requests are currently open, PLEASE read my rules/boundaries for what i will/will not write before sending in a request, linked here:
my blog is 18+ for all fics, minors please dni
General
Other rules and boundaries:
my blog is a safe space, fuck jkr, terfs and racists etc. general dickwads will be blocked
a lot of people, paritcularly those who are neurodivergent and queer (like me) find comfort in snape as a character and for that reason i dont want any debates in my comments or dms about whether or not snape is "good" or "bad" or whatever. i find it old, boring, tiring and not necessary
My taglist:
must be 18+, i mean my whole blog is 18+
i have a taglist, if you wish to be added, you can comment here or dm me and i will add you
dm at any point to be removed
Masterlist
Smut:
warmth: snape x professor! reader, established relationship, gentle dom:
talks you through it: sev giving reader first squirting orgasm:
focus: sub!snape x gentledom! reader trying cockwarming while he grades papers
our little remedy: gentle dom!snape x reader who has a bad day and snape comforts her with thigh riding
r u mine?: hard dom! snape x reader who was flirting with lupin, angry, jealous smut
let me get what i want: solo smut, sub!snape falling in love with female professor reader and fucking his sheets to the thought of her
let me get what i want pt 2: smut, sub!snape x femgentledom!reader, his first time, gentle, soft
prose: a short blurb/poem? about how he talks you through it
Fluff:
secure: lockhart flirts with prof!reader and sev and reader laugh about it later
medding snakes pt 1: request! snape x pomfreys assistant reader, snakes trying to set them up
work song: mainly angsty, but also fluffy with happy ending. femwife!reader saves snape in the shrieking sack
Not to pressure you or anything but... Are you gonna start working on em request 🥹
Please we're craving the sub!severus right now 🥹🥹🥹
sub!snape coming soon!! i promise!! its the next one im working on i have like over 50 requests cause i fucked off the face of the earth for awhile LMAO and apparently everyone is desperate for sub!snape!
We know Snape masturbates. Right? Everybody has. I want to know what you think he gets off to, how often he masturbates, when he first tried, I NEED THESE TAKES
[Okay trying to ease back into writing Snape because I haven't written for him in FOREVERRRR. I did write a fic based on this, where he reluctantly masterbates after falling in love with reader, so check out my pinned post if thats interesting.]
NSFW! Minors DNI
How often would he do it?
Severus is, as we know, a man of strict control over his emotions. He represses everything because it is what he has had to do to survive. Anger, sadness, love.. These are all basic emotions but he can not afford to let even a little slip through out of fear of it being sensed by the Dark Lord.
Lust is one of those human emotions that just would be repressed.
I think that Severus views lust with a very deeply rooted (and likely traumatized) feeling of disgust. He doesn't have time for it, he doesn't care for it. Very, very rarely if at all would I expect him to honestly even feel it or think about it.
However, if he is in love, I think that's a different story.
I'm not going to get into whether or not I think he feels that way for Lily, because that's a can of worms, but for the sake of this, let's imagine he is in love with reader.
Falling in love is already a breach of everything Severus has been trying to do for years. It goes against the years of repression, of quite literally training himself to feel nothing but coldness and numbness in order to survive. He thrives on being in constant control, never in a moment of weakness with his guard down. To fall in love, again, would be terrifying for him. Not only because of the fear of loss, but also just the fear of losing control over himself.
Because of this I rarely think he would even allow himself to indulge in masterbation, which requires letting go of shame and allowing oneself to be present and accepting of that emotion and need.
So if he ever did, it would be rare and I mean RARE. I'm talking like once a year type of thing, if any.
But if he was in love, I feel like he would start to realize that control is slipping from him like sand through his fingers. He would try, and fail, to put out that flame inside him, try to snuff it out like he has with all his other feelings. But the longer he failed to ignore his love for reader, the stronger it would prevail. And with it, would bring the lust he is trying so desperately to ignore. Because it's one thing to be in love with someone, to admire ones spirit and apperance, but it is another to desire someone so carnally. And Severus has spent his entire life being told how repulsive and undesirable he is. To desire sex is to desire omething so intimate with someone that comes with the expectation that they would be seeing/feeling his body, hearing the sounds he made, experiencing the pleasure/lack of it he'd be giving. I feel like all these thoughts and insecurities would run through his head and make it hard for him to really allow himself to fantasize, because we all know that man is a logical man.
Eventually I think he would allow himself to indulge more in masterbation if he was in love, purely based on the justification that allowing him release might allow him to surpress it better, or at least that's what he tells himself. For so long he was able to ignore any flicker of lust, and it would pass, but falling in love so deeply, as a second time after Lily would require, would mean it would be all-consuming, and that lust wouldn't be able to go away as easily.
So at that point I imagine he would do it weekly, eventually almost nightly as the feeling increased.
What would he think about?
Because of his insecurities, I think at first he wouldn't really want to imagine a full fantasy/scenerio in his head. Because this would require imagining himself in it. I think he would much prefer just to imagine images. Imaging her bare breasts, her hips, her waist, her nude body. At first it's tame, he's still trying to do the absolute bare minimum to get himself off so he can regain that control over this part of himself he views as so shameful.
However after a lil bit, it starts to kinda shift into more explicit territory. He'd start to imagine her touching herself, because this would make him subconciously feel less guilty for touching himself. Imagining her in her quarters, legs spread, fingers exploring herself. Her face relaxed in pleasure, breathing quickening, legs starting to shake... The sounds she'd make. He'd start to remember things about her from the time they spent together, how her legs looked wearing that skirt that one day. And he'd borrow these lil memories and imagine them ten fold later that night, thinking about that skirt on her floor, her legs spread on her bed, revealing what was underneath it. And after... The shame for even allowing himself to imagine such things. And the shame when he sees her wearing that again, knowing he just imagined such crude things.
But of course, as his control slips more and more, I think he'd finally start to imagine actually being with her. Mostly, at first, him pleasing her. Touching her... How would her skin feel? He doesn't know. He's barely touched her, let alone her bare skin. But he imagines she'd be soft.. warm. That enough he could get off to. But he starts to image cupping her breasts, kneading them, the sighs that would escape her lips as he does so. He imagines spreading her legs himself, settling between them, letting him memorize her entire body with his fingertips and mouth until he could recite her entire physical existence by memory as easily as the steps for any potion he'd mastered.
And there's a level of arrogance to it in this desire as well, the way he'd want to know her in her entireity. It isn't enough to simply make her fall apart, he wants to know every inch of her body more than he's ever dared to know his own. To know what speed, pressure of the flick of his tongue makes her gasp and arch off the bed. And he imagines learning this, learning her, the process of it all.
Eventually, only eventually when he is basically completely given up trying to shut her out, would he imagine his own pleasure. Imagining slipping inside her the first time, how her walls would clench around him, welcoming, pulling him in deeper. How warm she would feel, how wet. He wouldn't have had sex before, but he had enough general knowledge about anatomy to know what to expect. But the actual feeling of it... He'd stroke himself and imagine how different it would feel around her. Tighter? Warmer? How he'd use his hands instead to grasp at every inch of her body as if she too would slip from him like his control.
Missionary would be his main fantasy I think, especially at first. And all his fantasies would start off pretty vanilla, pretty tame. Mainly focused on imagining what she would look like, feel like, the unknown of it all. Picturing her body, touching her body, then feeling her body. And there's the emotional aspect of it all that is almost, if not certainly, more difficult to imagine than the sexual. The idea that she'd desire him, crave him, lust for him as equally as he was for her. That was a fantasy he rarely wanted to indulge in because the threat of hope for a man like him was much too costly too afford, especially in wartime.
Overall, I think Severus would be very reserved with masterbation due to years of emotional repression. But falling in love a second time woud result in the inevitable loss of his control. It would start off weekly, evolve into nightly, rooted in the justification that release would regain his control. Masterbation for him would start tame, be riddled with guilt and shame, but rooted in a deep desire for connection and understanding. But that post-nut shame?? Oh he feels disgusting after. Poor guy.
Could you please do an angsty Snape x reader with a happy ending imagine in which reader is his wife and wants them to leave the uk and escape before the war starts because she understands it will end badly and they argue over Severus part as a double spy and he just tries to comfort her and hold her, promising nothing will happen and later after naginj bites him reader finds him and saves him angrily, like you are my husband, you are not allowed to die because of *some insult to Voldemort*
(A/N): im feeling angsty. mainly because my life is falling apart in my hands and in true snape kinnie fashion, everyone hates me for things they can't know and nor understand! also im touch starved and desperately need a hug! woo!
anyways.
im high again. sorry if this sucks. this ones gonna be long af too.
title: work song
rating: angst, fluff, happy ending
warnings: threats of death, mentions of suicidal thoughts, brief insinuation of war time sexual violence towards women, blood, gore, trauma, loss, grief, angst
song: work song by hozier
MASTERLIST
The day of the final challenge of the Triwizard Tournament, she awoke with the same sinking feeling in her gut she had for weeks now. She was a bright Witch. A trait Severus had always admired of her; her ability to pick up on things, understand them. Perhaps it was why their friendship came to by, why it turned into a relationship and eventually a marriage. She could understand even him before he did.
Because of this, she knew why the once faded Dark Mark on her husbands skin was getting darker by the day. Why he tossed in bed a little longer before going to sleep. Why his appetites for her cooking slowly subsided.
He assured her it was nothing, a change in seasons, a minor cold. But she knew, and he knew, that she knew the truth. The Dark Lord was returning.
When Harry emerged with the portkey, holding Cedrics lifeless body, she hadn't seen it at first. At first, she was watching her husbands face as he stared into the quiet maze ahead. He was so focused. His dark eyes set on a determined gaze at the hedges in front of them. And she found herself admiring this, worshipping it even. Until her husbands brow furrowed. Until his lips twitched. Until his right hand gripped his left forearm.
Her eyes flicked to the clothed skin of his arm. "What?" She whispered, though the sinking of her stomach seemed to finally hit the bottom.
Severus opened his lips, parted them to speak, but he couldn't. For a moment he looked at her, dark eyes praying that that intelligence of which he loved so much wouldn't pick up on the stirring of the Dark Mark against his pale flesh.
When his gaze finally tore from hers as the victor arrived back from the maze, she watched as the expression in his eyes only she could decipher turned from dread to.. horror.
She turned to see what the commotion was just as Severus stood up beside her. Harry was crying but she could hear only faintly what about. He was holding Cedric...
No.. Holding.. What was Cedric.
Cedric was dead.
Mr. Diggory's sorrow rang out like a violin in an empty hall. The bands cheerful music stopped. Only the song of his grief played as he made his way down to his boy.
Dead.
As Severus undid his cloak, placed it over the boys still body and glanced back at his wife. Part of him wanting to comfort her, another part wanting to comfort himself that she was still there. That he hadn't lost her already.
It wasn't until Barty Crouch Junior pulled up his sleeve, Snapes wand against his cheek, did she really start to panic. That same mark, that same, evil symbol, once dead, stirred alive under her husbands skin.
The Dark Lord was back.
In the weeks that followed, she begged.
She had never begged. Not a single soul. For anything. Especially not Severus. She never had to. He would have given her the world if he even had an inkling she desired it. But he couldn't give her this.
"Severus, please," She pleaded. "I'm begging you."
He stood with his back to her so she would not see the truth in his eyes. Hands on the windowsill, he allowed himself only that much vulnerability. Only her to be able to see the slump in his shoulders.
How could he tell her that he knew this day would come all along? That he was bound to follow it through till the end? No longer out the love he thought he'd never escape, but now out of duty? Out of fear?
It used to be Lily. It was. It was her so deep in his bones he could barely decipher which traits of him were really traits of his. But the day he met her. His wife. Something changed he didn't even understand. The bending, breaking and mending of a million tiny things inside him he believed impossible to reach.
In that moment he could have ran away. No longer chained to the promise of protecting Lily Potters son. But there was a price to this. He saw it everytime he looked in his wifes eyes. The happiness inside them wouldn't be possible in a world ruled by the Dark Lord. How would she be able to teach at Hogwarts, in a school that would be taken over by Death Eaters, knowing the pain that would plague those walls? And what of her, a half-blood? Would she even be spared, like his "devotion" had spared him? And in the likely, near certain event, that he died, what would become of her? Pawn in their games, to be used for their cause, what of the other muggle-born and half-blood women? The spoils of war-
No.
The day he fought against all better judgement and decided to be selfish for once was the day he married her. And on that day, he vowed he would protect her. To hell with trusting the Order; Dumbledore and his lies. He would keep her safe. Her fate would be in his hands. No one elses.
He would not break that promise.
So he lied by omission. He never told her about how he knew the Dark Lord would one day return, how he knew he'd have to fight again and how dangerous that would be. He knew she'd be devestated, furious. And when she looked up at him with those bright eyes... He just, couldn't.
Now, she had figured it out. Not in its entireity, but enough. She knew the Dark Lord was back. And she was damn smart enough to know what that meant for him.
He remained still with his back to her. He couldn't look at her pleading face.
"Severus, please." She begged, "Don't fight. You can tell Dumbledore you don't want to be a spy, you can't do it anymore-"
"Even if I could, I can not tell the Dark Lord that."
He heard her shaky breath from just behind him. "Run away then. Leave with me. We'll go across the sea, America. Anywhere."
"Do you remember what happened to Karkaroff?."
"We could try-"
"We could die." His voice was firm. Gentler than it had ever been around anyone else. He turned, bringing himself for the first time in such conversation to meet her gaze.
Her eyes were desperate, looking up at him with naive hope he had to crush. "Severus... Please. I can't.. If you die, I can't-"
"Don't." He nearly whispered. "Don't."
She parted her lips, closed them again.
"Running is certain death. Trust my knowledge about the inner circle I've been infiltrating for years." He spoke lowly, calculated, as if he were drilling the knowledge into her head. "To spy is our best chance at survival."
He was a liar. Maybe she even knew it.
But all she did was look up at him, blinking for a long moment until that wasn't enough to stop the tears that began to flow down her cheeks. She buried herself in his chest, inhaling the smokey, herbal scent as if she were trying to memorize it in case of the worst, and she cried.
~
The day he made the unbreakable vow he had never seen her so angry.
They had fought a few times in their marriage. Stupid, petty things. Barely even fights. Mainly her nagging him about taking better care of himself and him doing the same to her. Frustrations over his jealousy, which at times bordered on toxic. But they all were brief, fleeting moments. Never spoken in a raised voice or with malice.
The way she was talking to him then. he'd never seen before.
They were in the living room, just the two of them now, the presence of Narcissa and Bellatrix still fresh in the cramped room. The rain pelted against the window outside in beat with her curses, which were thrown around as she paced in front of them.
"Severus that's not the point! This isn't part of the necessary obligation! This isn't simply spying anymore! You're trying to go above the bare minimum!" She practically yelled, stopping only to throw her hands in the air.
Severus stood still. It had been quite awhile since anyone truly raised their voice at him. But he wasn't frightened, even saddened. He understood. He only watched as she paced.
"He is my Godson-"
"I am your wife!" She practically hissed, stopping dead in her tracks.
Silence filled the air. They both stared at each other for a long time.
That night, after she'd spent the rest of the day in silent anger, she crawled into bed, into his arms. She whispered apologies in his ear and it only made his stomach churn.
She didn't. Know.
~
The day he killed Dumbledore, she cried harder than he'd ever seen her cry before.
She knew then, of course she knew. Even if he hadn't told her the reasoning. She looked into his eyes and never had to guess about his loyalties. She was too bloody smart for that.
So when she stood under the floorboards with Harry, after awaiting his arrival with Dumbledore, it didn't suck the wind from her the same way.
Harry, beside her, allowed only his breath to hitch. She was sure he felt betrayed, shocked.
But all she felt was dread.
She didn't have to know his reasons. She knew their consequences.
That night, hiding away in Grimmauld Place, she sobbed in Severus arms as soon as he returned from clearing the jinxes and hexes set up around the house.
Sobbing, she clung to him as if he was already slipping through her fingertips. Her breath quick and shallow, whimpers incoherant. Nothing she could say would change anything anyways. It was done. His fate sealed.
Severus couldn't say anything either. Nothing worth saying. He tried to murmur assurances in her ear as he held her, stroking her hair and rubbing his back.
So he lied.
"My love...." He murmured, "Shh.. I am alright..."
And he lied again.
"Shh... I'll be alright. You know I'm strong."
And again.
"I'm not going to die, darling. I promise. I promise."
Nothing calmed the shaking of her except for exhaustion. When she'd finally worn herself out, she fell asleep in his arms. He stayed awake.
~
May 2nd. 1998.
The castle came crumbling down.
Bodies scattered on stone. Flashes of green and red putting an end to lives that had barely begun. Children dead. Predators feasting on their flesh.
The stench was everywhere.
After abandoning his position as Headmaster, Severus and his wife stayed at the Malfoys manor. When Lucius knocked on their door, Severus took their conversation down the hall. When he returned, his expression was unreadable. He stared at her for a long time, as if memorizing her, before ordering her to stay put. He would be back, he whispered, so quietly she could barely hear it. He promised, he would be back.
But she was never one for following instructions. Not after walking down the stairs of the empty home to find a letter at the bottom step.
She would recognize the thin, crooked hand writing anywhere. Even if "My wife" wasn't sprawled across the envelope.
With shaking hands, she opened the letter.
{My wife,
I trust you ignored my instruction to stay put. Otherwise you wouldn't be reading this.
You always were too stubborn. Too stuborn to be stupid. Too intelligent. Perhaps that's why I fell in love with everything about you. You were too stubborn in your ambition to never give up on me. For that, I am deeply sorry.
I didn't know what I was doing when I joined this cult. I thought I did. I thought I wanted the glory, the belonging, the pride. It gave me none of it. From the moment the mark was seared into my skin. It gave me nothing.
I joined Dumbledore for reasons I've since told you. But forgive me for hiding the whole truth of our fate. I hid it from you, decieved you, out of nothing but love. I wished, that by protecting you from the truth, I could protect you from interferring from a fate where you'd be unhappy.
I mean it unpridefully when I say I don't believe The Order able to win this war without me. If I did, I would have listened to you years ago when you told me to run away with you. You know, I would follow you anywhere.
But it's not the war that needs me. Not some, self rightous, determined wish to save the world. It's you. My bright, happy, wife. My wife that loves teaching more than anything. My wife who loves fiercely, loyally and wholly. You loved me for reasons I still can not fully comprehend. But I love you none the less.
I know to lose this war would be to lose you. You'd be shattered watching the Dark Lord stay in power. Watching your students, your family, those you love be tortured and murdered by the masses. Even if I were alive, the two of us together. The wife I know, would be dead.
I am sorry there is not a scenerio where you would not be crushed. I am sorry I could not have done more. I am sorry for everything I have not ever said sorry for.
For awhile I fought this war out of duty to a "love" that chained me. Now I fight it out of duty to a love that is seered into every part of my soul.
I lack the foresight to see entirely where this night ends, but I doubt it will end gently for me. When Lucius said the Dark Lord wished to speak to me, I knew immediately it was about the elder wand. I think you knew too, before me, the night I killed Dumbledore. You were always too smart for your own good.
I do not care for you to clear my name. I know throughout those years its remained untarnished in your mind, and that is all I ever wished for.
I do ask you to be brave. Be strong. Be kind. You are a strong, fierce woman; the brightest Witch I've ever known and an even more incredible wife.
My love. I love you. I love you achingly, desperately. With every part of my being. I love you. Truly. Madly. Deeply. I love you.
I love you,
Severus.}
She sprinted out the door, letter abandoned on the last step, reaching only for the bag she'd dilligantly carried for the past dark months.
When she stood on the stoop, she saw only the night air looking back at him. No low hum of his voice, no smell of him on the air.
Emptiness.
Her wand was out in an instant. Without thinking of the dangers, she intended to apparate to Hogwarts. Yet for reasons she didn't know, she apparated just outside of Hogwarts grounds, collapsing in the inbetween of forest and lawn.
Thorns scraped her knees as she stumbled to her feet, her head swinging around widely trying to gather her surroundings. The Viaduct Court in front of her, the Shrieking Sack to her ri-
A Voice.
She heard voice. A dark, slithery voice that sounded like the onset of cruel death. Like the biting of a winter cold over exposed skin, hungry, maliced, unwavering.
And then she heard a thud.
Severus's wife was smart. Too smart.
She felt it. She couldn't describe the feeling, so unlike anything else she'd ever known. Unlike any trace of magic she'd studied or read about. It was primal, something deep inside herself she couldn't place. The knowledge that it was Severus's body, thrashing against the doors of the creaking boathouse. It was his blood staining the walls.
She moved without thinking, running desperately across the small clearing to the Shrieking Sack. Pebbles and sticks stabbed at her bare feet, she hadn't even put on shoes, had she? It didn't matter.
He could very well have still been in there when she threw the door open. He could've killed her right then in there and it would have been the last thing Severus would see before succuming to his own fate; the idea that once again... He failed.
But when she swung the door open, the Dark Lord had already apparated. Collapsed against the wall, Severus lay in his own blood, his breath a ragged song. He looked at her, and like all the times before, she knew exactly what he was thinking.
Anger. That she had come.
Fear. That she'd be found.
Dread. That she'd be killed.
Relief. That she had come.
She ran to his side, hands shakily hovering over his pale body, examining it. He was bleeding, a lot, from his neck. She'd never seen so much blood in her life.
"The snake?" She panted. "Did it bite you?"
Severus swallowed, nodded. He couldn't bring himself to take his eyes off her.
Her hands where in her bag before he even finished nodding. Rummaging for the potions she'd thankfully kept packed. It was lucky, a miracle even, that since the war had begun she'd kept healing potions in her bag at all times. A miracle, yes. She hoped it was enough.
With trembling hands, she popped the cork off the anti-venom potion first. It would take less than two minutes for Nagini's venom to kill him. How many seconds did she have left? How long would the potion take to work? Severus would know, but she didn't ask.
The second it was forced down his throat, she forced another one down. A blood replenishing potion. Enough, if it worked, to keep him from bleeding out. If the two worked together on time, maybe it would be enough.
With the second empty vial tossed to the floor, she focused her attention soley on Severus. Her hands pressed firmly yet gently onto his neck.
Warm. His blood was so warm. And there was so much of it. Coating her fingers, turning her palms red, dripping down her wrist.
Why wasn't it slowing? Why wasn't it stopping?
His breath was laboured as he whispered her name, barely audible. "Go... Home," he whispered.
She looked up at his paling face; looked into his eyes.
He was scared.
Her hands against his neck shook. "Don't," She said firmly. "Don't say anything. Don't talk. And don't die."
He swallowed back blood, eyes fixed on hers.
"You aren't allowed to fucking die? You hear me?" She hissed. "Not at the hands of some no nose, bald, wanna-be pureblood fuck who couldn't even kill a bloody baby!"
If Severus weren't bleeding to death, perhaps he would have snorted. But instead, he inhaled shakily, looking into her eyes and asking nothing in return.
Keeping his dark eyes on hers as he whispered: "I'll.. crawl.. home.. to you."
She stilled, eyes flicking widely between his as he watched something in them shift. They fluttered shut, his body going limp underneath her.
~
For the next few days, she clinged to him in the medical ward. Though she had to fight to get them to treat him, had to convince them of his true alliance to the Order by telling them things Severus surely wouldn't have wanted them to know, in the end, the medical infirmary agreed to treat him.
He was unconcious, barely breathing by the time they got to him. But they worked dilligently. Nimble hands casting spells, charms, forcing potions down his throat.
In the end, all that was left to do was wait. So she did. With her hand gripping his, she watched all day and night. She kept waiting for any slight movement, a twitch of the lip.. an eyebrow.
Any moment he'd wake up. His voice groggy and tired as he scolded her about why she'd chased after him. Never understanding fully the hole his absence would bring, how the threat of it nearly killed her out of terror.
It took a few days, but Severus did wake up. His eyelids opened slowly, eyes taking in the bright light. When they'd adjusted he thought he was in heaven. His wife... Those eyes staring into his.
But then, if she were here that would mean..
His eyes widened just as hers did, just as she threw her arms around his neck as delicately as she could manage. Crying, shaking, saying a bunch of incoherant ramblings as she held him.
Weakly, his left arm wrapped itself around her.
"You didn't lie," she sobbed, clinging to him.
Severus didn't understand that she was talking about his promise right before everything went back. He thought she was talking about what he wrote in the letter. But it didn't matter. He held her as tightly as he could manage and murmered the truth. "I.. didn't."
~
gang this was long af and lowkey tragic like ik u said angst but this is highkey ANGST. like even with the happy ending im l ike wow. brutal. anyways. sorry if it sucked LOL.
I love post war Snape and just read your fic ‘I will wait for you’ and ‘After the storm’.
Soooo i have an idea.
Severus survive the war but y/n end up in coma after war. And Severus go to see her in hospital, he reads to her, sits by her for days and prays that she will finally wake up.
Hey!
I hope this makes sense. I am currently running on three coffee's and desperately need something to eat!😂
But I hope you enjoy anyways.❤️
Home To Me
He wasn’t supposed to survive.
That had been the plan—unspoken, but no less certain. Do the job. Play the part. Die before he had to face what came after.
But fate had other ideas. Or maybe it simply forgot to finish what it started.
He woke in a hospital bed with his chest bandaged, lungs aching, and magic flickering faintly beneath his skin like the last coals of a dying fire. It had taken days to stop seeing red when he closed his eyes. Weeks before he could walk without feeling like the floor might disappear.
No visitors. Of course not. What did he expect?
He had taught children for years and most still thought him a monster. He had risked his life for a cause and none of them knew it. No medals. No forgiveness. Just silence, and the scrape of time moving forward without him.
But he hadn’t thought of you.
Not until he heard your name.
A passing mention. A whispered report between two Healers outside his ward.
“…Spell Damage—she’s one of the coma cases. Curse to the head, I think. (Y/L/N), yeah. Still unresponsive. Poor thing.”
The world didn’t stop.
But he did.
Your name kept echoing long after the voices were gone.
(Y/L/N).
It wasn’t a common name. Not someone else. Not coincidence.
It was you.
He pushed himself up too fast. The room spun. His body rebelled. Pain bloomed under his ribs like fire across fragile parchment, but he didn’t stop.
He needed confirmation.
He needed proof.
His feet hit the floor hard, the cold stinging through thin hospital slippers. He grabbed the edge of the bed for balance, but even that wasn’t enough—his legs buckled, knees locking from the strain. He gritted his teeth.
He staggered toward the door, still half-tethered to a monitoring charm and an IV line humming with restorative potion. Something yanked against his arm and tore free with a high-pitched hiss. His pulse raced.
He burst into the corridor, shoulder hitting the frame, robes loose around him, eyes wild.
“Miss—” His voice cracked. He tried again, louder. “Miss (Y/L/N)! Is she—where is she?!”
A nurse spotted him instantly.
“Professor Snape—sir, you can’t—!”
“Where is she?!” His voice was hoarse, barely more than gravel and fury. “I heard you—I heard you say her name. Is she here?”
“Sir, please—you need to—”
“Tell me!” he shouted, loud enough to make two other staff flinch. “Is she here? Is she—is she alive?”
He didn’t realize he was swaying until a pair of hands caught him by the arms. Another nurse appeared at his other side, trying to steady him.
“You’re not well enough to walk, sir, please—”
“Don’t tell me what I can do—is it her?” His voice cracked. He sounded broken. He was.
They exchanged glances.
Finally—finally—one of them nodded. “Yes. She was brought in the night of the battle. She’s stable but… unresponsive. Long-term spell trauma. She’s been in Spell Damage ever since.”
Something in him collapsed then—not physically, not yet—but inside. A breath he hadn’t realized he’d held was released like a wound unbound.
He bent forward slightly, both hands trembling.
“I need to see her,” he whispered.
“And you will,” the nurse said softly. “But not yet. Please. You’ll tear the sutures. You’ve only just—”
“I don’t care.”
“But I am sure she would,” the nurse said gently. “She’s not going anywhere. Let us get you well enough to walk without falling over. Then you can see her.”
He stopped fighting after that.
Not because he agreed.
But because that sentence stole all the strength from his bones.
You would.
Of course you would. You were always maddeningly stubborn about his well-being. You had a way of watching him like no one ever had—with expectation, not pity. Like you believed he could be someone worth worrying about.
The nurse helped him back into bed. He didn’t speak. Didn’t resist. Just let the blankets settle over his lap, heart hammering and lungs aching like he’d been sprinting through a battlefield all over again.
They left him alone after that.
And that’s when it truly hit.
You were alive and breathing and in this very building, maybe only floors away—but you couldn’t hear him, couldn’t see him, couldn’t speak.
He stared at the ceiling, the walls, the dim glow of the enchanted sconces overhead. Minutes blurred into hours. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes—your smile across the staff table, the way you tilted your head when you were trying not to laugh at him, the fierce light in your eyes the day you hexed a Death Eater mid-duel.
He had thought of you often during the war. More than he ever let show. You were one of the few things he allowed himself to hope for—quietly, uselessly. Now that hope curled sharp in his gut like something poisonous.
Because now you were so close… and still completely out of reach.
He turned on his side slowly, gingerly. The movement pulled at the stitches. He didn’t care.
His voice was hoarse, barely audible in the quiet, but he spoke anyway.
“Don’t do this to me.”
It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t anger. Just a whisper into the dark.
He imagined you there. Not the motionless version the Healers described, but you—alive, snarky, warm, full of fire. You would roll your eyes at him right now. You would tell him to stop being dramatic. You’d probably tuck a blanket around him and threaten to hex the nurse who let him fall out of bed.
His throat closed.
“I didn’t get to say goodbye,” he said.
And then, softer:
“I didn’t get to tell you.”
He didn’t say the words. Not yet.
Not when you couldn’t hear them.
So he just repeated your name, once, like a prayer.
And didn’t sleep at all.
The nurse didn’t say much that morning.
She just brought his walking robe, helped him into it with the quiet care of someone who’d seen too many kinds of grief, before guiding him out into the corridor.
The corridors of St. Mungo’s were quieter than he expected.
Maybe the world was still mourning. Maybe he was too far gone to notice the living.
The nurse didn’t rush him. She let him walk slowly, one hand lightly at his elbow, only steadying him when his steps faltered. He didn’t speak. He kept his eyes ahead. Kept breathing.
When they reached the room, she paused outside the door.
“Healer checked on her an hour ago,” she said quietly. “Still stable. No change.”
Her voice was gentle, but distant—like she already knew nothing she could say would matter right now.
“Take your time,” she continued softly. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”
He didn’t respond. Just nodded.
And then she opened the door.
It was colder than he expected. Not in temperature—just… quiet. Too still. A silence that had settled like dust in the corners. Like even the room had forgotten how to wait.
He stood in the doorway for a long time.
One hand still on the frame, as if letting go would drop him into something he wasn’t ready to survive.
Then, slowly, he stepped inside.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
You were there.
Laid out against pristine white sheets that made your skin look too pale by comparison. There were no tubes, no blood, no violent marks. Just stillness.
His eyes locked on your chest, watching—waiting—until he saw it rise.
Slow. Shallow.
But there.
His body moved before his mind did. One foot forward. Then another.
Crossing the room felt like dragging himself through water. Every part of him screamed to reach you, to run, to fall apart—yet all he could do was walk.
Measured. Careful.
As if you might vanish if he stepped too fast.
When he reached the side of the bed, he stopped.
His breath hitched.
You looked like yourself. Peaceful in a way that made him want to scream.
He just looked at you—really looked at you—for the first time since the battle.
The line of your jaw. The curve of your mouth. The faint crease between your brows that never quite smoothed, even in sleep.
You were here.
Alive.
And yet you weren’t with him.
He didn’t realize his hands were shaking until he reached for you. He hesitated—his fingers hovering just above yours.
And then, slowly, he let them fall.
He took your hand.
Not tightly.
Just enough.
Warm.
Real.
His knees buckled. He sat down hard in the chair beside your bed, all the strength draining from him in one terrible, silent rush.
He bowed his head.
Shoulders rigid. Spine curled in. One hand gripping yours, the other clenched white-knuckled in his lap.
No words.
No tears.
Just breath. Sharp. Staggered.
He had been holding himself together for days. For weeks. Since the moment he woke up in that hospital bed and realized the world had gone on without him.
This was the first time he allowed himself to break.
And he did.
Silently.
Utterly.
Sitting at your bedside, forehead nearly brushing the mattress, still holding your hand like it was the only thread keeping him in the world.
He didn’t speak.
But if he had, the words would have been simple.
Don’t leave me.
—
The next morning, he came back.
He dressed slowly. Every movement felt deliberate, like his body didn’t quite trust itself yet. The simple act of pulling on clean robes left his shoulders aching. The mirror above the sink offered a reflection he barely recognized—thinner than he remembered, skin still sallow with recovery, hair too long and unkempt.
But his eyes were clear.
And they were focused.
He didn’t ask for help on the walk this time.
No nurse at his elbow. No guiding hand.
Just slow, careful steps down the corridor, one after another, until the familiar door rose up in front of him like something sacred.
He stood there for a moment, his fingers curled loosely at his side. Not hesitating. Just... adjusting. To the reality that you were still on the other side of that door. Alive. Still breathing.
He pushed it open quietly.
The air inside hadn’t changed. It still carried the faint scent of healing potions and clean linens, but there was something else now too—something almost warm, familiar.
You.
The light from the high windows spilled across your bed, catching on the strands of your hair where they fanned out across the pillow.
He walked to the chair slowly, watching you the whole way.
Still. Just as before.
He lowered himself into the seat with a soft exhale, bracing a hand against the armrest as he settled.
No noise. No dramatic pause.
Just... quiet.
He looked at your face.
Not in the way someone checks for signs of life—he already knew you were breathing—but in that steady, searching way of someone who hadn't allowed themselves to look for too long.
The shadows under your eyes.
The slope of your cheek.
The faint twitch in your fingers—maybe reflex, maybe nothing at all.
His gaze softened without permission.
One hand moved to rest on the bed between you. Not touching yours. Not yet.
He didn’t speak.
But the silence was different now—less like grief, and more like reverence.
He stayed there for what felt like hours.
His fingers traced idle patterns against the hem of the blanket. He leaned forward once, as if to say something—but didn’t. Words still felt dangerous. Too final. Too loud.
So he stayed silent.
He counted your breaths.
Listened to the faint tick of the healing charm tucked beneath your mattress.
Breathed with you.
For the first time since the war, he didn’t feel the weight of the world pressing in on him.
Just the weight of this moment.
Of you.
Of not being alone.
—
He visited again the next Day.
Not out of obligation. Not out of guilt.
He simply couldn’t stay away.
The walk was easier now—less painful, more surefooted. But he still moved slowly, not because he had to… but because part of him feared the moment he reached your door. That something might have changed. That the breath he clung to yesterday might not be there today.
When he entered the room, everything was exactly as he left it.
The light through the window had shifted, softer now, gold where yesterday had been grey.
You were still.
But your chest rose.
And that was enough.
He approached quietly, the familiar ache curling low in his ribs as he neared your bedside.
The chair had not moved. He didn’t even think the nurses cleaned it—perhaps they knew now it was his.
He sat with a soft groan, hands folded in his lap.
There was a new chart at the end of your bed. He didn’t read it. He didn’t need numbers.
He watched you.
The soft lines of your face.
The faint flutter of your lashes, unmoving.
He found, to his surprise, that his shoulders weren’t as tight today. That his hands no longer trembled when he reached to place them near yours.
Not touching. Not today.
But close.
He closed his eyes, just for a moment.
And when he opened them, he whispered your name.
Barely a sound.
More breath than voice.
But it was the first thing he’d spoken since the day he saw you.
And it did not shatter him.
So he said it again.
Once more.
Then leaned back in the chair, arms folded gently, and let the silence settle between you.
Comfortable now.
Like something shared.
By the third morning, the nurses no longer stopped him in the corridor.
They simply nodded when they saw him coming and stepped aside.
He wore real robes this time—not the soft cotton of hospital clothes, but black, proper layers, freshly laundered and a little too stiff from disuse.
It felt strange to wear something like dignity again.
But you deserved that.
He entered the room a little faster than before, his gait no longer uncertain. Still careful, but not frail.
The moment he saw you, his chest loosened.
You hadn’t changed.
Still warm.
Still breathing.
He sat without hesitation.
This time, his fingers reached for yours.
He let them rest lightly over the backs of your knuckles, brushing there with barely-there contact—like a secret he couldn’t quite bring himself to say aloud.
“You’d hate this,” he murmured. “Me, fussing.”
The words surprised him.
He hadn’t meant to speak.
But they didn’t feel wrong.
“You always told me I was too cold,” he added, eyes on your still hand beneath his. “And now look at me. Coming to sit with you like some tragic character in a bloody romance novel.”
A pause.
He swallowed.
“I don’t care.”
He leaned back and closed his eyes.
The warmth of your skin beneath his fingers was answer enough.
—
He didn’t sleep much the night before his release.
Not because of nightmares—those had dulled, faded into a background ache—but because something in him couldn’t stop thinking of tomorrow.
Leaving.
He hated the idea of waking somewhere that wasn’t down the hall from you.
But he’d been cleared. Signed off. Physically sound. No longer a patient.
Just a man.
Just a man with nowhere to be except here.
He came earlier than usual. The nurse on the morning shift blinked in surprise, but said nothing.
Your door opened without resistance.
The chair greeted him like it knew he’d return.
He sat more slowly today.
Not from pain—but to memorize every step of it.
He looked at you longer before speaking.
“I didn’t think I'd make it.”
Then, quieter:
“I didn’t think we’d both make it.”
He touched your hand fully now. Held it between both of his.
It wasn’t just for comfort anymore.
It was for connection.
“I’ll come back,” he said, with more certainty than he had spoken anything in weeks.
He leaned forward, rested his forehead lightly on your hand.
—
He didn’t bring flowers.
You would have teased him for that.
The thought—your voice in his mind, soft and amused—made his chest tighten as he stepped into the room again, slower than usual, as if the space felt heavier now that he returned by choice, not necessity.
You looked the same.
Of course you did.
The stillness hadn’t changed. The pale, too-quiet peace of you lying there. It should have brought him comfort by now, the consistency of it—but it didn’t. It ached more. Because every time he returned, a part of him hoped today would be different.
He crossed the room and sat, fingers folding together over his knees.
He looked at your face for a long time.
That beautiful, infuriating, unforgettable face.
“I never told you,” he said, barely more than a whisper, “how often I listened for your footsteps in the corridor.”
His eyes stayed on you, but something inside him flinched at the truth in the words.
“I’d hear you walking past my office, just... existing. Laughing with Hooch or offering to bring tea to someone. I used to think it was foolish. How much you had to give.” His lips twisted faintly, not quite a smile. “And I kept wondering why you wasted any of it on me.”
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself.
“You never asked for anything. You were just... there. Always. Even when I didn’t deserve it. Especially then.”
His voice broke slightly on the next breath.
“I wanted to tell you once, you know. At the gates. The night before everything went to hell.”
He reached forward, hesitated, then gently brushed a thumb along the back of your hand.
“I saw you standing there. Wand in hand. Determined. Terrified. And I thought... if I don’t come back, I hope you find someone who loves you the way I never learned how to.”
He swallowed hard.
“But then I did come back. And you didn’t.”
His hand curled into yours properly now. Not light. Not cautious.
Anchored.
“I’m trying to be better for you,” he murmured. “Even if you never wake up to see it. I just want to be the man you waited for.”
He lowered his head slightly, forehead nearly brushing your wrist.
And in that soft space between silence and breath, Severus Snape closed his eyes and let himself want.
Not for a miracle.
But for you.
—
The days blurred.
Not because they were empty—but because they were full in ways no one else seemed to understand.
Severus came every day. Without fail.
He no longer needed help walking. No longer hesitated at your door. He simply arrived, as constant as the morning light through the window, robes trailing behind him, a book tucked under one arm, your favorite tea in the other—even though you couldn’t drink it.
Sometimes he’d just sit and talk.
Other days, he’d read.
But always, he stayed.
The hospital room changed around him.
Fresh flowers appeared. The bed linens were swapped out for something softer, something he paid for personally. Your favorite blanket from home lay folded at the foot of your bed, and he made sure it was laid across you each evening before he left.
The nurses stopped seeing him as a visitor.
He became part of the ward.
There were whispers, of course. At first, soft pity—people wondering how long he’d keep it up. But then the days became weeks. The weeks became months.
And Severus was still there.
Not broken anymore. Not waiting for a miracle.
Just… loving you.
The kind of love no one noticed before.
The kind of love that didn’t ask for anything in return.
He read everything.
Classic novels. Potions journals. Your own notes, found among your belongings. His voice was steady, clear, low and rough in the best way. There was something hypnotic about the way he read—as if each word was chosen not from the page, but from somewhere inside him.
Sometimes, when the ward was quiet, nurses paused in the corridor to listen.
They never interrupted.
Just stood there, leaned quietly against the wall, and watched as Severus turned each page with careful fingers, voice soft, one hand always resting gently over yours.
He never noticed.
Or maybe he did—but he didn’t care.
You were the only audience that mattered.
He braided your hair once, when it grew too long and tangled. His fingers were clumsy, awkward, but he took his time. Whispered apologies when he tugged too hard. Smoothed strands back behind your ear like you could feel him.
He trimmed your nails.
Massaged your hands when they grew stiff.
There was a day when he brought a radio and played a sonata he remembered you humming under your breath the winter before the war.
He didn’t say anything as the music played.
He just watched your face, his thumb stroking slowly across your knuckles.
The nurses found reasons to pass by more often on those days.
Just to get a glimpse of the silent love.
—
He turned the corner toward your room, just as he always did.
Same time. Same slow gait. Same breath held in his chest like it might hold back the worst.
But this time, something was off.
He noticed it instantly—the cluster of nurses standing outside your door. Not passing by. Not tending to charts. Just standing.
Whispering.
Their faces unreadable.
His steps faltered.
Panic didn’t hit all at once—it crawled up his spine slowly, tightening everything in its path.
He stopped several feet away.
They hadn’t seen him yet. They were angled toward the door, heads bowed together in hushed conversation. Not laughing. Not smiling. Just… murmuring.
And the door to your room was closed.
It was never closed.
His heart began to hammer, sharp and rhythmic like a warning spell. He could hear his pulse in his ears, feel it at his throat.
Something had happened.
He forced himself forward, jaw clenched tight, his limbs cold despite the warmth of the hall. One of the nurses turned and noticed him at last.
Her expression didn’t shift into panic.
But it didn’t calm him either.
“Professor,” she greeted gently, voice too smooth. Too careful.
He stared at her. At all of them. “What’s going on?”
The others looked back at the door, then at him.
“Just… go see,” the nurse said. “You should look for yourself.”
No explanation.
No comfort.
Nothing to hold onto.
He could barely feel his legs as he moved to the door. His hand shook when he reached for the handle.
He didn’t know what he expected—he never let himself imagine outcomes. Not anymore.
But dread bloomed in his chest like poison.
He opened the door.
And froze.
There were Healers inside. Three of them. Standing close to the bed, their backs blocking his view.
Their voices were low, clinical.
He stepped inside, but not fully—his feet rooted to the floor like his body was trying to shield itself.
His voice was hoarse when he spoke. “What’s happening?”
The Healers turned toward him, slowly, and there—there—was something in their faces he didn’t recognize at first.
Not grief.
Not apology.
Something else.
One of them gave a faint smile.
Then they stepped aside.
And there you were.
Sitting up in bed.
Your hair limp and tangled around your shoulders, your eyes half-lidded with exhaustion and confusion, skin pale against the blankets.
But you were looking at him.
Awake.
Here.
Something inside Severus fractured.
All the careful control he’d built in these months—the poise, the silence, the patience—it shattered.
His breath caught, ragged and sharp.
He staggered forward before he realized he’d moved.
His knees hit the floor beside your bed with a hollow sound, hands gripping the blanket, because he didn’t trust himself to touch you yet.
You blinked slowly, brows drawing in.
Your voice was hoarse, raw from disuse. “…Severus?”
He choked on the sound of it.
His name, from your lips.
He bowed his head against the mattress, shoulders beginning to shake—quiet at first, just the trembling of breath that refused to steady.
Then he broke.
All the love he hadn’t said. All the fear he had buried. All the prayers he hadn’t dared speak aloud. It poured out in silence and in tremors, in the way he clutched the edge of the blanket like it might disappear, in the way he leaned in closer—finally, blessedly closer.
You tried to lift your hand, slow and shaky, and when your fingers brushed through his hair, it undid him.
He turned his face into your palm and wept—not violently, not loudly.
Just honestly.
You weren’t sure what you expected when you opened your eyes.
But you didn’t expect to see him.
Not like this.
On his knees beside your bed, face buried in the blankets, shoulders trembling with the weight of something he’d kept buried too long.
And it wasn’t just shock that struck you. It was the sheer force of him. How utterly broken he looked in that moment. Not composed. Not cutting. Not distant.
Just Severus. Undone.
Your fingers had barely brushed his hair, but it was enough.
Enough to make him lean into your palm like a man who’d been starving for the feel of you.
The Healers still stood at the edge of the room, their presence suddenly too loud, too much.
They exchanged a look.
Then, without a word, they stepped out and closed the door behind them.
Silence fell like a blanket, thick and heavy, save for the quiet, stuttering rhythm of Severus’s breath where he knelt beside you.
You swallowed, your voice thin and shaky.
“…Severus.”
He lifted his head.
His face was damp, his eyes red—but open. Unhidden.
For a long moment, he couldn’t speak. He just looked at you, as if he couldn’t believe you were real.
You offered a trembling smile. “You don’t have to cry, you know…”
His mouth moved like he wanted to argue. But the breath he let out was shaky—half a laugh, half a sob.
You shifted slightly under the sheets, weak but steady, your fingers brushing against his jaw.
He turned into the touch instinctively, his own hand rising to catch yours—press it against his face like something sacred.
“I thought I lost you,” he whispered, voice low and wrecked. “Every day I came here—I watched you breathe, but you were gone. You were right there, and I couldn’t reach you.”
His hand tightened around yours, not enough to hurt—just enough to feel.
“And I kept thinking… what if this is all that’s left of us? What if I never hear your voice again? What if I never get the chance to tell you that—” His voice cracked.
He dropped his head, forehead pressing to your hand.
“…that I love you.”
You froze.
The room felt impossibly still.
His voice was hoarse, barely audible. “I loved you before the war. Before everything fell apart. I just never told you. I thought there would be time. And then there wasn’t.”
You could feel his breath against your wrist. Warm. Shaky. Honest.
“I would have stayed like that forever,” he whispered. “Reading to you. Sitting beside you. If that was the only way I could have you… I would’ve done it until I died.”
Your heart ached.
He raised his eyes again—so open, so unbearably vulnerable.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner,” he breathed.
You let your eyes close against the weight of his truth.
And when you opened them again, there was only him.
“I love you too,” you whispered.
He stilled.
Completely.
You felt his fingers tense just slightly around yours—like he needed to anchor himself in the moment.
You swallowed again, voice softer now. “I didn’t know how to say it, not with everything falling apart around us. I kept telling myself I’d tell you after the war. When it was safe. When we were both still breathing.”
Your voice trembled on the last word.
He opened his mouth, but no sound came.
So you pressed on.
Your fingers found his again, weak but certain.
“I thought about you… all the time. Before the battle. During. Even when it all started to go black.” Your voice cracked slightly, but you didn’t stop. “I kept thinking—I didn’t get the chance. To tell you.”
A soft, breathless laugh escaped your chest, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “Seems like we’re both terribly good at not saying things.”
Severus made a small sound—something like agreement, something like grief—and ducked his head slightly, his thumb brushing the back of your hand.
And then you laughed—soft, wet, helpless. “But of course you had to beat me to it, didn’t you?”
He lifted his gaze, eyes shining with something that looked almost like disbelief.
“I didn’t think I’d get the chance to hear it,” he said quietly.
You gave him a faint smile, exhausted but full of something brighter.
“You didn’t think I’d let you out-confess me, did you?”
And for the first time in what felt like years, he laughed.
Truly laughed.
Low and shaky, but real.
He didn’t move at first.
But you could feel it.
The ache in his silence.
The thousand words he was holding back now that he finally had something to lose again.
You gave his hand the faintest squeeze. “Severus.”
That was all it took.
He stood slowly, fingers never leaving yours, and leaned over the bed—not looming, not rushing—just a man closing the final inches between two hearts that had waited far too long.
You lifted your hand to his face, fingers brushing along the sharp edge of his jaw.
He leaned into the touch like it was air after drowning.
His eyes searched yours, still uncertain, still trembling with the weight of everything he hadn’t allowed himself to hope.
“May I…?” he whispered.
You didn’t need to ask what he meant.
You nodded once.
And then he kissed you.
Not with urgency.
Not with hunger.
But with a reverence so profound it made your breath catch before your lips even met.
His mouth was warm and careful against yours, trembling just slightly—like he was still half-afraid you’d disappear if he held you too tightly. You kissed him back with all the strength you could manage, your fingers curling in the collar of his robes as if to anchor him there, in this moment, where nothing else mattered.
It wasn’t perfect.
It was hesitant. A little uneven. Breathless.
But it was real.
And after everything… it was perfect.
When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again. You could feel the way he exhaled—slow, shaky, full of a kind of peace you hadn’t felt since before the war.
“I missed you,” he murmured, voice barely a sound. “Every version of you. Even the one who never answered.”
Your heart cracked open and mended at once.
You reached for him, tugging weakly at his robes.
He understood.
Without hesitation, he eased himself onto the bed beside you—slow, careful, his body curling around yours like a shield. His arms slid around your waist, tentative but grounding. He held you like you were precious, not breakable. Like something sacred returned to him after being lost too long.
You tucked your face into the hollow of his throat.
He pressed his lips to your temple.
And for the first time in months, both of you fell asleep listening to the other breathe.
A/N: {i made you guys wait MONTHS for this and i'm still getting comments about a part two so here u go xox}
18+ minors dni
rating/tags: explicit, smut, soft smut, gentledomfem!reader, sub!snape, snapes first time, praise, lil bit of aftercare shown, insecurity, lil angst, sev is touch starved af
song: please, please, please let me get what i want by the smiths
PART ONE
MASTERLIST
It had been weeks since Severus... Indulged.
In those weeks, he couldn't bear to even spare the Herbology professor a passing glance. Not in the hallways between classes, not at the professors table. Nowhere in the Castle or hell, nowhere on God's green Earth, would Severus look that woman in the eye ever again.
He pretended not to notice the way she'd begun to look at him with concern, or even worse, with disapointment, as the weeks progressed. But hidden deep down, he knew she was confused and hurt by his sudden change in behaviour.
But why wouldn't she be hurt? They had gone from conversing nearly every single day, something Severus had done with no one, to not talking at all. Not only that but he had even been brushing her off, blatantly ignoring her. She used to bring him small gifts, offerings almost; and he would invite her into his office under the guise of strictly professional meetings. Brew her tea out of politeness, surely nothing more. But lately, he had been sending her away at the door. Closing it in her face. Shutting her out.
But the truth was, he just couldn't look at her.
Severus spent that night the same he had for the past several weeks, alone in his office, buried in papers, trying desperetly to ignore the storm of feelings brewing inside him.
However, a knock sounded at the door.
Peeking through his long, black hair with repressed hope, he spoke: "Enter."
When she entered, Severus didn't know whether to feel relieved or annoyed.
There she was, in that damnable shade of yellow that for reasons unknown to him had begun to plague his dreams. Standing almost nervously, she closed the door behind her and stepped only a few feet forward into his office.
"Good evening, Severus." The way she spoke was soft, timid but somehow assured at the same time.
Severus gaze dropped back down to his papers, as if he could even focus on them with her standing right there.
"How can I help you, Professor." He spoke, voice cold.
The silence that followed was defeaning. Only the gentle bubbling from various cauldrons across the office filled the room.
"I came to apologize."
It was then that Severus looked at her, really looked at her. She was fidgeting with her fingers, holding them in front of that yellow dress, looking at him with a truly apologetic expression. Her eyes, which he had grown so accustomed to looking up at him brightly, now looked tired and sad, staring across at him from the stiff room.
Severus stared at her for a minute, as if commiting every detail of her face to memory as remedy for what had occured.
She took that as her cue to speak, "Severus. I think I upset you, a few weeks ago. I was trying to be kind.. And when I called you a friend, I meant it-"
Severus looked away. She stepped closer.
"But I didn't mean to upset you. And Severus, frankly, I don't regret it. I do consider you my-"
"Stop," Severus murmered, his gaze cast on the papers in front of him.
"Friend. You are my friend. And I'm sorry that upsets you for some reason. I'm sorry the idea of being friends with me is so horrible that you can't find it in yourself to speak to me for weeks-"
"Stop." Severus murmered, a little firmer this time, his gaze remaining unmoved.
"No you shut up and listen." She snapped.
And shut the fuck up he did.
Severus head snapped up, staring at her in plain disbelief. She raised her voice. Actually raised her voice.
Why isn't he furious? Why isn't he yelling back? Why are his pants tig-
She stepped forward, the look on her face both pained and frustrated. "Severus. You are my friend. You might very well be my best friend. And I know that you might not even like me very much, but I happen to like you. So why can't you just tell me what about me is so intolerable that you push me away so hard after I call you a friend?" She spoke, her voice lower now, but still firm.
Severus hesitated, opened his mouth, closed it again.
What could he say?
But she only continued to look at him with that expectant expression on her face. She wanted an explanation he couldn't give her. But he was backed into a corner, for the first time in years, no control in his hands. No power. Just... her.
He swallowed, spoke lowly: "You are not intolerable..."
She blinked, now even more confused.
He sighed, reluctantly realising he must elaborate, "Only you are."
When he met her gaze again, he watched as her expression shifted, changing from confused to... understanding?
She blinked, stepped forward again, closer to the desk where he sat. Her eyes widened, lips parted, then closed again.
And then she said possibly the worst thing she could have: "You're frightened."
Severus clenched his jaw, stood up from his chair at once, now towering over her.
Control. He needed control. "I am not a coward."
Something shifted in her again, a dangerous glint in her eyes as she stepped forward, now directly in front of the desk across from him. For a moment, Severus considered backing up, then immediately scolded himself.
She whispered: "You aren't?"
Severus clenched his jaw, straightening his back. "You know I am not."
Her head cocked as she rounded the table, walking closer to him. Without even comprehending it, he slowly began moving back, the action unknown to him until the back of his head hit the wall.
She looked up at him, smirking almost, only inches away from him now. Like a predator toying with its meal, she gazed at him with wicked amusement.
"Severus," she started, almost teasingly.
His breath hitched.
"Severus, did I ever tell you, how proud I am of you for that that Polyjuice potion you brewed a few weeks ago?
His stomach flipped, cheeks flushing crimson without his permission. Severus opened his mouth, but she spoke again.
"That must have been... truly difficult. Really. I heard those potions take weeks. But you did, so well. In fact, no one can do it as good as you can." The smirk on her face was growing now as she stepped impossibly closer.
Breathe. He couldn't. Breathe.
How. Do. I. Breathe.
He didn't realise he was practically panting until he felt his own breath against her lips. She looked up at him, having to crane her neck to do so. "Is that it, Severus?" She whispered. "Is it my friendship that scares you so much? Or is it my praise?
He stopped breathing.
Her lips grazed his, whispered: "Or is it my touch?
At the same time, her fingertips began to trail up his arm, her touch feather light. At this, Severus found his breath, gasping slightly, looking down at her with his mask completely fallen. For the first time in his life, Severus allowed himself to be completely powerless at the hands of another. While others had controlled his entire life, Dumbledore, Voldemort, this was different. This was... welcome.
He allowed her to put her hands on his chest. He allowed her to back her up against the wall even further. He allowed her to crash her lips against his own.
The sound that came from his lips as they met hers was practically a whimper. He felt his face flush and the growing smirk on her own lips as they continued their kiss.
Her movements, the way her fingers tangled in his hair, the way she bit and flicked her tongue against his. She was as hungry as he was. Starved.
Panting, she pulled away and looked up at the mess he had become. His pale skin flushed, hair a mess, chest rising and falling rapidly as his lips parted, searching and failing to find the words.
She whispered, finding them for him. "Do you want this, Severus."
He stuttered, "t-this?"
Her lips grazed his neck and his legs buckled. "Me. Severus do you want me?"
She pulled back then, searching his eyes for any sign of hesitance or reject. Instead, she found only desire and the fear of it. The understanding that the fear, the cowardice, he'd exhibited had only been derived out of desire.
Severus nodded, murmered, surprising himself with how steady his voice sounded "I do."
She smiled softly, hummed as if the answer had pleased her greatly. "Sit," She murmered against his ear.
Severus found himself obeying quicker than he'd like to admit. His hands found the seat of his arm chair as he sat down, using all his strength not to shake as he did so.
She stood directly in front of him, her long fingers working at the buttons of her yellow dress, un-doing them.
He swallowed.
"Severus Snape," She murmered, continuing with her buttons, "Potions master. Veteran of the first Wizarding War. Looked straight into the eyes of Voldemort and lied to him. And who am I?" She paused with her buttons, looking up at him, "The newest Herbology professor? Half your age? A foot shorter than you? Do I frighten you, Professor."
His breath hitched as she slid the dress off, standing before him in only her undergarments, a black bra and panties. It shocked him, the image of both her near naked body and the colour of her underwear. Of what was really hiding underneath that insufferable colour of yellow. Even in those fantasies, the ones with his hands deep in his trousers, even then he didn't come close to picturing... this.
Her fingers reached back, unclasped the bra and it fell to the floor at his feet. His eyes wide, glued in place, he couldn't look away if the Dark Lord himself cast the imperiatus curse.
"Professor," She murmered, "Do I frighten you."
"Yes," The words fell from his lips in a shaky breath.
She fell to her knees, looking up at him with her hands on his thighs.
"But you're being so brave, Severus. Aren't you?" She murmered, placing a small kiss on his knee.
He gasped, nearly jolted, hands gripping the armrest so tight his knuckled turned white.
I'm dreaming. I'm dreaming. I'm hallucinating. Maybe I'm dead. Maybe I actually died and this is heaven and at some great mistake I'm here instead of down-
There.
She kissed up his thigh, relising in each gasp as she did.
Severus panted, looked down at her as her hands found the buckle of his belt.
"W-wait," he said suddenly, voice shaky.
She stopped her movements immediately, looking up at him.
He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "If you.. do that... I won't... I can't.."
She spoke softly, "You won't last?"
He swallowed what remained of his pride, met her dark gaze. "Yes."
He expected her to laugh, or maybe to be annoyed, frustrated. Instead she nodded, still holding that soft look on her face as she stood again, looking down at him in the chair.
"I'll last long enough for the both of us then." She said softly, dipping her fingers into her panties and pullling them down to her ankles, kicking them to the side.
Severus could have died right then and there. His eyes widened, jaw weak, as he looked at her, fully naked before him.
Softly, she spoke again, "Have you ever touched a woman?"
He swallowed, shook his head.
"Would you like to?"
He nodded.
She took his hands then, saying nothing of the slight tremor of them and placed them gently on her hips. Whispered, "There... Just like that. That's it."
His breath hitched. She was so much, softer, warmer, than he'd imagined. Even through the callosus on his fingers, he could feel how soft she was. Like a balm on aching skin..
He looked up at her, suddenly very aware his hands were on her and unmoving, yet unsure of what to do.
Her smile was gentle. "There you go. Touch whereever you'd like Severus."
Severus eyes raked over her naked body, commiting it to memory in case he really were about to wake up. He'd dreamt of this how many times, been tortured by the idea of it. But with his hands, physically, on her.... He wanted to touch everywhere.
He began to move them, hesitantly, gentle touching her as though she might break under the weight of his fingertips. When his hands found her breasts, her lips parted, his own breath hitching as though he was recieving her pleasure.
She watched, gaze soft, as he began to hesitantly caress and feel her. When his thumb traced over her nipple she sighed softly, causing Severus's breath to immediately hitch.
His gaze alternating between her breasts and her face, Severus allowed his hands to move on their own accord, trailing down her rib cage. His fingers ghosted over each bone, patiently tracing each bone. They continued, moving down her stomach, past her navel, to her hips.
"Do you want my help?" In any other scenario Severus would have scoffed, maybe even snapped. An offensive, degrading question.
But the word that fell from his lips was "Yes."
So she did. Gently, she took his right hand and guided it between her legs.
Severus gasped softly, staring at his hand where it met her, unmoving.
"Explore, Severus," She murmered, "It's alright."
He swallowed, allowing his fingers to tentatively brush against her wet folds.
She's so.. Warm.
He racked his brain, trying desperately to remember his school days. He'd been tortured nightly by hearing all about Lucius conquests, late at night in the dorms. He tried to remember what he'd said.. How he'd pleasured them..
I never thought I'd wish I'd paid more attention to Lucius sex tales.
He remembered one thing though. Trailing up his middle finger, he carefully pressed it against the apex of her core, at the very top. She gasped, and his head snapped up to her face.
"Are you hurt?" He whispered, stomach dropping.
She smiled, laughed breathlessly. "No, Severus. That felt good."
Oh.
Oh.
He looked back down at her, carefully, unsurely, began to move his middle finger in soft circles on her clit.
She gasped, gripped her shoulder, balencing herself on him and he nearly bit back a moan.
She was gasping for him. Moaning for him. He was bringing her pleasure, he was-
"So good..." She moaned, tilting her head back, "Fuck Severus... That feels so good..."
He exhaled shakily, picking up the pace just a little bit and watching her reaction as her hips bucked slightly forward. With that, he pressed his finger a little harder.
The sound that left her lips couldn't have been compared to any of his dreams.
She moaned, panting, grinding slightly against his hand while he worked her until she suddenly stopped and looked down at him, flushed.
"Switch places with me." She said.
Severus began to move before he asked why. Kneeling down before her now as she sat in the chair, he looked up, finding his face eye level with her dripping cunt.
"Do you want to taste me?" She whispered, reaching down to trail one of her hands through his black strands of hair.
He could have came right then and there but he closed his eyes, steadying himself until he felt ready enough to look up at her, at which point he nodded.
He pushed her legs gently to the side as if frightened he might hurt her. Inching forward, he looked up at her.
"Kiss up my thighs first," she whispered, "tease me a little."
Severus obeyed, leaving gentle, soft kisses on her inner thigh. Fuck. It was the first time he'd ever kissed a womans body. And he was on his knees. His bloody knees. In his office. For a woman half his age.
Still, he kissed gently, sucking softly and licking up her thigh. He wasn't exactly sure where this sudden knowledge or confidence was coming from. It was as though he was running on autopilot, straight instinct.
He stopped just in front of it, looked up at her through his eyelashes and found she was breathing just as heavily as he was. She nodded.
With that, Severus gave a small lick, breath hitching as she gasped and gripped the armrests beside his head. Again. A small lick.
The groan that left his throat surprised even him.
She tasted... Addictive.
Something inside him snapped and he attatched himself to her, licking and sucking messily at her. He wasn't sure what he was doing, other than to focus on that same particular spot from before that seemed to make her gasp, and that certainly seemed to do the trick.
She arched her back, gasping as her fingers tangled in his hair.
"Severus," She moaned. It took all of his will to focus, continuing to eat her out feverishly despite the painful strain in his trousers. He wanted to reach down and palm himself right there, but stopped out of fear of this finishing too early.
He flicked his tongue across that spot again. Her back arched. Again, she moaned his name.
Again. Again. Again.
Studying her responses, her gasps, her body like he was studying for the most important exam of his life. He panted against her, his grip on her thighs tightening as he continued flicking his tongue in that way.
She tossed her head back in pleasure and Severus watched every moment of it as she squirmed and panted. Her face contorted in bliss, she panted out his name.
"Severus fuck... That feels so fucking good..."
He moaned, dipped his tongue into her entrance and moaned as she did.
"Yes.." She panted, "You're doing so well... Just like that.. Fuck you make me feel so good."
Severus felt dizzy as he began flicking his tongue again, alternating between long and small strokes, trying to best decipher which she liked the best.
When he found her body jerking more at the quick, rough licks, he licked his way back up to that particular spot and began doing so in quick, rapid succession.
A moan tore from her lips, the loudest one yet as she gripped his hair. Severus whimpered, latching onto her, sucking and flicking his tongue across her desperately.
Her thighs began to shake around his head, her breath coming in quick pants.
Was she...
"Close," She moaned. "Fuck Severus, you're going to make me cum."
He moaned, nodded against her, continued with even more urgency.
He needed it. Needed to make her feel good, for her to cum. For her to cum on his tongue. Needed to taste it. How her release felt when it was him who was drawing it out of her. He needed the satisfaction, the pride.
He gripped her thighs a little tighter, hummed.
She gripped a fistful of his hair even tighter as she grinded against his face, desperately chasing her release.
"Severus fuck.... Like that, like that... Don't stop.."
He would never stop. He could stay here like this all day if she wanted him to. If she kept saying those words to him, kept making those sounds.
She whimpered and shook, and Severus didn't need to know much about sex to know she was cumming. He continued lapping at her until she was done shaking and whimpering, until her breath began to come out in slower pants. Only then did he pull away, chin and lips glistening as he looked up at her with clouded eyes.
She panted, catching her breath and released his hair from her grip.
"Fuck.." She gasped. "Fast learner."
He smirked ever so slightly, almost pridefully, his grip lessening on her thighs as he absent mindedly tracing small circles over her hips and thighs.
"That was," he started, "you're... you're beautiful."
She smiled, still panting, as she tiled his chin up to look at her as she stood.
"Get in the chair." She murmered.
And once again, Severus found himself complying.
When he was in the seat, his hands found the armests as she stood between his legs. Her hands made quick work of his zipper, undoing it and pulling his pants down only slightly.
Severus's breath hitched. Suddenly self concious of everything. He didn't expect this... What if she didn't like the look of him? What if she was disgusted? Worse, what if she laughed?
He watched, frozen, as the corners of her lips didn't turn up into a smirk as she pulled him out. Instead, her tongue darted across her lips, exhaling heavily as she held him in her hand.
"You're beautiful," She murmered.
Severus felt dizzy. Her hand, she was touching him. Touching him. There. Calling him beautiful. There was no malice in her voice, no surpressed laughter, no mocking tone. Only honesty... And need.
He looked up at her, almost vulnerably, his breath coming in quick pants as she stroked him. Her hand was smaller than his, softer, warmer. If she kept up with this... he wouldn't last.
As if she knew, she straddled him, hips hovering just above his. With a gentle hum, she tucked his sweaty hair behind his ear. "Do you want this?" She whispered.
Severus could have said no. He could have shook his head and he sensed she would respect it. But he also knew he couldn't... Wouldn't forgive himself he denied himself any more pleasure. Especially from her.
With a shaky breath, he whispered: "Please."
A soft smile and a gentle kiss on his forehead, she sunk down slowly on him.
The gasp that flew from Severus's mouth shocked them both. His hands flew to her waist, holding her in place when she had sunk down on his entire length.
Holy. Shit.
She was warm. And wet. And tight. And beautiful.
He was breathing even heavier now, his fingers digging into her hips as he maintained eye contact. For once, when he looked at her, for the first time in weeks, he let his guard fully down. Perhaps that was the first time he'd done that in his life, allowed someone to truly look into his eyes and find some truth behind them.
She held his gaze gently, as though she were holding something delicate, sacred. "Severus," She whispered, "It's okay. You're okay."
That seemed to break something in him, he swallowed, nearly whimpered. "Please..." He whispered.
She didn't make him say anything more. She knew what he needed. Her hips began to move, gently, slowly at first; rising up and down in slow, fluid motions.
Severus's legs shook, his breath hitched.
Merlin. He could die now and be perfectly happy.
Then, she moaned softly. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his neck, planting soft, gentle kisses as she continued to ride him.
It was too much. Her kissing, her moans... The feel of her hands in his hair and rubbing his back... The feel of her tightening around him.
He panted, his own hands gripping impossibly tighter on her hips as she began to move faster, bucking her hips against his.
The moan that flew from his mouth was obscene. Loud, deep. He moaned her first name, saying it out loud for the first time with a desperate edge to it he was too far gone to be embarassed about.
It only seemed to spur her on. Moving faster now, she bounced on him, kissing his neck, whispering in his ear. "Fuck Severus, you're so big," She murmered, "Feels so good."
He panted, eyes squeezed shut. Any sembelence, any last ounce of control fled him as he allowed his eyes to flutter shut, his head leaning back against the chair as she rode with a fierce intensity.
"You're so handsome like this Severus... All needy for me," She whispered, her breath hot against his neck as she panted.
His hips jerked, rising impatiently to meet hers as shame completely abandoned him. "Pl-please... I.. I can't.."
She hummed against him, not slowing down. "I know baby. Do I feel good?"
The nickname alone could have made him cum. He nodded desperately, his hands shaking against her hips, head thrown back in shamless pleasure. "T-too good... I.."
"Shhh," She murmered, grinding against him even faster, "I've got you baby. Let go for me."
If he was thinking clearly, he might have considered pulling out. Or in the very least asking where he should cum. But in that moment, sweaty and dazed, her naked body on top of him, riding and praising him.. His mind only echoed her name.
Shaking, he tilted his head foreward, resting it against her shoulder as if he needed the support. The tightening in his lower abdomen grew and with small, quick whimpers, he came into her, his hips jerking and stuttering.
She hummed, panting as she slowed down, kissing up his neck to his cheek.
For what felt like an eternity, Severus stayed completely still, leaned against her, catching his breath. He felt as though he were floating. Half out of his body, half in it. As though he were in a dream. No potion could brew this. No spell could conjure it. Only her.
She kissed his cheek one last time before rising off him. He hissed in sensitivity as she slowly got off, tucked him gently into his boxers, leaving his pants unzipped.
Severus panted. The absence of her touch seemed to jolt him from the daze and he suddenly became very aware of what they had done, what he had allowed himself to do.
He couldn't bring himself to look at her.
"I'm sorry," He panted, the words sounding weak, "I'm sorry-"
He wanted to continue, but she tilted his chin up and forced his gaze back on her. On her face there was no disgust. No regret. Only a gentle expression he couldn't quite place.
And then she kissed him.
It wasn't like earlier. Not a hungry, passionate, needy kiss. It was soft, gentle, careful. Her lips grazed his delicately before she pulled back and met his widened eyes.
"That was incredible," She whispered.
His stomach flipped again but he remained still.
She straddled him again, though once again in a completely different nature. Her weight resting gently on him as she wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
Severus blinked. Blinked again. He didn't realise he was crying until he felt the tears against her hair as she hugged him.
For awhile, they sat there in silence. She rubbed his back, rubbing in small circles and playing with his hair. She kissed his cheek and assured him that she enjoyed it, asking him if he did as well.
He did. He so did. And he didn't fully understand why he was so overwhelmed, so emotional. But so much was happening all at once. He'd had sex for the first time with the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, pleasure, lust.... love.... These feelings were foreign to him. Believed for so long to be out of his reach.
And all of a sudden they were all in his hands.
They stayed like that for awhile. Her hands gently massaging as she whispered assurances in his ear. When she finally pulled back, she looked at his glossy eyes and smiled softly.
"Can you stop avoiding me now, please?" She said, smirking.
He exhaled shakily, nodded. For a moment he looked at her and then felt a small smile tugging against the corner of his lips. He allowed it.
"I will.. Try." He spoke at last.
She kissed his forehead again, whispered against it. "Thank you."
Severus sighed again, melted in to her touch and her whispers. For once... Maybe he could allow himself the liberty of pleasure. Maybe he could get used to the feeling of her. He wasn't sure that after tonight he could ever go back to an existence without her touch. If he had gone his life without it, perhaps he could've. But to have had it and to lose it again...
"Stay," Severus whispered. "Please."
The look in her eyes when he met her gaze was soft. She nodded, trailing her fingers up and down his arms as she spoke, "I'm staying."
~
gang im gonna be completely honest i wrote this at about 1 am, high as a kite after watching deathly hollows pt 2 and crying at snapes death. i barely edited this thing. so if it sucks im sorry but everyone in my inbox is begging for sub snape and i am a listener LOL.
anyways. i missed u. have sub snape being a mess for a pretty lady. me too.
Severus is a man of little words. From childhood into adulthood, he spoke as few words as possible; his true thoughts, feelings, guarded behind closed lips.
When he does speak, it is with a deliberate tone that gives you the feeling he planned every sylable before it left his lips. Like he had weaved them together in between strands of silk before whispering them against your skin, so as your neck would feel only the softest of him; even when he was anything but.
Nights.
In the dark of your shared room. The candles flickering, shadows dancing sporadically with the incessant tap-tap-tap of the rain on the window pane.
The world outside of the two of you is so loud.
But so quietly did he talk you through it. Slowly. Each enunciation of each syllable as deliberate as each motion of his body; calculating how to draw more from you.
Tracing his words with his fingers across your skin as if he was narrating to you every second in those brief, but still too agonizingly slow, moments he pulled apart form you, only to thrust in deeper.
Always somehow deeper. Deeper into your mind in the occasion he'd slip in, deduce what you needed most, then give it to you. Deeper into your body as he pulled more from you than you knew you could give.
The sounds that left your mouth were anything but little. No intention behind the whimpers and whines that flew from your lips faster than you could filter them. No deliberacy, no rhythm, no rhyme.
And he drank in the sight of you beneath him, watching you with darkened eyes as you writhed and whined for him.
For a man of little words, he knew how to speak prose through your lips.
~
la fin.
im sleep deprived and touch starved can u guys tell be honest.
im slowly slowly slowly getting around to the pile of 60+ requests in my inbox, so in the mean time have dis :). maybe you'll find something to add to ur playlist xo
undressed by sombr - literally says "i dont want the children of another man to have the eyes of the girl i wont forget" and SOMBR HIMSELF LITERALLY LIKED TIKTOKS SAYING SNAPE IK THIS IS U FESS UP
we hug now by sydney rose - confirmed to be about a friendship breakup, about dreaming you could go back but its not possible because you fell out and shes mad at u :(
fable by gigi perez - ive been searching for a very specific niche edit on tiktok of him for this song and i cant find it so atp i need to learn to edit and make it myself. like the lines "thoughts and prayers was all they'd do" with dumbledore agreeing to hide them, and "when i lifted her urn" with the scene of him holding lily and then "divinity says destiny cant be earned or returned" with the scene of trelawney talking about the prophecy, then "i feel when i question" with him telling dumbledore he doesnt want to do this anymore, "my skin starts to burn" the dark mark, "love was the law and religion was taught" with kid sev and then adult sev as death eater like i cant. why am i allergic to happiness. did that even make any sense.
do i wanna know, but specifically hoziers cover - self explanatory
would you fall in love with me again by jorge rivera-herrans - he owns this song. the absolute song of yearners and patient lovers. the song of utter loyalty and devotion. its his, gang.
experience by ludovico einaudi - this song sounds like a doe frolicking through the woods, with like a dark storm in the background. i actually can not describe the sheer feelings i get from this song. no lyrics. but its just so him.
his land by paris paloma - something about the melody being sombr and feeling like a forest after rain, with the lyrics about secrescism, mystery. i dont understand wtf this song is talking about tbh but i love it and its him.
back to the old house by the smiths - "and you never knew, how much i really loved you, because i never really told you" um what the fuck okay sev when did you join a band
Heyyyy I love the way you write snape!! if it’s not too much to ask what do you think his red flag hcs would be?
oh boy.
my man is full of red flags. too bad im blind.
romantically
obsessive. i mean this is canon. one girl was nice to him like once and he was never normal about it again. also if he finds out you had a past partner, that will never be let go. he wouldnt talk about it to you but somehow he would learn everything about that person.
jealous. i dont mean cute jealous. i mean borderline, sometimes toxic jealous. where have you been? why was he talking to you? how do you know him?
noisy. wants to literally study you like a book. he has to know everything about you. EVERYTHING. to the point where its like okay… chill
horrible communication. i think overtime he might get better at this but in the beginning, during his first relationship, he bottles everything up. to the point he overthinks and lets it become bigger than it was bc deep down he is scared if he brings it up you will leave.
overthinking. he wont admit it but hes def terribly insecure. overthinks everything especially in the beginning. do they even like me? do they still like me? can i trust them?
trust issues. sometimes doubts your loyalty. i think there will always be a part of him deep down that doesn’t believe you truly love him, or you wouldn’t leave for someone better
for funsies
forgets to eat. probably a poverty thing from growing up dirt poor but i imagine as an adult he’d literally forget to eat all day until their partner is like why are your hands shaky
eats porridge. enough said.
sleeps fully clothed.
likes the winter. like genuinely. ICKKKK.
music snob for SUREEE
very opinionated and thinks he is right all the time. even tho he usually is but whatever
would you write a snape x reader fic based off sailor song by Gigi Perez?
it can be fluffy, smutty whatever :)
I sleep so I can see you, because I hate to wait so long
a/n: I'm sorry this turned out sad!! The lyric that stuck out to me in that song was the title of the fic 😭😭 but I truly do love this song and hope I did it justice!
Severus Snape was no stranger to loss. It was a companion he knew well, a specter that haunted every step of his life. He had told himself that no pain could surpass what he had already endured.
And then, he lost you.
The illness came without warning, as swift and unrelenting as a curse. You, with your boundless warmth, your quiet humor, your unshakable patience—you were gone before he could grasp the enormity of it. He hadn’t even been there.
By the time he’d returned to Hogwarts, your absence was a weight that pressed against every stone in the castle. Your quarters had been cleared, your personal belongings sent away to family. The chair you always occupied at the staff table sat empty, and he hated how quickly everyone else adjusted to the void you left behind.
The students whispered about him more than usual. “He looks worse than ever.” “Didn’t he and Professor Y/L/N…?” He ignored them, but their words lingered.
You had been the one bright thing in his world of shadows. He had tried to push you away when you first arrived at Hogwarts as a new professor, but you refused to be intimidated. Somehow, you had seen through his sharp words and icy demeanor, and slowly, without him even realizing it, you had made yourself indispensable to him.
Now you were gone, and Severus was drowning in a grief he couldn’t escape.
The first dream came a week after your death.
He had fallen asleep at his desk in the dungeons, surrounded by empty goblets and half-finished potions he’d abandoned in frustration. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in his office anymore.
He was in the Astronomy Tower, the stars glittering overhead. And you were there.
You stood at the edge of the parapet, your nightgown swaying gently in the breeze, your face turned toward the night sky. The sight of you struck him like a physical blow. He froze, unable to breathe, afraid that if he moved, you would vanish.
But then you turned, and your eyes met his.
“Severus,” you said, your voice soft and familiar.
It broke him.
He crossed the space between you in a few long strides, his hands trembling as he reached for you. When his fingers brushed against yours, he gasped. You felt real—warm, solid. He hadn’t realized how desperately he had missed the simple touch of your hand.
“This isn’t possible,” he whispered, his voice rough.
You smiled, and it was the same smile he had seen a thousand times in life, the one that had softened the sharp edges of his world. “Does it matter?”
He wanted to argue, to question how this could be, but the warmth of your hand in his silenced him. For the first time in days, the suffocating weight on his chest lifted.
The dream ended too soon. One moment, you were there, your voice soothing him in a way nothing else could, and the next, he was awake, alone in the cold silence of his quarters.
But that dream was the beginning.
Night after night, you came to him. He never knew where he would find you—sometimes in the library, where you sat surrounded by stacks of books; sometimes in the Great Hall, where the candles floated overhead in an eternal twilight. Each time, you greeted him with the same warmth, as though no time had passed.
He told himself it wasn’t real, that it was only his grief manifesting in his subconscious. But it didn’t matter. When he was with you, the world felt whole again.
One night, as you sat together in the staff room, he broke the silence.
“I sleep so I can see you,” he confessed, his voice low and raw. “Because I hate to wait so long.”
You tilted your head, studying him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. “You don’t have to wait, Severus. I’m always here.”
He shook his head, his hands tightening into fists. “Not in the way I need you to be.”
You reached out, your fingers brushing against his. “I know it’s not enough,” you said gently. “But it’s all we have now.”
The pain in your voice mirrored his own, and for the first time, he realized that this was hard for you, too.
But as the dreams continued, something began to change. You felt further away, as though you were slipping through his fingers like sand. The conversations grew shorter, your voice quieter, your form more distant.
One night, he found you in the courtyard, standing beneath the shadow of the castle. The moonlight bathed you in a silvery glow, and for a moment, you looked like a ghost.
“Why are you leaving me?” he demanded, his voice cracking.
You turned to him, and the sadness in your eyes cut deeper than any curse. “I’m not leaving you,” you said. “But you need to stop holding on so tightly. It’s hurting you.”
“How can I let go?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re all I have.”
You stepped closer, placing a hand over his heart. “I’m here,” you said softly. “I always will be. But you have to let yourself live, Severus. Promise me you’ll try.”
He wanted to argue, to beg you to stay, but the warmth of your hand over his chest stilled him. He closed his eyes, committing the feel of your touch to memory.
When he opened them, you were gone.
The dreams became less frequent after that. Some nights, he would wake and reach for you, only to find the cold, empty space beside him. The grief still lingered, but it no longer consumed him.
One night, as he sat in his quarters, staring into the flickering light of the fire, he heard your voice in his mind, clear and certain.
“I’ll be waiting for you.”
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in months, he felt a flicker of peace. He didn’t know what lay beyond this life, but he believed, somehow, that you would be there.
Until then, he would carry on. For you.
And when the nights grew too long, he would close his eyes and find you again.
