lily.
And yet he had spit it back at you—like venom. He had made you small. He had meant to make you small.
But you hadn’t deserved it.
The truth crept in slowly. It always did with him. Regret was not a flash—it was a tide, pulling at the ankles, dragging him out to sea.
He had hurt you. He had wounded something soft and brave.
And worst of all?
You had let go.
He hadn’t expected that. He’d expected you to keep trying. To hover. To hope.
But you hadn’t.
And now he missed you.
He missed your voice. Your smile. The little jokes you used to make, barely audible, after dull meetings. The way you would offer him a paper or ask his thoughts, even when he never asked for yours.
He missed being wanted.
He missed you.
And he knew—perhaps for the first time—that he had made a mistake.
⸻
It was late February when he passed by your tower on a walk he told himself was aimless.
There was snow on the rooftops, and the night was clear, the sky littered with stars. From the ground, he could see the soft glow of candlelight through your tower’s window. A gentle halo. You were working late, as always.
And he stood there, looking up, as if the stars could tell him what to do.
He wanted to knock. To say something. Anything.
But what was there to say?
I’m sorry I shattered your heart because I didn’t know how to handle being loved.
I’m sorry I pushed you away because I was afraid I might need you.
I regret it. All of it.
But he didn’t climb the tower.
He turned away, the snow crunching beneath his boots.
Even then—his cowardice was stronger than his longing.
But regret had settled in him now, deep and permanent.
And he would carry it—like all the rest—for the rest of his days.
⸻
March came in cold, with winds that whispered through the corridors like memories trying to be forgotten. Severus went about his days with quiet efficiency, teaching his lessons, marking essays, giving detentions, correcting potions brewed too weak or too strong. On the surface, nothing had changed.
But inside—where the silence grew louder every day—something had begun to shift.
He found himself pausing at staircases he never used, listening for the soft echo of your voice. He watched the staff room door more than he looked at the papers in his hands. He lingered longer in the Great Hall, nursing his tea long after everyone else had left, wondering if he might catch even the tail end of your presence.
But you never lingered. You didn’t look for him anymore.
You had become exactly what he’d asked for: distant. Unreachable.
And it was slowly, bitterly killing him.
He realized it one night, weeks after his outburst, when he awoke from a dream of you laughing in moonlight, only to find himself alone and cold in his dungeon quarters. His chest felt hollow, like something had been scraped out of him. He sat in the dark for a long time, elbows on his knees, hands threaded in his hair.
And he said it aloud—just once, to the empty room:
“I miss you.”
The words, soft and broken, were swallowed by the stone.
⸻
You noticed the change eventually.
It began with glances—small, stolen things. At meals. In meetings. In corridors.
Severus Snape, the man who had spent years never once truly looking at you, had started to turn his eyes toward you when he thought you wouldn’t notice.
But you did.
You noticed how he would hesitate near you. How his steps would slow when you passed. How, once, you caught him at the base of the Astronomy Tower late at night—his eyes lifting to your window before he turned and walked away.
You told yourself not to hope.
He had made it very clear what he thought of you. Of your feelings. Of your affection.
But it was harder now. The wounds were still tender, but the silence had become heavier. Not empty—but waiting.
You didn’t speak to him. Not out of spite, but because your heart had stitched itself together too clumsily to survive another break.
Still, you wondered.
Until the night he came to your tower.
—-
It was late.
You were alone with the stars, as always. The telescope was unused; your tea had gone cold hours ago. The tower glowed with low candlelight and the silver spill of moonlight across the stone floor.
When you heard the knock, soft and uncertain, your heart stilled.
You knew.
You stood slowly and crossed to the door, fingers trembling on the latch. When it opened, Severus stood there—his robes dark, his expression unreadable—but there was something in his eyes you had never seen before.
Not coldness. Not irritation.
Hesitation. Pain. And something raw and open, flickering just behind his usual mask.
“I… may I come in?” he asked, his voice unusually low, almost hoarse.
You stepped back silently, and he entered.
He stood in the center of the room, glancing at your desk, your books, the telescope, the view—anything but you.
“I wasn’t sure you would answer,” he said quietly.
You watched him for a long moment. “I almost didn’t.”
A nod. He accepted that.
The silence stretched between you like wire.
And then he said, “I’ve come to apologize.”
You didn’t speak.
He swallowed. “I was cruel. I meant to be. I wanted to drive you away, and I succeeded.”
Still, you said nothing. The pain was alive in you again, waiting. Watching.
“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he continued. “That I was sparing you from the burden of someone like me.”
“Burden,” you echoed softly, your voice thin with disbelief.
He looked at you finally. “I don’t believe myself capable of being loved. Not truly. Not… not without cost.”
Tears gathered at the edges of your eyes, hot and quiet. “You hurt me.”
“I know.”
“I cared for you. For years.”
“I know,” he said again, and something cracked in his voice this time.
“Why are you here now?” you asked, chest tight.
He took a breath like a man plunging into water. “Because I miss the sound of your voice. Because I find myself looking for you in every corridor, and hating myself when you’re not there. Because I pushed you away and all I’ve done since is regret it.”
You stared at him, silent.
He stepped closer.
“I didn’t think I could love anyone again,” he said, softer now. “But I was wrong.”
The air between you trembled.
“I love you,” he said.
Your breath caught. “You don’t have to say that just to—”
“I’m not,” he said firmly. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
You felt your walls shiver, crack. The old hurt still lived inside you, but beneath it—new warmth. Gentle, cautious hope.
“I don’t trust easily,” you whispered.
“I know.”
“I don’t forgive easily either.”
“I wouldn’t deserve it if you did.”
You looked up at him then, really looked—and saw not the cruel man from the corridor, but a man afraid of being seen. A man who had buried himself under years of pain and silence, and who was now standing in your tower, offering what little light he had.
He moved a step closer, slow, hesitant.
“May I?” he asked.
You didn’t nod.
You simply rose on your toes and kissed him.
It was soft, uncertain, and trembling—but it broke through everything. His hands found your waist like he’d been holding his breath for years. You touched his face, gentle, reverent, feeling the hollow ache that had once lived there.
You kissed him, and he kissed you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.
When you broke apart, your forehead resting against his, he whispered into your skin:
“I thought I was orbiting nothing. But it was always you.”
And this time—when you looked at him—you saw no walls. No cold.
I don’t really see Severus Snape as morally grey. I think a lot of people call him that because he can be mean and unpleasant, and they don’t like him, so they assume that must mean his morality is questionable too. But to me, he’s not morally grey—he’s just a polarizing character. People either really connect with him or really can’t stand him, and that makes it feel like he’s complicated in a moral sense, when he’s actually pretty straightforward.
It’s totally fair not to like him. He’s can be cruel, he’s mean and unfair to the students, he holds grudges, and he’s generally just not a nice person. But I don’t think that automatically makes someone morally ambiguous. Those are personality flaws and trauma responses, not moral decisions. When you look at what he actually does—he spends years risking his life as a double agent, protecting Harry, helping Dumbledore’s plan succeed, and ultimately dies for it—it’s really clear what side he’s on.
And yeah, he was a Death Eater at one point. That was absolutely a moral failing. But it was a relatively short part of his life, and he changed. He made a conscious decision to switch sides, and everything we see afterward is him trying to make up for the harm he helped cause. Growth doesn’t make someone morally grey—it shows that they made bad choices, learned from them, and did something about it.
I get why people find him confusing. He’s written as a red herring through most of the series; we’re supposed to doubt him. But that doesn’t mean his morality is actually unclear. Once you see the whole picture, it’s pretty obvious where he stood.
The whole conversation about his character through the book is basically is he a death eater (morally bankrupt) or is he on the side of the light (morally good), and it’s proven in the end he’s on the side of the light.
I would have always said he was morally grey before OP posted this but they’re so right. Actually he’s just a complicated character, with a lot of red flags (affectionate), but he knows where he stands.
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.
I honestly don't understand where the idea of Snape being ugly and him spending his entire life alone because he was "so ugly no one could love him" comes from. And I’m not just talking about Snaters here.
Even many Snape fans insist that any artwork of him or the actor chosen for his role must have a hideous, monstrous face. I constantly see posts where people demand a "disgusting, ugly Snape" because they say, “that’s canon Snape.”
Yes, Snape doesn’t fit conventional beauty standards, and he’s never described as handsome. But that doesn’t mean we should turn him into some kind of grotesque creature with zero appeal. This is yet another instance where Snape’s character falls victim to a black-and-white worldview. Just because someone isn’t described as beautiful doesn’t automatically make them hideous or unbearable to look at.
(Part of the idea that canon Snape must be ugly and repulsive seems to stem from the fact that he came from a working-class background and didn’t appear to have any romantic relationships. It’s as if people forget that the real obstacle between Snape and a romantic relationship with Lily was his obsession with the Dark Arts—not his looks, his clothes, or his lack of wealth.)
I can think of plenty of people in the real world who are like Snape. They’re not stunningly beautiful, but they’re not ugly either. They have average, normal faces, and some might even be attractive or "hot" depending on personal taste.
the art in this game (magic awakened) is actually so pretty in my opinion, severus looks great in this style. would love it if we got a proper hp video game that looks like this
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