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[lazysundaytales]

Lunch- Part 2

Part 1 can be found here

Another dreaded lunch meeting. At least he’d realised their tactics and had quite a big snack beforehand. He would also have the pleasure of seeing Charlotte, and it always was a pleasure.

She did not find his rambling annoying, and she was always more than happy to go with him to try a new restaurant or cafe. Indeed, since she’d been sick over 3 months ago now, they’d spent the majority of their weekends together traipsing the country in search of deliciousness.

As soon as he entered the boardroom his eyes scanned the room. Not for food, but for her. And there she was, talking to another client, no doubt. He’d discovered Charlotte could talk to anyone about anything.

But his happiness turned suddenly sour in his stomach when the man she sat with reached out and touched her knee, squeezing it before he withdrew. Then he said something low to her, and she wrote something down.

Charlotte had given him her phone number.

No, she wouldn’t. Because that was Sinclairs.

Which struck him suddenly as completely ridiculous. She could give her phone number to whoever she wished because it was hers. Except what if he called at lunch time? What if he wanted to take her out on the weekend? What if he went to her home to help her with things, and he was actually good at it instead of making things worse as Sinclair invariably did?

“Mr Bryant?” And there she was suddenly, standing in front of him with a worried half smile.

He was still standing in the doorway. And she had spoken his name formally. Of course she had. It was a work meeting.

“Sinclair?” She repeated in a whisper.

He blinked, realising others were looking at him now, too.

He gave a faint smile and muttered something about the commute, which was met with polite laughter from everyone but Charlotte who still looked at him with concern even as he sat down.

“I appreciate you all coming at such short notice. By way of compensation, Charlotte suggested we provide some lunch.”

Charlotte beamed at Sinclair. There was an assortment of sandwiches but there, in front of the seat he always took wa roll. One of her homemade ones.

Her smile slowly faded when Sinclair didn’t immediately reach for it and instead left it there untouched for the whole hour long meeting.

He’d made it outside the building by the time Charlotte managed to get away.

“Sinclair!”

He stopped. Only because he was programmed the stop when people called his name.

Charlotte came to a breathless stop before him and put her cool hand on his forehead, then moved it to his cheek. “Are you sick?”

Before he could even offer a response, she was hugging him tightly. “Are you sick, or has someone upset you? You didn't eat. Was it Natalie? If she has emailed you for money again, I am going to go and…fight her. I am!”

“It wasn’t Natalie.” Sinclair offered glumly.

She pulled back, just a little, just so she could see his face. When he didn’t meet her eye, she offered “will you come over? After work? I will make you dinner.”

“I think I’d prefer to eat at home.”

“Ok. Call me with the address and I will cook there!”

It wasn’t what he’d meant, but was why, several hours later, she was pottering around his kitchen barefoot making him dinner as though she belonged there.

Sinclair was quiet.

It unnerved Charlotte and she found herself even more chatty than usual to make up for the silence.

He ate, not with his usual gusto, but at least she had managed to fill him up.

Then, she put on a documentary for him, one she had found about pairing food and wine. He watched it in silence as she watched him.

“…Sinclair?”

“Mm?”

“…perhaps I could give you a hug?”

It wasn’t a hug, not really. It was more of a cuddle. She was pressed into his side resting heavily against him with her arms wrapped around his torso.

Her future husband wouldn’t like this.

His traitorous mind suddenly asked ‘does she have a brother?’

Sinclair shifted uncomfortably, and since usually this was a sign he’d eaten far too much, Charlotte rubbed his stomach.

“I hope you’re not too full for dessert. I’ve made a mini version of the cake I want to make you for your birthday.”

Despite his desire to wallow in his misery, he felt his spirits lifting. “You’re going to make me a birthday cake?”

“Of course i am.” She smiled.

It was the best cake he’d ever had. And there would be an even bigger one for his birthday! “Every year I hold a party and everyone I know comes. There’s food, wine, music. One year, I even had the circus come. They were in town anyway, so I went and basically begged for them to send the clowns to my house. Everyone loved it. This year, I thought perhaps a big picnic. Everyone loves a picnic, don’t they? With finger foods. We can watch the boats. Perhaps I can organise some boat rides. And your cake can be the centre of attention. We can put a table up in the hall so that when people come through they’ll be able to see it.”

“Will they be allowed to eat it?”

“…it’s my birthday cake…”

Charlotte laughed and rubbed his stomach again. “I will make two, and you can have the biggest and most delicious one.”

“You’ll come, of course. You can wear my favourite dress, the one you wore when we went to Whitby to try the fish and chips.”

“Are you sure it wouldn’t be too distracting, Sinclair? You did get sauce all down your shirt.” She laughed.

“I’ll endeavour to stare less at the dress and more at any sauce covered food.” He promised. “And then once everyone is gone, you will stay, won’t you? It’s beautiful here in the morning when the sun is coming up, and there is a market only a stroll away on a Sunday morning. You love markets.”

“I would stay even if there wasn’t a market and even if it was hideous here on a Sunday morning.” She promised.

A though suddenly attacked Sinclair's happiness. “Will you bring someone? You can, of course, if you’d like.”

She thought.

Perhaps she wondered if it would be ok to bring her boyfriend.

“Could I ask my mum? She would love to meet you. I talk so much about you that she has been asking to meet you for weeks.”

Many men would be nervous about meeting a mother, but not Sinclair. Mothers loved him.

“Of course. You could invite your friends, too. Invite anyone you like.”

…

His generosity always got him in trouble. His own birthday and he had been forced to sit on the picnic blanket next to Charlottes boyfriend.

It had been a moment of pride when Charlotte chose to sit on his blanket instead, but as others napped, or ate, or went on a boat ride, the pair of them chatted while Sinclair wallowed.

Sinclair was wondering if he might prefer to go and spend his birthday alone instead when Charlotte lay back suddenly and rested her head in his lap, pulling her sun hat a little lower to shield her eyes before she reached for Sinclair's hand and held it between her own on her chest. “The sun always makes me sleepy.”

He stared down at her, not even noticing when her boyfriend got up and walked towards the water for his boat ride.

Charlotte was resting against him, even though her boyfriend was sitting right beside them! He shouldn’t like if his girlfriend did it, so surely this man wouldn’t like it either.

Perhaps they thought him gay! Natalie always said people thought he was.

And he supposed he’d given Charlotte no reason to think he wasn’t. All they did was talk about food.

“Sinclair?” She asks suddenly, tilting her hat back again to look at him worriedly. “You’re awfully quiet. Everyone else has gone down to the water and you are sitting on a picnic rug full of food but not eating a thing!”

“I think, perhaps, I ate too much cake earlier in my excitement.”

She seemed pleased with this answer and kissed the hand that she held. “I hope you like your other present just as much.”

“You got me another present?! That’s utterly unnecessary. I don’t need for anything and I’d much rather you spend your money buying something that makes you happy.”

“Oh, I didn’t spent anything on this present, and I’m not sure if it’s something you need, but I do believe it is something you want.”

His curiosity was piqued. “Something I want that is free. Is it free for everyone?”

“There is a version for everyone that’s free, I should think, but this is very personal to you. It’s bespoke.”

“Bespoke yet free?”

Charlotte nodded, looking up at him as his mind tried to puzzle through.

“…have you got it here now?”

“I do.”

“So it’s not large. Does it fit in your pockets?” He reached down to pat her pockets and she laughed, sitting up beside him with her feet tucked below her.

Sinclair frowned, looking around and looking Charlotte over. “…I give up. I must have it this instant. I need to-“

His mind went utterly, entirely blank.

No thought passed his mind.

His constant internal chatter ceased.

Charlotte kissed him. Not just a peck on the cheek or on the lips, but a passionate kiss, with her hands on his cheeks.

And then.

“I’ve fallen in love with you.” She whispered against his lips nervously.

He kissed her back, because he would not be able to get a word out past the lump in his throat.

He kissed her with an urgency, as though she could change her mind at any moment.

In fact, he kissed her for so long it was only when a thoroughly indecent moan passed her lips that he realised they were prone on the picnic blanket and he was pressed against her, a hand on her thigh.

He sat back, mortified and aroused in equal measures.

He wanted to apologise, or indeed to say anything at all, but nothing would come out.

Suddenly Charlotte was sitting up beside him, adjusting her dress as others began to walk back towards them.

Then she kissed his shoulder. “It’s ok. I know you feel the same.”

He nodded his head vigorously but could still not utter a single word.

A moment later her sunhat went to his lap as she jumped up to help his housekeeper with the food she brought over, because he always over-catered.

Sinclair went to stand and help, but then realised why her sunhat had come to rest on him and not the picnic rug.

He was aroused.

Obviously so.

Weepingly so.

That had not been the case with Natalie. Not ever. Even before everything, he had never reacted like this to a kiss, no matter how long or how passionate.

When he looked towards Charlotte he saw the flush on her cheeks, and the realisation that she felt it too was like an even better birthday present. She had not come with a boyfriend. If anyone at this picnic was her boyfriend, it was him!

By the time the more formal party was happening that evening, to which Charlotte's mother was invited, Sinclair had managed to ask his burning question.

“Am I your boyfriend?” He asked, having followed Charlotte to the guest room in which she intended to change for the evening.

“Would you like to be?” She asked. But unlike Natalie, she didn’t wait for him to answer so she could hold it over him. She couldn’t say you wanted to be my boyfriend. She said “I would like you to be. I rather feel like you are already.”

So Sinclair put his heart on the line, too. “I can think of nothing else I’d rather be. Except perhaps Star patron of your cafe.”

Charlotte laughed at this, as she always laughed at his jokes. Jokes Natalie would not have even bothered to respond to.

Natalie disappeared from his mind when Charlotte kissed him again.

He was determined not to embarrass himself again, and yet he did. His arousal was plain as day when they separated, both of them breathless.

He wanted to apologise, to explain, though he wasn’t sure what explanation he could give, but charlotte smiled as she looked down and then put a hand to his chest to push him out of the room. “I need to change and be ready for when my mother gets here.”

“Are you still staying the night?” Sinclair would have begged if it was necessary.

“Yes, please.” She smiled back and closed the door.

Sinclair leaned his forehead on the door and sighed happily.

…

As predicted, Charlotte's mother loved Sinclair. They bonded over food, over cars, over music. He even invited her on a drive into the country the next weekend, asking Charlotte only a moment later when she cleared her throat pointedly, which sent mother and daughter into a mess of giggles.

Sinclair might even have been upset about old friends and new leaving before midnight if he wasn’t so preoccupied with something else. Someone else.

But now the fire was crackling, the air was warm and smelled of cinnamon, Sinclair's favourite, and Charlotte was sitting on his lap as they kissed again.

Her legs were either side of his, and when she felt his growing arousal again, she knew just what to do. It was going to happen, sooner or later, and she knew Sinclair would be utterly mortified and apologise non-stop, so she simply made sure it happened to her, too.

Every time Charlotte's hips moved she would gasp against Sinclair’s lips and the fingers that were laced through his hair would grip a little tighter for a moment.

When his hips began bucking involuntarily in response, she began gasping his name in response, and soon her lips had left his and face was buried against his neck, both of their hips moving, uncoordinated but heavenly.

Her undoing was her dress finally riding up over her thighs. Sinclair had been trying to keep his hands at a respectable spot on her back, but when he felt the dress moving, freeing her legs to open just a little wider, he couldn’t help but lower his hands to grab her bum.

The extra pressure pushing her against him was too much, or perhaps just enough.

A cry of his name sounded loud in a room that had only been filled with breathless moans and whispers for the last half an hour.

Sinclair was powerless but to follow her, grunting against her neck as he probably ruined his favourite pair of pants.

There was complete silence for minutes. Unheard of for the pair of them, together or apart. No one would believe it had happened, but indeed neither of them would tell a soul, anyway.

Charlotte finally pulled away just a little, her cheeks flushed, as she looked at the wet patch between them. “..oops.”

Sinclair stared for a moment and then began to laugh delightedly. Perhaps he had finally met his match.

[lazysundaytales]

I have so many unfinished fics that I can’t decide what to finish, so I keep starting new ones and then realise I’ve already partially written something similar, so I leave that one unfinished, too.

Please comment or send a DM with what you’d like me to finish. Either a character, or a word I can search for, or even a genre. I’ve got unfinished Frank Benson, Severus Snape, Colonel Brandon, Sinclair Bryant, or Lionel Shabander.

[lazysundaytales]

Sinclair Bryant! Puppy in human form. Wrote this in half an hour and haven’t checked it, so apologies. Feels like the beginning of a series? Let me know what you think, and where you want it to go.

Lunch

Sinclair was unsure who would call something a lunch meeting and then not provide any sustenance. There had only been a plate of biscuits on the board room table, but when he went to reach for his fifth the woman across from him raised an eyebrow and he was forced to draw his hand away and instead spend the rest of the meeting gazing at them longingly.

Now he had hardly any time to get back to work for another meeting and therefore would probably soon die of starvation before the end of the day. All because someone used the word ‘lunch’ in a meeting name. If he were the boss, he would do away with that word altogether and instead call it a midday meal. No one could call a ‘midday meal meeting’ without actually providing anything to line peoples stomachs!

“Mr Bryant!”

He closed his eyes for the briefest of moments. Whoever it was, whatever they wanted, it meant less time for him to find anything at all to eat. He would probably now have to make do with something as hideous as a vending machine snack.

“Mr Bryant.” The woman stopped before him slightly breathlessly but with a smile. He recognised her from the meeting, but couldn’t recall a name or her position in the company, probably because he had been too focused on his stomach than the room.

“Yes?” Was all his hunger raddled brain could provide. Time is ticking, Sinclair! The more time you stand here like a starved animal staring, the less time there will be to even eat the horrific vending machine snack. Wait. She’s saying something about lunch.

“He thinks it sharpens the brain. Anyway, incase you don’t have time to get anything else.”

And there it was, a wrapped roll filled with everything holy, and she held it out like an angel straight from heaven.

“It’s nothing fancy.”

He finally broke from his stupor. “It is utter perfection, whatever the filling. You’ve read my mind.”

She smiled, pleased.

He, too, was pleased, because now he had a proper lunch in hand and he happened to glimpse a name badge on her. Charlotte.

“Thank you, Charlotte. This is very much appreciated.”

“You’re welcome, Mr Bryant.”

“Please, call me Sinclair. And I shall call you my lunch angel!”

It was hard to eat and smile at the same time, but he did it to the last bite of that delicious cheese and salad roll. The roll was crisp on the outside and soft in the middle, and the cheese was sharp and bitey but the salad was crisp and fresh. Perhaps what heaven might taste like if one could bite it.

Or perhaps Sinclair had just been very, very hungry.

Whatever the reason, after his final meeting of the day he searched the archives for an employee at the other company and then dialled a phone number.

“Walter and Russet, Charlotte speaking.”

“I must know where you got that sandwich.”

She gave a delighted laugh. “I’m afraid it is impossible for you to acquire one yourself. I made it at home.”

“You made it?”

“Even the bread. I’m taking classes. Though I confess I did not make the cheese.”

Sinclair found himself both disappointed and very interested. “I’ve never considered there might be classes for such things.”

“I only manage to go once a month. That roll has taken me 6 months to perfect.”

“And perfect it was. Perhaps you are wasted as a…”

She smiled, aware that Sinclair obviously hadn’t been listening in the meeting earlier.

“Well, you found out my phone number, Sinclair Bryant. Perhaps you should find that out, too.”

…

Sinclair soon discovered that Charlotte made her food fresh almost every day, and soon it became such a habit to call her every lunch time to see what she had that he even noted it in his diary. ‘C for lunch.’

Until one day he called and someone else answered. He managed to ascertain not only that Charlotte was unwell, but that she would not be there all week.

That simply would not do.

…

The house was a little way out of the city and much like he’d imagined. There was the smell of a wood fire burning, and a cat sat curled up on a window seat watching him curiously.

He almost talked himself out of knocking on the door, but he kept imagining Charlotte that first day racing out after him with food, clearly having considered the stomach of a man she barely knew.

When she opened the door she looked confused, and Sinclair worried he’d done the wrong thing.

“I called and you weren’t there. Obviously. And your replacement told me you were unwell. I found your address by a process of elimination in the council directory. I’ve brought soup, and some medicine. I didn’t know exactly what sort of sick you were, so there is an assortment. And the soup is not homemade. I did consider it, but I didn’t want to make you-“ He paused as she stepped forward and interrupted his ramblings by simply hugging him, her face pressed to his chest. “Sicker.”

Inside was also like he’d imagined. There were signs of hobbies everywhere, and the whole place was so brightly coloured, completely at odds with the black suit he’d seen her in. And he realised now that they’d only met that once, and here he was in her house!

He placed the warmed soup in front of her, and she beamed tiredly up at him. “You can stay, if you like. But I understand if you’d rather not risk getting sick.”

He stayed, only for the length of a movie he barely watched, instead studying her bookshelves.

When he said he’d see her tomorrow as though it was entirely normal for him to be coming the next day as well, she hugged him again. This time his hands were free to hug her back.

He hadn’t hugged anyone since Natalie, and even then she was always awkward to hug, all angles. Charlotte seems to melt into him like she had always been there.

“Can I do anything before I go?” He finally asked, when the hug had gone on so long a lump of emotion formed in his throat that he couldn’t swallow.

Charlotte shook her head and then kissed his cheek.

…

He could hardly cross out ‘c for lunch’ when he had written it so neatly in pen, so the next day he called her home number instead.

“Sinclair?” Answered a hoarse voice.

“How did you know it was me?”

“It’s lunch time.” She replied simply. She was just sitting down to another bowl of the soup he brought, and sat curled up on the couch listening to him talking about his day so far.

“Sorry, I’m rambling.” He finally apologised.

She gave a soft snore.

He was a mixture of pleased and offended that he’d talked her to sleep.

…

When Charlotte woke up, she had an odd feeling that someone was in her house.

She opened one eye, then the other, and then stared at the array of food on the table.

Sinclair Bryant was sitting beside her munching happily on a plate of food, his eyes trained to the documentary on the TV.

She looked back at the food, then back at the blonde, then at her front door. Then, she simply closed her eyes and went back to sleep.

When she woke again, there was light outside. She had slept the whole night and half of yesterday! And her clothes were all sweaty, and Sinclair had been and must have seen her like that! She was absolutely mortified.

Then that mortification turned to shock as Sinclair entered the room barefoot, his suit jacket discarded and his tie loosened.

“Sleeping beauty awakes! I should go or I’ll be late, but I’ve made you porridge and a cup of tea, and if you’re still hungry there is the Indian in the fridge from last night. I always feel like Indian spices make me feel better when I’m unwell.” He set the porridge in front of her. “I think your fever has broken, so you should be feeling a little better, I hope.”

Charlotte expected to be terrified that a man she barely knew had apparently stayed over all night when she was effectively unconscious, but she found it nothing but endearing. “Thank you, Sinclair.”

“No need to thank me. You’d do it for me if I needed it.”

She ate her porridge as he readied himself for work, then watched him as he attempted to pat the cat and then gave up after one too many swipes of the paw.

“You’ll be late.” Charlotte reminded him croakily.

“…perhaps you’d like a hug before I go?”

He looked ridiculously hopeful, like some sort of puppy hoping for a treat.

And when she opened her arms he rushed at her like a puppy, too, cuddling her close as if she was supposed to be there.

…

Sinclair showed up every day, often with arms laden with things he’d suddenly worried she’d need.

By Sunday she was feeling like her usual self, but he insisted she not push herself and instead took her for a drive in the countryside “for the fresh air!” And, it turned out, for the most delicious high tea she had ever had.

“You could make this. Probably better.” Sinclair had declared confidently. “If you had a cafe, it would be the only place I would ever eat. Will you have coffee, too, do you think?”

“At my hypothetical cafe, Sinclair? I don’t think you need coffee, anyway. I would make you something calming and disguise it as coffee.”

She had meant it as a joke, but his face fell. “Am I being too much? I am, aren’t I. I’ve bothered you all week, and now I’m taking up your weekend, too, and all I do is talk.”

“Sinclair, I’ve felt terrible all week and it’s been one of the happiest weeks of my life because I felt so cared for.”

“…are you sure?” He didn’t look convinced.

“I swear it on that last cream cake.”

Sinclair looked at the tea cake critically, but finally declared “I still believe you would make a better one.”

[lazysundaytales]

Hi. First of all I need to tell you that I love how you writing.I keep coming back to your blog and reading the Severus fanfiction over and over again. And I have request if you don’t mind 🥺 I'm in the mood to read something sad but with a happy ending. I have this idea in my head that Severus and Reader are going through a crisis. They have kids and lately they just haven't been able to communicate with each other, always angry to each other.

Babies on the brain

Unsurprisingly, there was only one person he’d ever met who had never argued with Severus Snape, and it wasn’t for lack of trying on his part.

Y/N was a vixen. He thought they’d clash when she arrived, but it was actually the complete opposite. She agreed with everything he said. If she didn’t agree, she would simply agree to his face and do what she wanted to do anyway. If he confronted her afterwards, she’d simply shrug, smile, and point out it had gone well anyway.

It was during one of these occasions, when he was telling her off and she was completely unbothered, that they shared their first kiss. Well, she kissed him. He went completely still and completely silent.

She smiled. “Good. I’ve discovered a way to shut you up!”

Severus was still opening and closing his mouth trying to think of a reply when she walked away.

She also instigated their second kiss, hidden behind a curtain at a quidditch match. Slytherin won, and she congratulated him with a kiss.

He still couldn’t think of anything to say.

The third time, he was ready. He kissed her back. He kissed her until her body relaxed. When he stepped back, she was breathless and resting against the windowsill with starry eyes.

“Good. Now I’ve found a way to shut you up.” He walked away smugly.

Their whole relationship was built on this one upmanship, which ultimately she won by giving birth to a daughter he loved more than he ever thought himself capable.

…

“I’ve shattered one of your potion vials. On purpose.” Severus Snape’s wife announced as she entered his classroom, empty but for the man who was frowning at some parchment.

He sighed with irritation and immediately stood up to go and check his storeroom. “Why?”

“I just felt like it.”

There were no broken vials anywhere, and he could see nothing out of place.

He’d been cornered.

Again.

He turned around to find his wife smiling, her back pressed against the closed door. He gave a long suffering sigh. “I’m busy.”

“Me too.”

“You aren’t behaving as though you’re busy with anything but mischief.” He replied as he reached for the door handle.

“I’m busy trying to lure you with my feminine wiles.” She responded as her fingers brushed lightly against his trousers.

He was irritated with himself that his body responded to her with a twitch. “No.”

“Just once? Come on, Professor Snape. I want to feel you inside me.”

He blew air from his nose. “I don’t know why you think I’m not aware you’re ovulating. We are not having another child. I’ve given you my answer.”

She lifted hands to rub his chest. “But remember how cute our babies are? Just one more.”

“I also remember that it was almost impossible for me to walk down the corridor whilst holding them because of the hoards of female students cooing like demented birds. No.”

“I’m getting older. This might be our last chance.” She reminded him, toying with the button on his trousers.

“You’re only feeling this way because both our daughters will be in school next year.” He grumbled. “Once you’ve got over the change you will be fine. And glad of the fact you can sleep in.” He reached for the door handle again.

“But Sevvyyy.” She moaned.

“I hate when you call me that and you know it.” He replied sharply, though his hand left the doorhandle and he suddenly spun her around so she was bent over the preparation table.

She wriggled her bum and looked hopefully over her shoulder at him as he pulled her skirt up and pushed her underwear aside to use his fingers on her.

“How long have you been planning this little ambush?” He asked as she moaned and pressed back into his hand.

“Since breakfast.”

“I’ve given you my answer.” He replied as he unbuttoned his trousers.

“Please, Sev. I want you. Don’t you want to fill me up?”

“Yes.” He replied simply, before voicing a protection spell as he entered her.

…

“That wasn’t fair.” Y/N grumbled as they headed towards the great hall for dinner a while later, Severus forced to hold onto her waist as her legs still trembled.

“You started it. I’ve given you my answer.”

She huffed, but still kissed him before he let go of her to enter the hall alone, as he did every meal since a student had spotted him smiling at his wife once and it had caused months of fodder for the romantics amongst the students.

When their youngest greeted him with a hug, Y/N sighed, rubbing her middle. It felt almost like a need to have a firm bump there again that would grow into a tiny human who would think their father hung the moon and the stars.

“Get a grip.” She muttered to herself as she followed Severus’ strides into the hall.

…

That night when Severus got into bed, he looked pointedly at his wife and then placed a pillow between them.

She silently turned it into a bassinet.

He turned it into a clown, making her squeak and jump out of the bed.

“I said No.” He reminded her as he rid the bed of the clown.

“Fine.” She grumbled, though insisted on getting into his side of the bed lest the clown reappear.

….

There was no more discussion about it by either of them until Y/N walked into the infirmary a couple of weeks later looking pale.

Poppy immediately ushered her to a bed.

“I feel so nauseous. It hit me all of a sudden when I was on a moving staircase, and I think I may have vomited on a first year.”

“It’s probably a stomach bug. There’s one going around. I’ll advise Minerva to have your classes covered for a day or two, and I’ll give you something for the nausea.” She turned, then something made her hesitate and turn back. “Unless you’re pregnant. Because we have both witnessed what potions did to you then.”

“Over Severus’ dead body.” Y/N grumbled, taking a deep breath as nausea washed over her again.

…

They had just begun a staff meeting when Poppy rushed into the room. “Professor Snape, you’re needed.”

“Why?” He enquired as he stood up, already pulling his wand out as he followed her.

“Your wife.”

His pace quickened. “Is she unwell?”

“I thought she had the stomach bug and gave her the potion you made up of the other cases, and-“ she opened the door to the infirmary. It was in total disarray, papers and instruments flying everywhere, and in the middle a thunderous tornado formed.

Y/ns magic had always been volatile, but during pregnancy it had been particularly bad, and when a potion was added to the mix it was practically uncontrollable.

“She can’t be.”

“She said the same. I would run a diagnostic test but I can’t even get in the room. Once she started to get the feeling of her magic sparking, she began to panic, and the storm began.”

“But it’s simply not possible, we’ve used protection.” He yelled over the sound.

“I don’t think that is the pressing issue right now!” Poppy yelled as the door was sucked off its hinges into the tornado.

Severus stormed into the room, wand raised, and headed to the bed in the corner where his wife sat with knees drawn to her chest.

“I can’t stop it!”

“Yes, you can! Take a deep breath. You know how to do this.”

It took twenty minutes of encouragement before there was only a faint breeze on the room, though it looked like a bomb site.

“I don’t understand..” she repeated.

“I told you no. Repeatedly.”

“And we have used protection every time! I’m not about to trap you into it, Severus, but thank you for thinking so highly of me.” As the wind picked up again and Poppy gave Severus a pointed look, he reached out a hand to squeeze Y/Ns.

“I know. I just don’t understand how it could have happened.” A sudden, horrible, thought filled Severus’ mind, of a recent professor who she spent a lot of time with.

As he opened his mouth, his wife saw the flash of jealousy on his face and said through gritted teeth “do not even suggest it Snape.”

…

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked that evening when Severus entered their chambers and removed his teaching robes.

“Someone else is taking detention.”

“I don’t care who is taking detention. You think you are welcome here after what you suggested?”

Severus rubbed his throbbing temple. A headache had been forming all afternoon as he clenched and unclenched his jaw. “You are the one who is carrying an unwilling persons child. Perhaps you should-“

He got cut off by her throwing her teacup at him, though thankfully he was quick enough with his want to send it hurtling towards the wall. “I have told you that i do not know how this happened! Yes, I wanted another child, but you think I am the sort of person to lie to make it happen?!”

“Then whose is it?!”

Y/N shoved him, hard and repeatedly, until he was forced to step into the hallway, and then she slammed the door in his face.

….

He watched all the men with suspicion, particularly the new professor.

With little sleep and a lot of stress, Snape snapped the next morning when the man walked in and asked where Y/N was.

A moment later the man found himself pressed against the wall with a wand at his throat.

“Why are you asking questions about my wife?!”

“I just wanted to know where she is! She’s usually here earlier than everyone.” The professor squeaked, looking towards the headmistress.

“Severus.” She put a hand on his arm. “Whatever is going on, now is not the time.”

“So there is something going on.” Severus pressed his wand harder until the man began to turn red.

“Severus Snape, let go of that man this instant!” A voice suddenly yelled.

He did, if only because he’d never heard his wife raise her voice like that before.

“You infuriate me.” She glared at her husband and then turned on her heel to leave the room.

This continued for a week, and that whole week Severus was forced to sleep elsewhere, meaning he barely slept at all.

The Snape children could feel the tension in their home, but could not work out what it was over. Their parents fought often, but always made up easily, and now they weren’t arguing, they were just not talking.

When they all showed up for their usual Sunday family dinner, their mother stayed the whole night on her own seat, and was not up and down, occasionally sitting on her husband’s lap, and there were no lingering touches or small shared smiles.

There was simply silence.

…

She could not sleep at night. Not one wink. It was getting to the point she was falling asleep in her classroom during class.

She knew exactly what would fix it, but she refused to go to him. She had never given him reason to think she would cheat on him, and she had never lied to him, not about anything so important as a child. How could he think either of those things about her? But still she worried. Because how else could it have happened? The spell he used was foolproof.

She scanned her memory repeatedly, but there was nothing, and that worried her.

…

“Severus.” Poppy strode into the staffroom.

He pretended he hadn’t been asleep. “What?”

“I need you to brew a memoria potion.”

“For whom? That is expensive and can take days.”

“Your wife.”

Severus lifted his eyes, frowning in confusion.

“She is fearful that someone has forced her to…lay with them.”

“That is ridiculous!”

“Is it? If it wasn’t you, and she swears she has not been with anyone, how else does a pregnancy happen, Severus? Please, brew the potion.”

Severus stared after her, a sour feeling in his stomach.

…

It was ridiculous to be frightened when, if something had happened, she had no memory of it. Still, she was jumpy, and she sloshed her hot tea onto herself when someone entered the staffroom that evening and broke the silence she had been wallowing in.

She drew in a sharp breath when the hot liquid went through to her skin, and quickly pulled the fabric away in surprise, but it was needless because the fabric was already dry and cool again.

She looked up to see Severus returning his wand to his sleeve. “…thank you.”

He nodded.

Then he sat.

Not beside her, as he used to, but closer than he had in days.

She studied his profile, and had just whispered his name when other stuff began to shuffle in.

When she went to stand up to move from him lest he cause more drama than he already had, his hand shot out and rested on hers, and he briefly tightened his grip so she wouldn’t go.

They stayed in the room long after everyone had left, his hand still on hers.

She refused to be the one to say anything.

Finally, Severus said quietly “I’m sorry.”

“That’s not good enough. Have you considered how stressful this has been to me without your input? For the first time in my life I am genuinely scared, and the person who always promised to keep me safe is nowhere to be seen.”

“I’m sorry.” he repeated, his hand trying to tighten around hers, but she pulled it away. “…I’m brewing the potion for poppy.”

She nodded, standing up. “…she is going to check if the baby is healthy first. Tomorrow morning at 10. You may come if you wish.”

Severus knew this was as much as he’d get and nodded. “I will be there.”

…

He arrived breathlessly at 10.02am, furious that a student had held him up in the hallway.

Both Poppy and his wife were sitting there in absolute silence, Y/Ns hand on her middle. Dread filled his stomach and he could not bring himself to speak.

It was Poppy who broke the silence. “I don’t believe we will need the potion, Professor.”

Why could he not read the expression on his wife’s face?! “You’ve remembered?”

She nodded her head without looking at him.

“Prof…Severus. She’s almost 7 months along.”

Severus’ heart dropped. He knew exactly what had happened 7 months ago, and this whole time he had been blaming his wife when it was entirely his fault.

The leavers ball. She’d looked utterly breathtaking. He had drunk some punch.

He had bundled her into one of the freezing cold store cupboards off the walkway. “I need you.”

“You’ll have to wait.” She’d giggled. “But perhaps I can give you something to think about in the mean time.” She sunk to her knees and took him into her mouth. She’d taken him right to edge…and then left him there. The grin on her face told him she had one upped him. Again.

She’d made it precisely 2 doorways up before he held her again. He’d had her on the rough surface of one of Hagrids woodwork tables that wobbled dangerously.

No spell.

No protection.

Because he had been impatient, tipsy, and thinking with his cock.

“…she doesn’t look…”

“Y/N has been small for both her pregnancies. It’s not unheard of not to show.”

Severus sat slowly down beside, guilt washing over him in waves now.

“I’ll leave you two for a moment.” Poppy decided wisely, drawing the curtain around them as she went.

“…no wonder you had babies on the brain.” Severus attempted. He’d never been good at using humour, and now his wife only sighed.

It was only when he placed his hand gently on her middle that she looked at him.

“…I’m sorry. I know it’s not enough, but believe me I am.”

“You don’t want another child.”

“I worried about having another child. That’s not the same as not wanting. And I am still worried. But I will still love this baby as much as I love our other children.”

Y/N let out a breath as though she’d been holding it for weeks. Perhaps she had. “You e been worried the whole time I’ve known you, Severus. Worried to have the girls. Worried about not having the girls. Worried about being a father, worried about being a husband. You always worry you are not enough but every single time you are, and you worry that something will go wrong, but every time it has we get through it. Together. This will be the same.”

He looked up at her face for a long time, his warm hand heavy on her middle.

…

Severus spent a long time trying to make up for what he’d done, what he had assumed. He tried opening up more, trying to explain himself.

And his beautiful, loving, vixen of a wife finally seemed to accept his apology.

However, the peace did not last long.

6 weeks later on a Sunday he was walking down through the dungeons when he heard a noise he never wanted to hear. It sounded as though his wife was being tortured.

He entered the room just in time to catch his child in his his hands as soon as his knees hit the ground before his wife.

By the time their two daughters arrived for Sunday dinner a short time later, the pair were still sitting on the ground, Severus holding his newborn son to his chest, wrapped in his robes. Y/N was still breathing heavily as Poppy checked her over.

“A boy!” Yelled the youngest excitedly, as her older sister groaned.

“A boy?!”

“A boy.” Severus nodded, kissing Y/N’s hair, then their son’s head. “Our baby boy.”

He expected a smile, but instead there was a grimace.

“The next one is crowning.” Poppy offered. “Breathe through it and push when you need to.”

“The next one?!” All 4 family members cried in surprise.

“Severus.” Y/N cried out.

Their oldest managed to take the baby from her fathers arms just before he fainted.

[lazysundaytales]

Is there a place, and I feel like within this community there definitely is a place, where people (18+) can roleplay as/with Severus Snape? I’ve used role playing in other fandoms, usually 1 on 1 with another writer, to work through ideas, or just for general fun. Is that a thing for Snape?

[lazysundaytales]

For anyone who has sent me prompts, I am working on them, I promise! I just had to get this story out of my head first.

Touch

He did not, as a rule, enjoy touch. Perhaps he had found comfort in his mothers touch when he was a young child, but he could not recall being touched with anything other than unkindness since then.

Until he met Violet.

She was a tactile person, always touching people, and she had been the same with him until one day she had overheard him telling another staff member off for touching him.

She’d come to his classroom to apologise for overstepping his boundaries, and he remained silent during her speech.

Finally, he offered “Do you think I am incapable of saying no?”

“…No.”

“Well then.”

She smiled at this and spoke words Severus had never expected to hear. “Good. Because whenever I touch you, I always feel better.”

He began to notice more after that. How when people argued in the staffroom she would always sit a little closer to him, so their thighs touched. How, when the students brought chaos as they inevitably did, she always came to him, her fingers touching the sleeve of his robes as she asked for help.

He also began to notice that when she laughed, her hand would reach for him too, as though she wanted to draw him into her happiness.

Her touch to others was not the same. She would hug them in greeting if they hadn’t seen each other for a while, or she would touch their arm to alert them to something, but only the briefest tap.

It was weeks after their conversation that he touched her for the first time. An argument broke out in the staffroom with wands raised and shouting over some missing item. Severus was in the middle of making himself a tea and was completely disinterested in the fight, but from the corner of his eye he saw the way Violet tensed.

After the briefest of hesitations he made a second cup and then approached her from behind, holding the second cup down for her to take.

Surprise drew her eyes from the fight, and she accepted the cup with slightly trembling hands.

Severus then placed his empty hand on her shoulder. He didn’t tighten his grip or hold onto her, he simply rested his hand there.

Slowly, her trembling stopped.

He kept his hand there throughout the fight.

When the headmistress finally intervened and settled the argument, he lifted his hand to draw it away, but one of hers lifted to take his, her head turning to drop the gentlest of kisses to his palm.

He heard nothing during the staff meeting, his eyes trained to his hand.

…

Two weeks later, he was patrolling the corridors at midnight after the headmistress approved a party, ill advised in his opinion, because parties always brought mischief.

When he heard footsteps he stilled, ready to step out and give detention to whoever thought it appropriate to walk the halls at this hour, but to his surprise it was Violet who turned the corner.

She usually wore a dress and heels with teaching robes over the top, but when she turned the corner she wore a pair of black silk pyjamas, and with no make up and no heels, she looked younger and more vulnerable than he’d seen her before.

“It’s too late to be out.” He reminded her, though there was no venom behind his words.

She nodded, worrying at the sleeves of her pyjamas between her hands.

Her voice sounded loud in the quiet of the hallway.

“I had a bad dream and I…I…I wanted you?”

Severus didn’t remember either of them moving, but suddenly her arms were around his middle and her face was pressed to his chest. He lifted his hands hesitantly to her back. The silk was cold but he could feel the warmth of her below it. His arms tightened.

“It was a dream about the war. That you were hurt, but this time you didn't survive.”

Severus' heart flipped in his chest. “…I’m here. I’m ok.”

She nodded against him, her arms tightening.

Once she had calmed enough he walked her back to her chambers.

When their eyes met across the great hall the next morning and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment, Severus allowed himself to squeeze her shoulder on his way past.

…

“Severus? Severus! Come!”

A week later she came careering down the corridor to his classroom and then physically pulled him from his seat by grabbing his hand.

Thinking something terrible had happened he allowed himself to run with her, their teaching robes billowing out behind them. It was only once they reached the astronomy tower, both of them breathless, that he realised she was smiling.

Anger began to boil inside him. How dare she draw him from his work in such a manner! How dare she-

“Look!” She whispered delightedly, taking him into one of the small storage rooms. On the ledge of the window was a nest with three owlets in it.

“You brought me up here to show me this?”

Her hand still gripped his tightly, her face radiating happiness at the sight before her.

Before he could snap a reply, his eyes caught sight of the little seating area in the corner. There were pillows, blankets, candles, books. “You come here often.”

“Just when the world feels too much and I want to be alone.” She shrugged, not taking her eyes on the owls.

“…I will not disturb your peace.” He went to step back, but her hand tightened its hold on his as she turned to look at him, still smiling.

“Oh, you couldn’t, Severus. Not you. I could never mind you being here.”

“…why?”

“Because you understand the value of silence.” She replied, as though it was obvious. “Because.. you are you. And you make me happy just by being you.”

Suddenly worried she’d said too much, Violet's cheeks bloomed pink and her eyes dropped to the ground.

“…look at me.” He implored softly.

When she did, for the briefest of moments he used Legilimency to confirm what he feared. What he hoped. She loved him. It was not a joke, not some cruelty. She loved him.

“I don’t…I’m not…you shouldn’t…”

“And yet I do. And I cannot help it.”

Severus took a step back. Then another. Then he turned on his heel and left the room.

Violet kept hold of his hand until he was out of reach.

…

Severus did not sleep that night. He spent all night pacing his chambers, arguing with himself.

His tired eyes immediately went to Violet’s spot when he entered the great hall the next morning only to find it empty.

…

Violet slept with the owlets that night, wrapped in warm blankets. She was still there, watching their mother feed them, when the doorway suddenly filled and briefly blocked some of the light.

The presence sat slowly beside her on one of the cushions, and then placed a mug of steaming tea before her, along with a plate of her favourite breakfast foods.

She didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.

“I’m afraid.” She whispered. “I’m afraid I’ve pushed him away because I am too much. Like I am always too much.”

“There’s no need to be afraid.”

“You promise?” She turned to look at his profile.

Severus kept his eyes toward, watching the owls. “He feels the same.”

…

It wasn’t as his mind had made him fear. She was not declaring love for him to anyone, so no one could laugh and wonder aloud why on earth anyone would or could love Severus Snape.

Life just continued on as it had before, with small touches of comfort, and moments of quiet conversation.

Indeed, their first kiss was 3 months after that conversation.

Violet left the castle for the weekend to visit her family, and by Saturday night she realised it was the first time she had spent a day without seeing Severus since she’d started at Hogwarts.

Severus was in the library when one of the astronomy tower owls flew to him with a letter. The owl was all black, and Violet had taken to calling it Severus Junior. He pretended to be annoyed by it, but in fact he was happy every time she laughed about it.

The message was simple. I miss you.

….

Violet liked to be close to the stars which is why she adored the astronomy tower at Hogwarts. Her family home had no such tower, so she found herself outside instead, laying on a blanket and looking up at the stars.

When someone sat beside her, she assumed it was her sister. “The stars don’t seem so bright here, somehow.”

“Because you are not up in your tower in the clouds.”

Violet turned her head to look up at Severus Snape, somehow sitting beside her on a blanket in the garden of her family home.

“I missed you, too.” He offered softly without taking his eyes from hers.

Perhaps it was the darkness of his eyes that first attracted her to Severus. They were so dark it was like they were the night sky, and when he was happy it seemed they sparkled with their very own stars.

She lifted a hand to his cheek and he turned his head to kiss her palm.

“You’re happy.” She said quietly.

“Because I am with you. Because you missed me. Because I missed you.”

As Violet smiled up at him, he was powerless to stop his lips meeting hers.

…

Severus Snape did not, as a rule, like touch.

But he found all that he had been missing in Violet’s.

A stolen kiss behind a tapestry before detention to be reminded that he wasn’t just the professor that the children feared.

Another before breakfast at the door to violets chambers, because he deserved comfort.

Another on the road to Hogsmeade in the sunshine because he was allowed happiness.

Too many to count in the astronomy tower, because he deserved to love and be loved in return.

…

He was furious with himself the first time he got aroused as they kissed. He wasn’t some teenage boy who could not control himself.

He went to pull away, physically and emotionally, but Violet's fingers gripped his shirt collar and looked directly into his eyes, inviting him.

He saw, he felt, the intense arousal she had. Because of him. For him.

A shaking breath left his lips as he pulled out of her mind and was powerless to stop himself capturing her lips in an answering kiss.

“It’s normal.” She told him in a low voice.

Still, again, it was weeks before either of them acknowledged it, and it was only because Violet accidentally rubbed against his arousal, desperate to get closer.

They both stilled, and Violet opened her eyes and looked directly into his, wanting him to know that he hadn’t made her feel uncomfortable or disgusted, or whatever he feared.

This time he did not need to.

He simply held her on his lap and kissed her again, gasping against her lips whenever she moved like he was the teenager he had never allowed himself to be.

…

It was, very unintentionally on his part, her birthday the first time they made love.

He didn’t know. She hadn’t told him and he had never thought to ask when it was.

It was simply the day he could no longer hold back when she wriggled against the arousal.

“Violet.” He pulled back from her lips breathlessly, his voice desperate but unsure how to proceed.

He’d had sex before. Anonymous. No kissing. No love. He did not want to make a mistake. He feared doing the wrong thing.

Violet always seemed to understand him without words.

She’d simply stood from his lap and silently undressed before him.

He stood, too, his pupils blown.

He barely even registered as she undressed him too while his hands traced every curve of her body.

And then it was like it always was.

He was on the floor on her nest of pillows and blankets, and she was straddled on his lap kissing him.

But while before her movement had been a sweet torture, now it felt like a sweet release.

…

Violet had just walked into the staffroom when a fight erupted, wands drawn.

She stilled, trapped against the closed door.

Until a hand caught hers and drew her towards a broad chest.

It was the sight of Severus Snape hugging another member of staff that rendered everyone, including those who fought, mute.

…

Months passed, full of quiet moments of love.

No one, even the two of them, voiced what it meant, what it could become.

Ironically, it was Severus Snape who was the first to speak the words.

They were in the astronomy tower laying against the pillows, their clothes crumpled on the floor in the far corner where the owl nest had been over a year ago.

It was silent but for the sound of the wind and their breathing. The comfortable silence that they both appreciated in each other.

Violet was looking out the window at the stars, while Severus was looking at her.

His fingers traced over her naked torso, smiling a little at how responsive her nipples were to his touch as she drew in a quiet gasp, then down to feel her slow, steady breathing and the steady beat of her heart, then lower still to the rounding of her middle, more obvious now as she lay on her back.

Something both of them knew but neither had spoken of.

Now, Severus broke the silence to draw in a breath. “We will marry before the baby is born.”

“Will we?” Violet asked sleepily, turning her attention to the man who held the night sky in his eyes.

Severus agreed with a murmur, hand cradling the small but loved bump as he rolled them both onto their side, pressing himself against her back as he drew the blankets up around them.

Violet slept best this way, the open skies before them.

She never had nightmares up here.

Neither did he, but he assumed that was not the location but who he shared it with.

“And I will talk to the headmistress about chambers in the highest point of the school so we can always see the stars.”

“That sounds nice.” She agreed, snuggling into the blankets. “But however and wherever our future is, it will be perfect for me as long as you are there.”

…

Epilogue

…

To think that once he had been practically touch starved, and now he was being touched constantly.

Violet was currently trying to clean crushed berries from his hair as their daughter’s dirty hands still grabbed at him delightedly while he bounced her on his knee.

“Still, both of you!” Violet admonished with a laugh.

“Should we get your mama?” Severus whispered conspiratorially.

As the baby gave a delighted squeal, Violet stood and rushed away from the picnic blanket they were on, though Severus simply rushed after her, their juice covered child in his arms.

“No!” Violet protested with a giggle as he managed to corner her against a tree. She laughed still when Severus covered her with berry coloured kisses and tiny berry covered hands grabbed at her top.

From the tower where the owl was making its nest, it paused briefly to watch the scene below, of three humans in the garden laughing with happiness, the sound drifting up and resting itself gently in her nest, giving it the softest layer of all.

[lazysundaytales]

A little Judge Turpin.

Warnings- NSFW. 18+

Penance

You’d made an agreement before you were married; give him a son, and he would leave you alone.

It’s what you thought you wanted.

Then.

But now…

Night and day you’d be called to his rooms while he attempted to impregnate you. He asked for you once he was almost ready, and more than once you’d seen a whore slipping from the room as you arrived. All he seemed to want was to spill his seed in you. He never even asked you to fully undress.

When you found yourself pregnant, you thought that would be the end of those visits, that he would no longer need to see you and instead find solace in his whores. Instead, as you began to show, you found yourself called there more often. It was always in the evening, once he was sure you would be in your nightdress, which showed better the beginning of the roundness of your middle, and the changing shape of your breasts. He never asked anything of you, only called under the guise of telling you off for something a servant had seen you do, but his eyes feasted.

One evening, restless, you’d gone in search of him instead. He was in his study, still dressed. He was annoyed by your interruption and barely even looked at you, despite the fact you’d chosen his favourite nightdress.

So, you’d spoken in soft, embarrassed whispers of aches. You knew well what the aches were, and how to relieve them, but you weren’t entirely sure your husband realised you felt them.

It caught his attention. His eyes and other parts of him rose, looking at you.

“We do not need to call a doctor. There are ways to relieve this ache that I may assist you with, if you are willing.”

“Oh, please, sir! I will do anything!” You begged. You knew how he liked begging.

“Very well. Meet me in my bed chambers in-“

“I’m not sure I can wait.” You worried aloud.

His eyes darkened.

“…lock the door.”

You obeyed, then turned to him.

He studied his desk for a moment with a hungry look, which you silently filed away, but then he motioned to the couch beside the fire. “There.”

Though you feared this would be like your past couplings, you ventured to the couch, your fingers twitching at your nightdress. “…it is warm by the fire, my lord. May I take my nightdress off?”

He grunted and seemed to struggle for a moment, the sound of his buttons undoing loud in the room. “Very well.”

You pulled it over your head and then lay obediently on the couch.

The judge’s breathing quickened as he approached, and your eyes watched the way he took himself in hand and caressed.

You wriggled. You could not help it.

He noticed.

“You like seeing this?” Even whores did not like seeing his hand on himself. If he touched, it meant less money for them.

“It makes the ache worse.” You said softly. It was true. Even when he did not try he could almost bring you to the edge of something that felt magical. You had no doubt that what you managed to achieve alone would pale in comparison with what the judge could do.

He wanted to reach out and touch your body, but he didn’t dare. You were his wife, pure. You had not been touched by another before him, he knew, and he did not want to corrupt you.

But still, his voice cracking, he asked, “have you ever touched yourself?” At your hesitant nod, he demanded “show me.”

Your hands moved over your heavy breasts, touching them with unpracticed hands, that then moved slowly over you bump to touch yourself between your legs. And as you did so, your eyes closed, you whispered his name, as you always did. Your hands didn’t bring you the pleasure he did, though.

“What did you say?” His voice seemed to loud for the room, angry.

Your hand moved away and your cheeks reddened with shame. “Nothing.”

“What did you say?” He demanded.

“…your name, my lord. I imagine it is you touching me.”

That was what broke the dam.

His hands were everywhere, caressing, followed by his lips.

You writhed with pleasure, repeating his name.

The ache was satisfied before he even entered you, a cry into the room that seemed to reverberate. But when he pushed inside you, oh. You was ready once more.

…

“My lord?”

He didn’t glance up, kept his eyes on his work, but she heard the sound of his buttons undoing.

She locked the door and approached.

“I am busy. Take your pleasure and go.”

So, she did. She leveled herself up and then sank down on him without warning, facing his desk where his papers were spread, her nightdress pooling against their thighs.

“Oh, you feel like heaven, my lord.”

He grunted, the hand that had continued to write faltering for a moment as his other hand moved to her hip, then the firm bump that now adorned her middle.

Though his hand continued to try and write, she saw with a smirk the smudges and misspelled words.

With her own hand outside her nightdress, she slowly moved his own below it up to her breast, caressing it. “Sometimes, my lord, when I bathe, I do this with my hands and imagine it’s yours.”

He grunted, and she was pleased when she saw his quill go down, but then suddenly he was pulling from her and standing. “Up! Come on now, I’ve got work to do.”

She stood up, turning to face him, but instead of demanding she leave, he used his strength to his advantage and rested her bum on his desk.

“Do not make one drop of ink fall, do you understand?” He asked.

She nodded, watching him warily

“…show me what you do to your breasts.”

She silently undid the ribbon that held the top of her nightdress together, suddenly a little nervous. She enjoyed the feel of him inside her, and it was true she ached for him, but to be so bare before him. The last time she had taken her nightdress off the room had only been lit by the fire and a single candle. Now, the sun had yet to set.

As her heavy breasts appeared, her hands shook a little as she caressed them gently.

When she saw the hunger in his eyes, she whimpered just a little. “Oh, my lord. You know exactly what I like.”

Taking himself in hand, he watched her caress herself, then, growing bolder, she began to pinch her nipples, her hips rocking and desperate for connection.

Reaching out, the judge suddenly yanked the nightdress from her body completely, allowing his eyes to feast on her.

“My lord, I want-“

An unholy groan left his lips as his seed spurted onto her belly.

She said nothing else, for he dismissed her quickly, and she found herself even more frustrated.

…

She did not go to him then for several days, but she heard the murmuring of the staff when they thought she couldn’t hear. Woman after woman into his office, all of them rushing out a short time later, usually in tears or flushed with embarrassment. Then suddenly there was talk of no women at all, of the Judge’s temper being worse than ever.

It was a Saturday when he finally, for the very first time, entered her bedchambers. She was bathing in front of the fire when she heard the maid who had gone to fetch some towels talking to someone.

When the door opened and closed, it was not the maid with the towels any longer but the judge, towels in hand.

Their eyes met only briefly before his lowered as they began to feast on the sight of her body. “I have tried to find what you’ve given me elsewhere. Beasley searched the town high and low, but it seems there are no pregnant whores who will do as I ask.”

“What is it you ask, my lord?”

“You are my wife. I cannot-“

“I have seen your books, my lord.”

His eyes snapped back to hers, a mixture of fury and something much darker.

“I am alone here during the day so often that I began to use your library. You did say I could.”

His eyes bore into hers. “…and this is when your…yearnings started?”

She gave a small nod, her cheeks growing pinker.

“Are there things among the books that you would wish to try?” His voice had taken on a curious deep note she had never heard before, and his words were hesitant, as though he was testing each one to make sure it was correct.

She nodded again.

He left the room without a word, slamming the door behind himself.

…

She did not see or hear the judge for 2 days after that, but the library became off bounds to her. She was frightened she had gone too far, told him too much.

Then, one evening, the door to her bedchambers flew open and there he stood, still fully dressed while she wore only her nightgown. “Come.”

She followed meekly behind him, eyes widening when she realised they were going to his bedchambers. Was he going to punish her for her indecent thoughts?

She stood barely breathing while he shut and locked the door behind her.

“There are lines I will not cross where my wife is concerned.” He offered as he paced. “There are things I will not do, even if you desire me to. Even if I desire them. Because you are my wife, I have been the only one to touch you, and because you carry my heir. Do you understand?”

“Yes, my lord.”

He stopped and studied her face in silence for a long time, making her blush and drop her eyes.

“The books are on the table by the window. Show me what you liked.”

She had only opened them briefly, shamefully, but now she had permission she looked more boldly, though her cheeks still blushed a deep shade of pink.

“Perhaps..this?” She finally pointed.

It was tame compared to what the judge had enacted with whores, but the realisation that his wife wanted that with him arouses him more than he thought possible.

Judge Turpin was still not practiced in foreplay. He rarely even considered it. If it was necessary, the whores would do it before they entered his chambers, he imagined.

“Undress me.” He demanded.

She did as he asked, her hands shaking with nervousness and something much darker. She dropped to her knees to deal with his shoes and trousers, and for the first time came face to face with what had been inside her. It was too large, surely. It was flushed pink and already standing proudly.

The judge watched her curiously, wondering what she was thinking as she stared at him in silence.

Finally, she said softly “it is leaking.”

The judge swallowed, his voice deeper than usual as he replied “that is what has been inside you to make the baby. Do you..have you not…”

“My maid tidies me.” She spoke in almost a whisper. “I have felt it, but I’ve never…” she lifted a hand, but it stilled and she looked up at him. When he nodded, she reached out and tentatively wiped at the wetness. Hearing the judges breath catch, she allowed other fingers to join in, feeling him. Surely this could not fit within her?!

The judge suddenly grabbed her under the arm and hauled her to her feet. “You may examine me another time. Afterwards, if I decide to permit you to stay. Right now, we have plans.”

She nodded, watching with wide eyes as he strode around rearranging the room, his member bobbing before him and still leaking its sticky warmth.

Finally, he sat on the chair before the mirror and beckoned her to join him.

“Nightdress off.”

She nibbled her lip nervously.

“Have you changed your mind?”

“Has it…does it change? How has it fit inside me?”

A smile pulled at the judges lips then. Not the cruel one she had seen before, but almost as feral. “Watch and see.”

She undressed and then followed his barked instructions, spreading her legs either side of his before he guided her hips so that she could slowly lower herself onto him.

She watched the process in the mirror in utter fascination. He did fit! And every time she moved he gave the most wonderful groan.

She saw the wetness gathering between her legs, could hear it, and wondered if it more of what had leaked from him, or if it came from her.

…

The judge had expected to send her back to her own room and sleep, for he had court early the next morning, but instead here he lay with cock in hand, already hard again, as he watched his own wife touch herself between her legs, fascinated by his seed coming from her.

They lay on his bed facing one another, and she had her eyes closed as her fingers played between her legs. Taking her by the wrist, he lifted her hand to her lips and pushed the fingers into her mouth so she might taste him.

Whores spat him out, but his wife simply moaned.

Fingers still stick with his seed and her spit, he then moved her hand to his cock and showed her how to caress him as he liked. Then, his ow hands moved to the wetness between her legs.

…

The servants whispered among themselves in concern. They knew the Judge to be a hard man, and he had been even worse of late. Now, his wife had been locked in his chambers for two days. Only the judge exited, and that was only to pick up trays of food they left.

Now, it was Monday morning. Surely he would have to leave for court soon. Would his wife be locked inside his room all day while he worked? What had she done to deserve such punishment?

…

Inside his room, the Judge wondered what he had done to marry someone whose desires matched his own. All weekend they had been in bed, and still this morning he had been woke by her climbing atop him to pleasure herself.

As the hours had ticked by she had become more talkative, more bold.

Now, she smiled sleepily down at him. “Something to remind you what is waiting when you come home, my lord. And something for me to hold inside to remind me of you when I venture to Lady Devon’s luncheon this morning.”

“You’re a greedy little thing.” He groaned. “Already full of my seed and still wanting more.”

His wife gave a delighted laugh as he flipped them over suddenly and placed a pillow at her lower back as he increased the pace.

…

Lunch time, and he was already distracted by thoughts of his wife. He’d retired to his rooms for his break, to try and ease the ache in his trousers at the thought of his wife sitting in a room full of noble women with his seed still warm within in.

With a frustrated groan, he called “Beadle! Summon my wife. I wish to lunch with her.”

“Sir, I-“

“It was a demand, not a question. My wife, now!”

…

Twenty minutes later, Beadle outside the door to keep people away, he empties himself down his wife’s throat.

“You will be the death of me.” He offered wearily as she righted her clothes a minute later and checked her face in the mirror.

“Then it is lucky, my lord, that I carry your heir.”

A bark of a laugh surprised Beadle outside, as did the request the judge gave a moment later as he ripped the door open. “She has supped. Walk her back and make sure she is not bothered on the way.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Thank you, my lord, for my lunch.”

His wife gave a small curtsy and the judge had to stop himself grabbing her and forcing her back into his office. Wicked woman. His wicked woman.

…

A week later and the judge entered his home in a foul mood. He’d sentenced a man to death, and then been cornered by the man’s whole family pleading his case. He never changed his mind, so why use was it he had no idea, but what angered him was the fact it kept him from his wife.

He was surprised himself that it was not because he wished to have his way with her, though he did, but the fact he’d told her to wait for him before she had her dinner, and now he was late and his wife would be hungry.

The maid dared not speak when she saw the cloud on her masters face and simply took his hat, jacket and cane and then led him to the dining room where his wife waited.

“Bring all the food in at once and then shut the door. I want no interruptions from you lot while I have dinner with my wife. You shall only enter once I call for you, do you understand?”

The maid nodded and scurried away, feeling sorry for the man’s wife. He seemed to be forcing her to spend more and more time with him, and it must be difficult for her.

His wife was sitting quietly at the table already, as a good wife should, and at his grunted greeting gave a small shy smile, though how she could still remain shy after what they had done, he could not understand.

Once the food was brought in and the doors were closed, he finally uttered “I was delayed through no fault of my own. I did not wish you to be hungry.”

The shy smile blossomed and she reached out, touching his hand hesitantly. “I knew, my lord. Though I do confess to having already had a sticky bun when I thought you might be late.”

He stilled and she held her breath. Then he nodded his approval and began to eat.

She ate small bites, but mostly she fidgeted and played with her food. He put up with it longer than he might have for anyone else, but finally he snapped “is my food not good enough for you?”

She jumped. “No, my lord. It’s not that.”

“So I need to tell cook to give you no sticky buns lest you ruin your appetite for the food that will sustain my heir?”

“No, my lord. I am…merely…nervous. I have a surprise for you and I am anxious for it to happen. My stomach is full of nervous twitches, and your heir is restless from it, too.”

His eyebrows shot up. A surprise? For him?

“I did not give you permission to leave the house.”

“I haven’t. It isn’t something I have purchased.”

“You’ve…made me something?”

This brought the hint of a nervous smile to her lips. “In a way, my lord.”

“…I do not like surprises. You must show me now.”

“Now?!” She startle, glancing at the door.

He was more intrigued than annoyed now. “I told no one to enter until I gave the signal. Show me.”

His wife nibbled her lip for a moment and then turned to face away from him. “Please help me with the lacing. Just the top.”

Inexpert fingers unlaced the top of her dress, eyes now eager to see his surprise. Dinner was forgotten.

Once it was unlaced enough she lowered the dress from her shoulders, and then from her chest before turning back. She still held her arms up to cover herself, but her breathing had quickened as she thought of what his reaction might be. She had hopes, but he had surprised her many times before. Perhaps he would be disgusted and what had passed between them would be no more.

With his eyes already trained to her chest, she lowered her arms slowly.

He lifted a hand to touch her breast with surprising tenderness. “They are of no surprise.”

She lifted her hand to the breast he did not touch, and as she had accidentally done in her bath earlier that day, she tried to massage the ache in her breast away. As she did so, the Judge watched in fascination as a yellow liquid collected into a droplet and then rolled down.

“…you are already producing sustenance for my heir.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He nodded his head, his hand dropping from her to his knife and fork. “I am pleased with you.”

Her cheeks went pink at this rare compliment.

When she had pulled her sleeves back on and lifted her dress, she returned to her dinner with renewed enjoyment.

The judge considered all the times he had wished for a different wife, a different mother for his children.

Instead of dessert, that evening he paid penance with his tongue:

…

That night the judge came to her room before she had even undressed and sent her maid away for the night.

In silence but for their breathing, he undressed his wife fully, and then allowed her to undress him in turn.

“Do you have anything you wish to attempt tonight?” He asked, his voice tight and unusually gruff.

“…I thought, since you had a trying day, we might do something you’d like?” She offered hesitantly.

He clenched and unclenched his jaw, looking not at her body as usual but at her face, which made her blush.

He sighed then and stepped back, turning away. “I do not wish to do anything like that tonight.”

“My lord?” She asked in confusion. His member was already hard and she knew that meant he yearned for her. Or for someone else. The thought brought tears to her eyes. Had he been disgusted by her milk? She had thought he would like it. “Have I done something wrong?”

He blew a huff out his nose like he did sometimes before he yelled, but no yell followed. Instead, he silently gestured to her bed.

She climbed into it hesitantly and rested against the pillows, eyes still on her husband.

She remained nervous and quiet until he finally turned around and allowed his eyes to scan over her once before he stepped towards the bed and climbed in stiffly.

Finally, he spoke into the silence, his voice a rumble she felt everywhere. “Tonight, I wish to make love to my wife.”

That night brought a similar level of pleasure as their past couplings, but was heightened by the tender kisses he gave, and the words of love that fell unpracticed from his lips.

…

The heir was born.

The boy was followed soon by another.

Then another, a girl this time.

There were murmurs that the Judge's wife seemed to be constantly pregnant, and it was true that he found her especially arousing when carrying his child, but he would be just as happy now to have no bump in the way, so that they might explore more of his books, his fantasies. Her fantasies.

How he’d been blessed with a wife who matched him at every turn he did not know, but when other men complained about their wives he would merely grunt.

When he returned home on those days, he would drop to his knees and pay penance for letting those men assume he felt the same.

[lazysundaytales]

A random bit of Hilly Kristal I found in my files. I just write what comes into my head how it comes, and I don’t check it before I post or edit it from how it came first time, so apologies for mistakes or sentences that don’t quite work!

My girl

The sound that occurred in the brief lull of music was unmistakable; something heard often enough to be recognisable, but not often enough that it was a normal, everyday sound.

He didn’t look up immediately and instead continued to pour a beer, though it slopped as he pushed it in front of the customer, waving away payment as his eyes finally flicked around the room. “On the house.”

“Jesus.” Lisa muttered under her breath, having told him repeatedly not to give free drinks anymore.

Hilly didn’t hear her as he scanned for the familiar head of hair. When he saw it, his eyes narrowed to focus on the person next to her. The person who made his girl laugh.

He hadn’t expected her in tonight; she was doing night classes and Friday was her night to catch up on anything she’d let slip during the week. This week, it seemed as though she thought that was Hilly.

He’d been working all day in the bar, trying to appease his daughter, but had finally had enough midafternoon and stomped back to his flat.

There she’d been, just woken from a nap in his bed, with sleep ruffled hair and pink cheeks, and a slow smile for Hilly.

There’d been little foreplay, but even so he found her wet enough to take him when he bent her over the table by the door where a scattering of bills lay.

It was afterwards that he drew her against him and pressed his face to her neck, allowing himself a brief moment of calm and gentleness that only she had ever been able to give him, before he grunted and pulled out. “And that’s what I’m going to do to those bills.”

“Fuck them awake?” She’d asked, sounding like the cat that had got the cream.

Well, she had. He’d long since given up condoms. They both liked it better raw, and they’d both tested clean before they started.

Now, he wondered how his girl, who he’d fucked awake a few hours earlier, who could probably still remember the feeling of being stretched by him, thought someone else was funny enough to laugh at.

…

He wasn’t the kind of guy who squared his shoulders and marched over to mark his territory. He simply kept an eye on them like he did all his customers. His girl didn’t look uncomfortable, so he left them be.

It was the guy who came over in the end, nodded at Hilly and threw a few dollars on the bar. “A beer and a favour.”

Hilly lifted an eyebrow. “What kind of favour?”

“There’s a girl over there, in the check shirt? Kind of like yours, actually. See her?”

Hilly glanced over the man’s shoulder to see his girl, wearing his shirt mostly unbuttoned, and with her facing him now, he could see the expression on her face. Still looking like the cat that got the cream.

“I see her.”

“I sort of told her I know you, and that if I asked you’d maybe let her sing on stage?”

Hilly poured the man a beer and then set in the counter, ignoring Lisa’s interested glance at her father, waiting to see what he’d do.

“Ask her over.” Hilly finally replied.

The man’s face lit up and he waved Hilly’s girl over. “This is Hilly Kristal. A good friend of mine.”

“Can you sing?”

“Can anyone who plays here?”

Hilly grunted in response, eyeing up the man again before his eyes returned to his girl. “I’ll let you sing.”

“Thanks, Hilly!” The guy enthused.

“Tomorrow morning. 3am. Come see me.”

The guys face fell. “Not tonight?” He glanced at Hilly’s girl.

“Full set list tonight.” Lisa offered helpfully.

“I can do that, Hilly.” His girl gave him a flirtatious smile and the guy with her looked crestfallen, walking away with his beer. He knew when he wasn’t wanted anymore.

“Still writing the book about this place?” Lisa asked.

“Yep.”

“One day you’re going to get into trouble trying to get stories.” Hilly warned as he poured her another beer.

“No I won’t. Because you’re always looking out for me.”

As hilly grunted, Lisa looked between them and rolled her eyes. She’d never seen her dad like this with anyone else; she’d even seen him saving money for something. Lisa hoped it was a ring. She still took the money he saved to pay the beer money, though.

…

“Jesus! Who’s that?!” Lisa grumbled when they entered the apartment several hours later.

“Can’t remember. A friend of someone’s. He’s staying for a couple of days.”

“Where am I going to sleep?!”

“I told him to take the smaller couch.” Hilly shrugged, making his way to the master bedroom. That was a grand name for a room that only had a bed.

And his girl.

She was asleep on her stomach wearing only his shirt, and he could still see remnants of their event earlier in the day.

The thought of her sitting in a room full of people like butter wouldn’t melt with his cum inside her made his tiredness depart, at least for now.

He shut the door and reached for his belt.

…

Lisa was almost asleep 10 minutes later, stretched out on the longest couch with Jonathon offering a little warmth and a lot of gas, when she heard it.

She threw whatever was in reach towards the door of the bedroom. “I can hear you!”

“Block your ears!” Came a yelled reply.

Inside the room, Hilly’s girl rode him slow, hips rolling and a smile on her face. “You gonna make me sing, Hilly?”

“Don’t I always.” He replied, flipping them over suddenly.

She squealed.

Lisa threw her pillow at the door, then grumbled and got up to get it. “I hate you!”

“Then go back to school!” He hollered in reply.

[broken-academia]

i read CS Lewis’ A Grief Observed one time years ago and i’m still not recovered from it

[broken-academia]

— A Grief Observed: part i-ii, C.S. Lewis x

[lazysundaytales]

Violet- chapter 2

He’d killed. He’d fought dangerous wars. He’d almost died. And yet nothing, nothing, could have prepared him for the sight of Violet laying in a stark white hospital bed, completely still. Her face was usually so animated, but now it was as though the life had been drained from her and there was nothing but a shell.

“What happened?” He asked. His voice sounded like it came from someone else, and for a moment he glanced behind them to see who it was, only to realise it was him, voice laced with fear.

“She was found on the ground in Diagon Alley, but other than that we have no information. We contact you as she said your name before she lost consciousness, but other than knowing your name she appears to be a muggle. Do you know her?”

Severus could only nod as he finally stepped forward and let his fingers dance against Violet's hand. She was cold, they had left her cold, and anger was a familiar feeling for him, so he embraced it. “She’s cold. Why have you left her here cold?! She needs-“

“Severus.”

His eyes lifted to see that two of his colleagues had followed him. Madam Pomfrey and Minerva stood in the doorway glancing between him and the bed with concern.

Finally, Poppy stepped forward. “I will warm her and check her injuries.”

“She doesn’t like magic.” Severus offered tiredly, suddenly feeling so exhausted that he sat heavily on a chair beside the bed, eyes trained on Violet's face.

“She needs magic.” Poppy replied.

“I don’t understand why she was here. She refused to come with me.”

“I checked with the ministry. It appears she used the floo from your house, Severus. I think perhaps she was injured and was trying to find you.” Minerva offered.

Severus gave a faint nod at this. “Violet doesn’t like doctors. If she is unwell, she prefers I make her something.”

“But she does not like magic?”

“No. But she trusts me.”

“Then let us work through her injuries together.” Poppy offered, holding her hand out to him.

…

Violet woke slowly. Her body ached and she felt the rush of saliva to her mouth a moment before she weakly tried to lean over the side of the bed to be sick on the floor instead of on herself.

Had she drunk too much? The world spun a little as she opened her eyes. She was in a bedroom, but instead of being in the bed with her Severus was sitting beside it on a chair, his eyes closed. He looked tired.

Was it Friday already?

Why was he sitting beside her?

Where were they? Was it his home? She’d only been there briefly and might not recognise the bedroom.

She squinted at the bedside table but there was no clock, and instead it was littered with vials, most of them empty.

Had she been unwell for a while? There was a bucket beside the bed.

She was loathe to wake Severus when he clearly needed the sleep, but nausea muddled her brain and she could not seem to think straight, and he always knew how to calm her anxiety.

The instant her fingers touched his arm his eyes were wide awake, checking her face. “Are you in pain? Do you feel sick again?”

“Am I unwell?”

Severus’ face flooded with relief at her words. For the last week, after he’d insisted she be removed from St Mungos, he had sat by her bedside and watched her. If she’d spoken, it was only his name, or the word ‘hurts’. This was the most lucid she’d been since the accident.

“You were injured.” He offered as he reached for a vial and held it to her lips.

She drank it without asking what was in it, and then gave a relieved sigh when the nausea began to ebb. “Where are we?”

“Hogwarts.” Severus offered softly.

Her eyes widened. “I told you-“

Severus reached for her hand, grounding himself with it. “I know. But Violet, you were seriously injured and I know you don’t like hospitals. This was the only place I could bring you where I could guarantee there would be competent help available if you needed it.”

She pulled her hand away and Severus had to clench his jaw to stop himself grabbing it back.

“Injured how?”

Severus told her what he knew, which was little. “I only allowed Poppy to help me heal the worst of the injuries, everything else will heal in time. And I have been the only one to attend to you here, with potions I have made myself.”

Violet released her breath, and the wariness in her eyes began to soften until she finally reached out to him again. “Hold me. I’m frightened. I don’t remember anything.”

When Poppy came to check on the patient before she went to bed for the night, she found them both fast asleep on the bed, Severus’ arms wrapped securely around Violet, whose hands clung tightly to his shirt even in sleep.

…

As the days wore on and she began to feel better, the fear of Hogwarts, or at least Severus’ chambers, began to ebb. She still slept most of the time, but when she was awake Severus gave her free reign to look at all he owned, and she soon found a favourite chair by the fire where she could read.

It was while sitting there that a sudden memory flashed into her mind. She was on the way to work, daydreaming about the days when Severus used to walk her. They’d have to leave early, because he was prone to bundling her into alley ways to kiss her senseless. The car came out of nowhere. The pain had been almost unbearable. The car sped off, leaving her alone, and another car passed shortly after without even slowing.

As she lay dying, for she was sure she was, she realised that the muggle world had let her down, just as the magic world had.

The only thing in her life that had never let her down was Severus, and she needed to get to him. Somehow, she had dragged herself to his home, trying desperately to remember how to get to him.

…

That day, she ventured from his chambers. Using his old walking stick, she made her way slowly through the dungeon.

He’d only gone back to teaching a couple of days before, on the understanding that he would only teach potions so he could stay close to his chambers, which meant he would be close by somewhere.

A student was the first person she encountered, and he looked startled to see her. “C-can I help you? I don’t think you’re supposed to be here…”

“Could you tell me where.. actually, perhaps could you get Professor Snape for me?”

“You want me to talk to Professor Snape?” He looked horrified at the thought.

Severus had told Violet of his reputation, but seeing this child’s face suddenly made it real, and she almost laughed at the thought of people being scared of her gentle Severus. “Point me in the direction of his classroom, then? “

He pointed, and then scuttled off quickly lest she change her mind.

She was halfway down the corridor he’d pointed to when she began to hear Severus’ voice. She rested against the wall to catch her breath and closed her eyes.

“What made you think, when you read dried Willow bark, that stardust might be a good substitute?! Get up and scrape that frog off the ceiling.”

The absurdity of his words brought a laugh from Violets lips, and a moment later Severus appeared in a doorway to look down at her with surprise. His eyes scanned her face for pain or fear, and when he saw only mild discomfort and amusement, he returned to his classroom momentarily to give them further work and to assure them he would be giving out detentions freely to anyone who stepped out of line.

When he returned to the corridor, he closed the classroom door and walked towards Violet, eyebrow raised. “Something amusing?”

“A frog needs scraping from the ceiling?” She giggled.

His lips twitched. “Happens more often than you’d imagine. Why are you wandering around alone?”

As Violet opened her mouth to reply, a voice behind her offered “oh, she wasn’t alone. I’ve been keeping a close eye on her!”

Violet turned, screamed, and then rushed to hide behind Severus, gripping his robes tightly as he dismissed the ghost. An actual ghost. A talking actual ghost!

“I think perhaps ceiling frogs and ghosts are enough for one day. I’ll escort you back to my chambers.” Severus offered the pale violet, a hint of amusement in his voice.

“You could really see him, too?”

“His name is nearly headless Nick, and he’s been here even longer than I have.” Severus replied, managing only just to uncurl Violets fingers from his robes so he could lead her back towards his room.

Once she was back to safety and assured ghosts were not permitted into his rooms, Violet told him what she remembered.

He listened intently, face clouding with anger when she said she was left there alone to die. Except she didn’t seem upset or hurt by it. Instead, as she told him, she was smiling.

“I’ve been wrong this whole time. It’s no use being scared of the whole world and looking for things that confirm I was right to be scared. All I needed this whole time was something or someone to trust. It’s you. You are who I have needed my whole life.”

“And you are who I have needed.” Severus acknowledged. “To remind me that frogs stuck to the ceiling are amusing.”

Violet laughed again at this as she reached out to touch his face. “Ask me again. To come with you.”

“You are already here.”

Violet frowned. “Severus Snape! You ask me right now or I-“

“Will you come with me?” Severus asked, words laced with amusement.

“Anywhere.” She replied. “As long as there are no ghosts.”

“Not anywhere, then. Anywhere implies-“

Violet frowned. “Severus Snape!”

A proper laugh left his lips now as he leaned forward to kiss her.

[honeypiehotchner]

i want to read a very specific fanfic and i’m so mad that i can’t (it’s sitting in my drafts) (unfinished)

[honeypiehotchner]

so glad this post is resonating with people bc it’s still resonating with me as i am once again not working on said fanfics that i want to read

[lazysundaytales]

Does anyone ever randomly remember a fic and wonder when the next chapter is going to be posted because you want to know what happened, only to later remember it is your own fic?

No, me neither.

[lazysundaytales]

Some more Frank Benson

The death of me

It was a passing comment made by his wife that had caused it all. They had just began trying for a baby before she left on a month long trip with her friends, and the morning she left they’d made love. When she finally went to slip from the bed to get ready, a single finger brushed the underside of her husband's ball sack, and she smiled sweetly up at him. “You’d better keep every drop for me.”

When he growled out a sated and half asleep response, she laughed and walked on still shaky legs to the bathroom.

He didn’t think much about it until the next morning when he woke with morning wood and could not bring himself to relieve it. Frank Benson was a man who had taken orders all his life, and his brain could not take his wife’s teasing words as anything but serious.

Two weeks in, he was grumpier, he seemed to getting angry at hardly anything, and his balls felt like a constant, heavy presence.

She was going to be the death of him.

He’d not told his wife of his predicament, but she was delighted that the husband who was usually not one for texts or phone calls seemed suddenly to be putting a lot of effort into them. Every morning, a reminder of how much he loved her, adored her, thought her beautiful, random texts through the day about little at all, and then long, sleepy phone calls when they lay in bed at night. She found more out about his work while she was away than she ever had in the entirety of knowing him.

…

“I miss you.” He groaned.

She let out a sound between a moan and a sigh that made his cock twitch for her. “I miss you, too. I think I am driving them all mad talking about you. Everything we do, I can’t help but feel it would be so much better with you here, too. Even today, all we did was shop, and you would have hated it, but i kept thinking how warm your hand always feels on my back, and how I know when i pick something you like because after I’ve tried it on, your hand always drops to my bum. And I miss holding your hand, and I miss how safe I always feel with you. And I miss the sigh you do when you want to kiss me but British reserve stops you from doing it in public.”

Frank sighed now at the thought of her kiss.

She laughed delightedly. “That’s the one.”

“Did you buy anything?” She should not have. Her wardrobe had already overflowed into his, and he knew she was almost at her check in baggage weight when she left.

Still, he listened to her talk about dresses, bikinis, trying things on in tiny change rooms that Frank wouldn’t have fit into. He was rock hard, red and weeping just at thought of his wife wondering if he’d fit in the change room with her.

Finally, she ran out of steam and Frank just listened to her breathing and wondered if he should fly there for an hour just to relieve his aching balls.

“I miss you.” She finally repeated. “And they laugh because we’ve been married almost 6 years, and all of them are relieved to have time away. Except they’re not married to my Cranky Franky. And I miss you.”

His low rumble was quick to reply. “I miss you, too. I’m counting down the days.”

And he was.

Yes, he wanted to relieve himself, but he also didn’t like the quiet house, the fact he was not met with her smile, or her frown when he was late, or the way she would hug him like it had been days when he’d only been to the shop.

God, he loved her.

Once the phone call ended he swore so loudly into the room that the dog jumped up from his bed and ran out.

She was definitely going to be the death of him.

…

Initially, he’d had no intention of picking his wife up at the airport, but here he was. All the other husbands and partners were there too, and they all nodded politely at one another.

In uniform, Frank was just about to consider using his title to get through the barrier to find his wife when she finally walked through. Not expecting him, she didn’t look up from her phone.

Frank’s phone pinged a moment later with a message. ‘Landed. Can’t wait to see you.’

‘You don’t have to wait. Look up.’

Her head flew up, and then the brightest smile lit her face. She weaved through the slow walkers before finally abandoning her suitcase to throw her arms around her husband.

British reserve had always demanded there were no PDAs, especially if he was in uniform, but today he captured her lips with a searing kiss and his hands gripped the back of her top tightly to stop themselves moving down to grip her bum and pull her fully into his arms.

When they finally separated, she gave a breathless laugh. “Well, hello to you too, Frank.”

“Home. I’ve got a problem only you can fix. On the double.” The smack on her bum was instinct more thought, but the look she gave over her shoulder told him that she was as eager as he was to get home.

He growled at the queues as they exited the airport, and she laughed as she took his hand.

…

When he entered the bedroom after taking the calls he’d missed to pick her up, he was hopeful and painfully hard already.

And she was fast asleep.

“Fuck.” Frank groaned.

…

5.30am and he’d only managed to fall into an uncomfortable sleep at about 2.

He smacked the alarm without opening his eyes and gave a weary sign, dreading the day.

Until something heavy, warm and wet settled over his middle.

Opening one eye, he watched as his wife slipped off the t-shirt she’d slept in, then rested her hands on her husbands chest, giving him a sleepy smile. “Lie back and relax. I’m going to take care of you.”

Frank breathed out all the tension from the last few weeks as he watched his wife lift herself up and slowly sink herself down on him.

She was so wet it felt like she was made for him, and an unholy groan left his lips when he bottomed out.

“I missed you, baby.” She offered as she began moving.

Her missive to let her do the work only lasted for so long before his hands lifted to her hips, beginning to lift his own in time to meet her and pull her down to meet him, knowing he wouldn’t last much longer.

Her Frank was a man of stamina and could usually last a long time, but he already made strangled noises and pants of her name. Thankfully she was already close, too, and grabbed one of his hands to rub against her clit as she began rolling her hips against him. “Frank! Close.”

He grunted and redoubled his efforts.

She cried out and he felt her beginning to flutter around him.

They hadn’t even managed a kiss before she was crying his name and he was yelling into the room, pump after pump filling her, everything he had been holding back.

Small gasps were still leaving her lips when she rested against his chest, her body still jolting whenever he moved an inch. He could feel his cum leaking from her onto the sheets, and he knew there’d be more when he pulled out.

For the first time in his working life, Frank Benson called in sick just so he could stay balls deep in his wife.

…

Underwear would have been useless for his wife that day, the amount of times Frank seemed to want her.

She was getting texts from her friends grumbling about having to do housework already, or their unpacking, or looking after the kids, but anytime she tried to do anything Frank was there hovering, his lips on her neck, his hands on her already.

Currently, her suitcase was open on the bed and Frank was by the window watching with hooded eyes as she bent over to take out her purchases. “This is the dress I bought.” She laid it out on the bed beside the suitcase. “That was the changing room that you wouldn’t have fit into.”

“I’d have found a way.” Frank replied, approaching as she bent over to take out the next item. His fingers toyed with the hem of the dress she wore, and when she gave her permission with a little butt wiggle, he lifted it up. She was a little red still from his previous ministrations and gasped when he lowered his head to soothe her with his mouth.

By the time she managed to take the next thing from the suitcase, an hour had passed and her husband was sitting back on the armchair by the window finally looking a little sated, at least for now.

…

Two weeks later and Frank was woken by his alarm. He hit it and then groaned, rolling onto his side to curl into his wife only to find her side of the bed empty.

With a sigh, he lay for another couple of minutes before he stood up and went in search of her.

Not in the bathroom.

Not upstairs anywhere he could find her.

Not in the kitchen.

But what was in the kitchen was a steaming mug of coffee, his favourite breakfast, a newspaper…

And a positive pregnancy test.

As he stared at it, arms suddenly snaked around his bare torso. “Surely we know the day, but where do you think it was? The bed? The shower? The car?”

“Definitely the bed. That was a month's worth of cum, sweetheart.” Frank replied as he turned around to capture his wife’s lips.

When they separated, she had what could only be described as a wicked grin as her hand slipped into the waistband of the sweats he’d worn to bed to stroke the underside of his morning wood. “Guess we will have to keep all this for the next one, Franky.”

“Don’t you dare.” He growled.

She laughed as her hand wrapped around him and she sunk to her knees. “Breakfast of champions.”

Frank groaned and closed his eyes as her lips encased him. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

[hyper-fics-sationn]

These Twenty Minutes

Breed-Kink Prologue

Severus Snape x original female character (Eleanor 🤣)

18+ smuuuuuut

3k+ words

HELLO! The adventures of Severus and Eleanor continue… I’m sorry I haven’t written him/them together for a while — thank you so much for sticking around if you are reading this one! I’ve missed writing him so much, and I’ve got another couple of one shots in the pipeline 🤭

This particular fic is written from one of the many breed-kink requests I have sitting in my ask box, however, I decided I should split it into a prologue and the one shot itself, so I’ll reply to the ‘ask’ when I post the next part!

When Hogwarts staff are called to a meeting, Severus finds himself in a rather touchy situation with the girl he’s been seeing recently, and the potions cupboard doesn’t exactly offer what he was expecting… Enjoy indulging yourself in Severus’ embarrassment… 😶‍🌫️

The staff meeting had been called, and this time it also included the new trainee professors. Severus’ eyes were immediately drawn to her the moment she walked in, trying not to make it obvious to everyone else in the room that he was watching her. In all honesty, he was trying not to relive the last few nights of her company in his head.

“Professor,” She addressed him with a sweet smile, standing next to him as everyone else filled into the room.

“Miss Eleanor,” Snape responded, nodding.

With Snape being taller than the majority of people in there, he courteously moved to the back of the room, now stood with his back against the cold, stone wall. Eleanor subtly followed and stood in front of him, ensuring she could still see.

Professor Dumbledore addressed the room and then handed over to Professor McGonagal who had called for the meeting the first place. Severus had all intentions of listening to why she had gathered everyone together, however, his attention was suddenly robbed from him by the hand now slotted between himself and Eleanor as she reached behind her.

Severus swallowed hard and tried not to let his expression reflect the direction in which her hand was going — as if he didn’t want her enough from the moment she had walked into the room. Eleanor purposefully caressed the palm of her hand against his robes, taking her time to wade through them until she reached the front of his trousers underneath the layers of material. She bit her lip innocently and swept her fingertips against his crotch in back and forth motions, grinning to herself when she heard him let out a heavy breath through his nostrils.

Severus pressed his lips together in a thin line and felt his heart rate immediately speed up — swallowing hard as the front of his pants quickly grew more and more restricted; he both loved and hated this effect that only she had on him. Once it was starting to become a little more prominent, Eleanor began to trace her fingers around the outline of the protrusion now growing against his thigh. Severus hissed quietly through his teeth when he felt her brush directly over the head of his cock and widened his eyes a little. Professor McGonagal’s voice was now being drowned out more than ever.

He lowered his head and whispered warningly into her ear, “Don’t push it.”

“Push what?” Eleanor whispered back subtly, and before Severus could even think of a response, she placed her fingertips against the underside of his clothed erection and pushed it off his thigh and directly into the front of his crotch.

Severus’ jaw locked and he narrowed his eyebrows, instinctively pressing himself into Eleanor now as she removed her hand. He had two choices; step back and let the room see what was happening beneath his robes, or practically pin himself to her in order to try and hide it and hope that no one would question their positioning in the heavily crowded room.

Eleanor grinned to herself when she felt his hard-on poke her directly in the back and now held her hands in front of herself. Taking the opportunity as it presented itself, however, she began to subtly push back against him to brush herself over his bulge. Severus was unsure whether his heart or cock were starting to throb more at this point, and he prayed that the precum wouldn’t start to leak into his underwear.

She drove him crazy, she always drove him crazy. Ever since their first intimate encounter behind the castle, she just knew how to wrap him around her little finger and make him melt at any time, anywhere. Severus was determined to show her who was boss this time, however, and each movement she made against him only encouraged his dominant urge.

Eleanor reached back behind her and used a fingertip to drag from the base of his clothed cock all the way to the tip — focusing mainly on rubbing back and forth just under the head of it. Severus’ toes curled as a result and he made a silent yelp before pressing his lips together even more firmly than before, feeling his face flush as a small sticky trickle dripped into the front of his underwear. God, she was making him horny.

“Is everything alright, Severus?” Professor McGonagal asked.

“Quite all right, Professor.” Severus lied, forcing himself to nod.

Eleanor smiled sweetly at Professor McGonagal and gave Severus’ crotch a final, firm squeeze before bringing her hand away completely. Severus coughed into his fist and felt his breath hitch in his throat, his cock twitching against its material cage even after her hand was no longer there.

“So, unless anyone has any questions, that will be all.” Professor McGonagal spoke, glancing at the time, “Thank you all for coming. I believe we now have twenty minutes before classes resume.”

Eleanor was the first to make her way out of the room, nodding politely to the Professors stood at the front of the room and left Severus with gritted teeth just stood there. He watched as she left the room completely and waited a few moments — only to not make it obvious — before billowing after her, pulling his robes around him a little more to ensure he didn’t show the rest of the room what effect she’d had on him.

His cock rubbed irritatingly against the material as he walked, narrowing his eyebrows from the uncomfortably sensitive feeling. Students were still at lunch, Professors and other staff had gone their separate ways, and Severus found Eleanor heading down the corridor and past his potions closet.

“Not so fast, you little brat.” He spat, clasping his hand to her arm.

Eleanor gasped, then bit her lip to hide a grin. “I’m sorry?”

“No, you’re not.” He squinted his eyes as she turned around.

“Hm?” She looked up at him with an innocent grin.

“Get in here.” He pushed the door to his potions cupboard open and glanced either way over his shoulder before pulling her inside and slamming the door behind them.

“Professor, sir, I truly didn’t mean to…” She began, but her eyes couldn’t help but be transfixed upon the protrusion of his robes.

“Firstly, don’t lie to me,” He stepped closer to her, backing her up toward the small table he had placed in there a couple of days ago in order to quickly mix some potions without having to leave the cupboard, “Second, how dare you- how fucking dare you…”

Eleanor’s eyes widened slightly, drinking in the fury upon his face as he came even closer to her. “How dare I what?”

“Act like that with me…” He snarled.

“You don’t usually complain.” Eleanor shrugged casually.

“We aren’t usually in the company of half the bloody school staff!” Severus’ voice raised ever so slightly.

“You didn’t like it?” She arched a brow, trying not to smile and now leaning back against the table as her eyes swept up and down his body again.

“N…No…” He lied. “It was an absolutely absurd thing to do.”

“Oh, yeah?” Eleanor licked her lips slowly, her eyes now fixed upon the clothed pole making itself known through his robes, “You might want to try telling your cock that.”

Severus couldn’t keep up the angry act anymore to cover up how much she had turned him on. Instead, he lunged forward like a desperate animal after its prey and smacked their lips together. Eleanor placed her hands on his cheeks and felt them burn into her palms, kissing him back eagerly. Severus’ hands found her hips and he lifted her up onto the small table, grunting against her lips.

“You should know better than to taunt me.” He breathed hotly as he kissed her, now leaning over her as she leant back a little on the desk.

“Maybe I wanted this.” She smirked, her hands now against his shoulders as he laid her back against the table fully.

“There’s better ways of going about it than what you just did.” He spoke lowly.

“Really?” She hooked her legs to his hips, “And do you want to spend these twenty minutes before class listing them all for me, or do you want to fuck me?”

Her words came out of her mouth in a tone she wasn’t entirely sure would sit well with Severus, but when she heard him frantically rummaging under through his robes to free his aching cock, she knew they were both on the same page.

Severus salivated from the sight of her parting her legs completely for him and tossed the top layer of his clothing carelessly to the floor, reaching into the front of his pants with his free hand. Eleanor traced the tip of her tongue against her bottom lip as she watched his angry arousal spring out of his crotch, reaching forward with one of her hands.

“Come here.” She spoke softly, brushing her fingertips up and down the underside of his cock in light motions.

Severus shivered from the faint but direct motions of her hand. He hissed through his teeth and leaned down to desperately press their lips back together again, moaning into the kiss. Eleanor gently swept her finger up and down his cock as slow as possible, able to feel the desperate throb against her.

“Tell me you're not wearing any underwear.” He growled against her lips, placing a hand on either of her thighs as he leaned over her again, “Are you being a little slut for your Professor?”

Eleanor loosely wrapped her hand around him properly and stroked him a couple of times, purring against his lips, “I just don't see the point in even owing any these days.”

Severus’ cock twitched against her hand and she grinned, biting down on his bottom lip for a moment before letting go and gazing up at him with a devilish expression.

“You’re going to be the fucking death of me, you silly little tart.” He pushed himself further between her legs and placed his hands against the table now, looking down at her with desperate, wanting eyes. “Pathetic how desperate you are for me.”

“You fucking love it…” She mouthed practically inaudibly, though her lips remained parted as he thrust himself forward harshly, grabbing onto the sides of the table.

Severus grunted and attempted to kiss her, though missed a couple of times at first from the frantic movements of his hips. Eleanor squeezed her legs around him and gasped in pleasure each time he filled her up completely, her arms now snaked around his neck and fingers buried deeply in the back of his hair.

The table was beginning to move just when Severus stopped moving his hips abruptly, “Shit, you’re that fucking desperate that we haven't even… thought about…” He swallowed hard, feeling his cock pulsating madly inside her with each neglected second the passed.

“Then, don’t think about it…” Eleanor shrugged, biting her lip as she tried to pull him closer to her with her legs still wrapped around him.

“Hm?” Severus scowled, swallowing hard.

Eleanor reached up to pull him down closer again and whispered against his lips whilst rocking her hips against his and kissing him slowly, “Is it such a crime to fantasise about having your baby, Severus? To… want your baby, hm?”

Severus let out a shaky breath and started to move his hips in time with her again whilst speaking aimlessly, “What… what are you…”

“Just one careless fuck…” She leaned up on her elbows and arched her back a little, giving him even more ease of movement. “Without any barriers of birth control or a contraceptive spell…”

Severus felt a sudden, sharp jolt in the pit of his stomach from what she was saying. “E—Eleanor, don’t…”

He smacked their lips back together harshly to try and muffle the volume of moans that his mouth were struggling to contain. Their bodies moved together desperately again, Severus’ hands trembling as much as the table beneath them.

“Imagine that; well on the way to being the mother of your child…” She whispered, her heels now pressing into his bottom as he struggled to even stand.

“We… w-we can’t…” He panted, hands growing sweaty. “The risk would be too…” But he was struggling to even speak in full sentences at this point.

“Mm, exactly, Severus,” She kissed him again and bucked her hips up against him. “The risk.”

Several thoughts and feelings surged through Severus’ body and he felt himself pulsating dangerously close to the edge just from her words alone. He pressed a shaky kiss to her lips, his hips now moving in a pathetic motion as he tried to think past what she was saying to him, but his brain wasn’t working well with the potential consequences of his actions.

“Mmmh, Sev, please…” She purred, scratching her nails against the nape of his neck as she squeezed her legs around him. “I can already feel how much your cock is begging for it…”

Severus grunted loudly and used all the strength left in him to pull away suddenly, his body raging with want for her, but his mind forcing him to think logically. Eleanor’s heavy eyes opened and she gazed up at him, drinking in the image of a man hovered over her, aching for release.

“Stop… stop…” He swallowed hard, his eyes closed. “You’re going to…”

Eleanor’s eyes trailed down to his cock stood angrily out of the crotch of his pants and bit her lip, her mind still a few moments behind when it was where she wanted it to be.

“Going to what, Professor?” She raised her eyebrows innocently, licking her lips as her eyes settled on the glistening head of his cock.

Severus remained silent, albeit for his heavy breathing. He couldn’t remember the last time he was ever this turned on, and what made it worse was the fact that his cock, throbbing with want, was now completely unattended to.

“Don’t stop, Sev…” Eleanor narrowed her eyebrows, lifting her hips up off the table just enough to brush against the underside of his cock with the material of her blouse. Severus’ eyes widened immediately and his grip on the table tightened, trying to stop his eyes from rolling back. She did this a couple of times, trying to stress her own urgency, and enjoying the expression it created upon his face from doing so. Gradually, she lowered herself back down onto the table fully and waited until their eyes met before moaning, “Just want to be full of you, Severus…”

“N-No, n-!” Severus’ voice came out strangled and sudden, but that wasn’t the only thing; first his hips, but then his entire body shuddered forward as strings of eager release began to rain out in ropes and land all over Eleanor’s blouse. “O—Oh, oh, oh, fuck!” He grunted loudly through gritted teeth.

“Severus!” Eleanor widened her eyes and her mouth gaped open — though this almost resulted in a target point for his hands-free orgasm.

Severus wanted to cry out in pleasure, wanted to reach down and ride out his climax somehow, but his entire body both was paralysed and trembling all at the same time. Eleanor stared in disbelief as he thrust into the air, and his cock continued to erupt without a single touch. The vein prominent down his twitching length was bulging like the ones in his neck from him pressing his lips harshly together to try and fend off the moans wanting to escape, his head tilted back.

Eleanor hesitantly reached out a hand in an attempt to give him some physical contact whilst his body contorted in neglected pleasure, but he weakly swatted it away.

“I…” Eleanor frowned, her hand now back by her side as she tried to catch her breath.

“Get…” He drew in a sharp breath, “Away from me.” He seethed.

“But–“

“No. Fucking. Buts.” He spat, eventually raising his head and standing upright.

He looked furious; face like curdled milk, nostrils flared, piercing glare from his dark eyes, lips pressed so harshly together in one thin line that they looked like they were losing blood flow.

Eleanor swallowed nervously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you… well, I did, but I didn’t mean to…”

“I don’t want to hear it.” He spat, tucking himself back into his trousers and stumbling slightly as he fastened them back up. Of course, he was still lost in a bit of the ruined climactic high, but he covered this possible embarrassed and vulnerable state by saying, “Look at the fucking state of you. I suggest you clean yourself up before everyone learns how much of a desperate whore you are.” He grasped his cloak from the floor and threw it back on as he turned around.

“What about my…” She dared to start the question, but chose not to finish it. She chose not to ask him if she would also be allowed to get off.

Severus was already walking to the door, but he turned around to look over his shoulder. “What about you?”

“Do I get to…” Her voice squeaked. “You know… I need to, I need you.”

“Are you seriously asking me if I will pleasure you after that fucking diabolical performance?!” His eyes went up in flames. “Sort yourself out.”

“Severus, please…” She narrowed her eyebrows, still lying helplessly on the table.

“Is this you begging?” He let out a harsh laugh — the kind that would frighten you to your core. “You’re a desperate little slut, and you can’t even let me fuck you right. Pathetic.” He snarled. “Like I said; sort yourself out and get back to class.”

“I want you to sort m—“

“Did I fucking stutter?” His hand met the handle of the door. “Clean yourself up. That is what I mean.” He spoke with his back to her as his hand twisted the knob on the door and paused. “Don’t you dare even think about touching yourself.”

“Severus, I’m sorry…” She spoke timidly, glancing down momentarily at the sticky result spread out rather impressively on her blouse.

“I told you I don’t want to fucking hear it.” He gritted his teeth and then said his final piece before opening the door; “Meet me in my classroom after school tonight, and I’ll do more then just make you fucking beg. You will be punished for this.”

-

Once again, thank you so much for reading! Please let me know if you'd like to be tagged in the next part!

I'll tag the people below who I used to tag in the other stories, please let me know if you'd like to be removed from the list 🫶:

@ohyeahthecoolaidman @overgrownbat @eccentricchick @megladon045 @kleinefeekaterina @slyckman @snapey @sadeyes61 @dontrunannabelle @starsmash8 @dracolilhoe @foxcatv @dailyalanrickman @liv2post @sevysnapy @dark-st @eyesinmymindinmay @peachringz @bibliosophie @plecosylvia @severinaprince @rinavarwen @millyrecords @icytrickster17 @saphiraxx @old-scratchpaper @properpotioneer @c-kayp @darkthought15 @niftysnazzy @anxiety-made @liviacarol88-blog @bayleebubble @theatreslave @thesecretsofseverussnape @lupinmoonlights

@taybabylovesyou @its-just-me-chey @peppiloll @odetolithium @megladon045

@benedict-cbe @bratty-tingz @speedycupcakepaper @outsidetherain6070 @niftysnazzy @ominousminx @glryfy @fallingfor-fics @tavsianus

(Tags continued in comments)

[muiitoloko]

Author's Notes: A draft for Hilly

Hilly left the pub through the back door, unzipped his pants, and leaned one hand against the brick wall while he pissed into the alley. The night air was thick with beer and garbage, and the muffled sound of a band thrashed behind the door—guitar feedback, someone yelling into a mic, the bass vibrating in his bones.

He grunted softly, relieved, his breath visible in the cool air as the piss steamed against the concrete. Normally, he used the bathroom like a civilized human being. But the pub was packed that night. Too packed. Some new band had brought in a crowd of mohawked kids and sweaty college punks, and there was a line wrapped halfway through the bar just to get to the toilets. Fuck that. This was his place.

He shook himself with a grunt, muttering something about the plumbing, and that’s when he saw you—frozen at the alley’s edge, your face bright with embarrassment, hands still gripping a black trash bag.

“Jesus Christ—!” Hilly swore, fumbling his dick back into his pants with all the grace of a man twice his age and three times as stubborn. “What the hell, were you—were you watching me piss, damn it?”

Your eyes snapped away, wide and horrified. “N-no! I—I didn’t—I just came out to throw the trash—!”

He zipped up and turned toward you, squinting. “You saw something. Don’t lie.”

“I didn’t!” you said quickly, shaking your head as you tossed the bag into the dumpster with a sharp thud. “I was just—I didn’t even realize you were there! I swear!”

Hilly sighed and leaned back against the wall, tucking his hands into the pockets of his baggy jeans. He eyed you for a long second, not speaking. Your face was red. You couldn’t look him in the eye.

Yeah. You’d seen.

Well… fuck.

“Anyone would’ve seen,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. “Goddamn alley’s lit up like Yankee Stadium, should’ve pissed in a fuckin’ cup behind the bar like the old days…”

You stood awkwardly near the door, arms crossed now, trying to disappear into the shadows.

Hilly scrubbed a hand down his face and sighed again, heavier this time. “Look,” he said, voice rough but less accusatory now. “I’m not mad. Shit happens. Just… next time, maybe cough or throw a rock or… something. You scared the piss back into me.”

You cracked a tiny, nervous smile. “Sorry.”

He waved a hand. “Nah. My fault. I’ve been pissin’ in alleys since I could walk. Old habits.” He squinted at you again. “But what I don’t get is why someone like you wanted a job in this dump in the first place.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this place smells like old socks and regrets,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward the pub. “We get kids passed out in the urinal, bands who can’t tune their guitars, and the dishwasher hasn’t worked since ’74. You could work anywhere with a smile like that. So why here?”

You looked at the ground, your eyes catching the edge of a wet footprint on the cracked concrete, and shrugged—awkward, defensive. Your voice dropped when you answered.

“There aren’t… a lot of jobs for people who didn’t finish high school.”

Hilly blinked. The words hit like a cymbal crash in the alley’s quiet. He leaned off the wall just a little, his hands still buried in his pockets, mouth twitching into a brief frown.

“You didn’t finish?” he asked, tone lower now, rough but not judgmental—just surprised.

You shook your head. “No. I wanted to. I tried. But… life kinda happened.”

His gaze narrowed—not harsh, just focused now, like he was reading between lines you weren’t saying.

“My parents split when I was thirteen,” you continued, still not looking at him. “Dad left. Took the car. Didn’t look back. Mom got sick not long after. I had to pick up shifts at this corner diner just to keep the lights on.” You finally risked a glance at him. “By the time she got worse, school just… stopped making sense. Rent was more important than Shakespeare.”

Hilly muttered something under his breath—maybe a curse, maybe just a long string of vowels. He ran a hand down his face, tired eyes scanning the alley like it could explain any of this better than you just had.

It had been a few weeks since he hired you—somewhere between the dishwasher finally giving up and that bartender with the face tattoo disappearing mid-shift. Business was, for once, not a disaster. Crowds were growing. Bands were calling him back instead of the other way around. He figured it was time to stop doing every damn thing himself and hired you on a hunch.

And now he was looking at you like he’d missed something important. Like maybe he should’ve asked more.

“You could’ve said something,” he muttered. “I mean—Christ. I wouldn’t have—”

You held up your hands quickly. “I wasn’t trying to get sympathy or anything, I swear. I just—”

He cut in, gruff and sharp, but not unkind. “No, no, it’s not that. I just—why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

You hesitated. Bit your lip. Then, with a tiny voice: “You scare me.”

Hilly’s brows shot up. “What?”

You squirmed. “Not, like… a lot. Just… a little. You’ve got this whole ‘I’ll bite your face off and chain-smoke the remains’ vibe.”

He blinked. Then huffed. Then… chuckled. A deep, sandpaper scrape of a laugh that seemed to surprise even him. “Jesus. Is that what people think of me?”

You gave him a sheepish look. “I mean… the coat, the voice, the yelling at the beer deliveries…”

He shook his head, muttering, “I yell once because the guy brought IPA instead of Bud and suddenly I’m a fuckin’ horror movie.”

You cracked a smile. And this time, it wasn’t nervous.

He sighed, long and low, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Listen. I’m not great at… people stuff. I like dogs. I like music. I like when people show up on time and don’t break shit. That’s about it.” His eyes met yours, sharp and steady. “But if I scare you, that’s on me. Alright?”

You nodded, a little overwhelmed, but grateful.

Hilly leaned back against the wall again and squinted at the stars—or what passed for them in the piss-scented alley. “Well, now I know. You work hard. You’ve got a brain. You’re tougher than you look. And you’re not scared of garbage juice or blackout punks vomiting on your shoes. You’ll be fine here.”

You smiled again. “Thanks.”

He pointed at you. “But next time you sneak up on me mid-stream, I will scream.”

You snorted. “Duly noted.”

“And,” he added, straightening up, “you ever want to finish school—night classes, GED, whatever—you tell me. I’ll cover your shifts, I’ll kick in for books if I gotta. You’re not getting stuck here just ’cause the rest of us did.”

You blinked. “You mean that?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just nodded. Then added, gruffly, “Don’t make me say it again. I’ve got a reputation to ruin.”

And with that, Hilly Kristal—the grump in the baggy jeans, the man who built a punk rock kingdom out of duct tape and attitude—pushed open the back door and disappeared into the noise.

You followed him in.

But not before smiling to yourself.

Just a little.

___________

Part of you didn’t think he was serious.

Hilly had said a lot of things over the months you’d worked there—gruff, half-muttered statements that often sounded like jokes but occasionally turned out to be policy. “Nobody plays this stage unless they know three chords or fewer.” “You can mop with beer. Kills the smell better than bleach.” “I hate everyone equally—don’t take it personal.” So when he told you to let him know if you ever wanted to finish school, you’d nodded and mumbled okay, but deep down, you didn’t expect anything to come of it.

Until three days later.

You showed up for your shift an hour early, hoping to get through a few math problems before the bar filled with bodies and noise. The moment you stepped behind the counter, you found your usual stool already pulled out, a battered spiral notebook sitting on top of it with a pencil wedged through the coil. And beside it? A black coffee and a plain croissant on a napkin that read: No excuses. Solve for x. —H

You stood there for a moment, stunned, your heart thudding unevenly. You hadn’t even told him you were actually taking the GED test. But apparently, Hilly Kristal paid more attention than he let on.

He let you work through your homework at the bar in the early hours, before the amps got plugged in and the beer taps ran nonstop. Sometimes he’d bark at a delivery guy or shuffle around boxes behind the bar, but he always left your little pocket of quiet intact. When you offered to stay late to cover cleanup or skip breaks to make up for the study time, he’d just wave you off with a grumble about how you weren’t stealing anything but your own future.

You were grateful. More than grateful. But you also didn’t know how to feel.

It wasn’t just the guilt—though that was there, a dull pressure in your chest that whispered don’t be a burden. It was the fact that you didn’t know how to repay someone like Hilly. Every time you tried, he refused. You brought him coffee once, and he said it tasted like boiled socks. Tried paying for a sandwich when you both ended up at the same corner deli, and he stared at you until you put your wallet away. Once, you even cleaned out the back office without asking—organized the receipts, tossed the moldy fruit, got rid of that one chair that smelled like wet ferrets—and he didn’t say anything for two days. Just grunted, then brought you an extra pack of pencils the next time you sat down to study.

It was unspoken, but something was growing there—something complicated and not quite safe.

You were starting to see him as more than a scary boss.

Maybe that’s why you got angry.

It was a Thursday night. The place was packed, the crowd loud, the band halfway through a chaotic set that sounded like someone had dropped a drum kit down a stairwell on purpose. You were behind the bar, doing three things at once—pouring a pint, counting change, and blinking at your algebra homework sprawled open beside the till. It felt ridiculous. A grown woman. Doing high school math. Between beer spills and stage feedback.

And then you saw him.

Hilly.

In the corner of the bar, where the shadows blurred into the red neon light, he was leaning close to some woman. Tall. Pretty. Tattooed. She was laughing, clearly enjoying the way he had her pinned between his body and the wall, his hand braced beside her head. His voice—usually sharp, dry, sardonic—was lower now, almost warm. She smiled at him like he was the only man in the room. He said something that made her tilt her head and bite her lip.

And you couldn’t look away.

The mug in your hand clinked against the tap harder than necessary. You told yourself it was nothing. He was older, free, grumpy but charismatic in his own weird way. You’d seen women flirt with him before. Some liked the mystery. Others liked the legend. And Hilly never made a show of it—just smirked, muttered something half-insulting, and wandered off.

But this time, he stayed.

Pressed in close.

Laughing.

Touching.

While you were stuck here, trying to remember how to calculate slope-intercept form with your fingers sticky from someone else’s spilled drink and a headache throbbing behind your eyes.

You slammed the glass down harder than you meant to, foam splashing over your notebook. The guy waiting for it gave you a look, but you ignored him. You flipped the page, scrawled something meaningless just to look busy, and bit your cheek so hard you tasted blood.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It couldn’t be jealousy.

You didn’t even know what it was, exactly—just a sour twist in your gut, a heat behind your eyes that made everything feel tight and wrong. You were embarrassed. Embarrassed to be there with a textbook in a bar, still chasing something most people finished at seventeen, while he—Hilly—was out there charming strangers like he wasn’t the only reason you even believed in second chances.

It was pathetic.

You were pathetic.

You looked back down at the numbers on the page, but they blurred together like spilled ink. You blinked fast, jaw clenched, and tried not to feel like you’d just been left behind without ever being told you were coming along.

You put away your notebook. Shoved it under the bar without looking and grabbed the nearest cloth, wiping at the counter with the kind of vigor reserved for people trying very hard not to feel.

The band was still playing, loud and messy. Glasses clinked. Someone yelled for another round.

You focused on that.

Two guys waved at you from the far table—slouched twenty-somethings with the kind of smirks that made your skin itch. You nodded back, automatic, and poured their beers. Pint glasses slid smooth into your grip, cold against your fingers as you made your way over.

You didn’t expect a thank you. You never did.

But you also didn’t expect the slap.

It landed hard and sudden, a sharp sting across your ass as you set the second pint down. The shock of it made you freeze, your hand still curled around the glass, heart skipping a beat as your eyes snapped wide. For a second, you didn’t even process the noise—just the heat in your face, the way the room spun a little.

One of them—dark-haired, already too drunk—was grinning at you now. Winking, like he thought it was funny. Like it was nothing.

You straightened slowly, every muscle in your back going tight. You opened your mouth—whether to curse or to laugh it off, you didn’t know.

But then—

Crash.

A chair scraped hard across the floor.

And suddenly Hilly was there.

You hadn’t seen him move. You hadn’t even seen him. But there he was, all six feet of fury, looming over the guy who’d touched you like a storm cloud made of denim, ash, and barbed wire.

His voice was low. Dangerous. Dead calm.

“Stand. Up.”

The man blinked, then glanced at his friend with a half-laugh, like it was a joke. “What’s your—”

SLAM.

Hilly’s hand hit the table so hard the glasses jumped, one of them toppling. Beer spilled over the edge, sloshing down into the guy’s lap, and now he was swearing, jerking backward in his seat.

“I said,” Hilly repeated, each syllable clear as a threat, “stand the fuck up.”

You’d seen Hilly mad before. At delivery guys, broken mic stands, musicians who showed up high and left higher. You’d seen him yell. You’d seen him growl. Once, you’d even seen him throw a chair.

But you’d never seen him like this.

There was no shouting. No theatrics. Just that terrible, awful stillness. His mouth was a tight, grim line. His hazel eyes were flint. His voice was pure baritone gravel—quiet enough to get lost in the music, but sharp enough to cut glass.

The guy stood.

He didn’t mean to, you could tell—it was pure instinct, like something in his bones told him to obey.

“You touch my staff again,” Hilly said, voice low enough to make you shiver, “and I will throw you through that goddamn window. You understand me?”

The man sputtered, half-apologizing now. “I—I was just playing, man. Just—”

“Does she look like she’s playing?” Hilly barked.

Silence.

No answer.

The guy shook his head.

“Good. Because if you ever put your hands on her again, you’re not leaving here with all your teeth.”

And then Hilly did something worse than yell. He smiled—cold, humorless, dead in the eyes.

“Finish your drinks. Then get the fuck out.”

The guy dropped into his seat like someone had cut his strings. Hilly didn’t even look at him again. Just turned, hand closing gently—but firmly—around your arm.

“Come with me.”

You went.

Not because you had to.

Because in that moment, you couldn’t not.

He guided you through the crowd with a hand low on your back—nothing inappropriate, nothing even lingering—but his palm was warm and solid and you felt like you could breathe again for the first time in ten minutes.

Once you were behind the bar, tucked in that narrow space near the storeroom door, he let go. Stepped back. Looked at you properly.

You expected him to yell. Or ask if you were okay. Or demand to know why you didn’t slap the guy yourself.

But all he said was:

“Did he hurt you?”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Your face,” Hilly said, quieter now. “You looked scared.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Then, after a beat, shook your head. “I wasn’t. I mean—I was, for a second. But I’m okay. I’m used to it.”

He flinched.

Not big. Not dramatic. Just the faintest tightening at the corner of his eyes.

“Don’t say that,” he said, and suddenly his voice was tired. “Don’t ever get used to that.”

You nodded, unsure what else to say.

Hilly ran a hand down his face. Looked out at the bar. Then back at you. “You want me to throw them out now?”

“They’ll leave,” you said. “You scared the shit out of them.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t even smirk.

He just reached behind the counter, pulled out a fresh towel, and handed it to you like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You took it.

Your fingers brushed his.

And for a moment, neither of you moved.

You two were still standing close when she showed up.

The woman from earlier—the one Hilly had been pressed up against like the two of them were starring in some punk rock noir—appeared at the edge of the bar, leaning in with a loose smile and a hand braced dramatically on the countertop.

“Well,” she said, her voice high and lilting with just enough sharpness to cut, “there you are.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see her perfectly lined eyes narrow with mock offense. “I was starting to think you got abducted. You disappeared so fast, Hilly. Should I be hurt?”

You didn’t say anything. Just clutched the towel tighter in your hand and took a half-step back, instinctively creating space, your eyes dropping to the scuffed floorboards.

Hilly shifted beside you—just a little—and when he spoke, his tone changed.

“Sorry,” he said, not sheepish, not quite apologetic, but… softer. “There was something I had to deal with.”

You tried not to listen. Tried not to notice the way his voice lowered—not to the dangerous register he’d used on the drunk, not to the bark-and-grumble you heard every day—but something else entirely. A little smoother. A little more… careful.

Flirty? You couldn’t tell.

You weren’t sure you wanted to.

The woman leaned closer, her perfume curling into the air like smoke, floral and powdery and expensive. “Well,” she murmured, tracing a finger along the rim of a tipped-over shot glass, “I missed you.”

Hilly let out a quiet breath—part laugh, part sigh. “I’m still here.”

You set the towel down and moved to the sink. Rinsed a glass you didn’t need to. Wiped the same spot on the counter twice. Anything to make yourself invisible. You’d seen him with women before—more than once. But this was different. He’d just protected you. Looked at you like you mattered. And now…

Now he was talking to her like that.

Maybe you had read it all wrong.

Behind you, the woman let out a soft laugh. “You’re lucky I like being ignored,” she teased. “Adds to your whole tortured-genius thing.”

“I’m not a genius,” Hilly muttered.

“No,” she said, her voice low, playful. “But you are tortured.”

You grabbed another glass—clean—and started washing it anyway. Water sloshed against your fingers, warm but sharp. You kept your back turned. Focused on the hiss of the tap, the way your knuckles whitened as you gripped the sponge.

“She your daughter?” the woman asked suddenly, her tone a little louder now. You froze mid-scrub. “The girl behind the bar. Cute. Quiet. Got your grumpy face.”

Hilly didn’t answer right away.

And that silence said more than anything else could have.

You turned off the tap.

Dried your hands.

Started walking toward the storeroom without a word.

But you hadn’t even made it two steps before Hilly called after you. Not loud. Not sharp. Just enough to stop you.

“Hey—”

You paused.

He was looking at you now. Not at her. You.

His eyes searched your face like he was trying to figure out what you were thinking—and maybe even more surprisingly, why he cared.

You stared back, expression unreadable, waiting.

But before he could say anything else, the woman leaned in again, her voice a drawl. “Aw, don’t let me interrupt. I just wanted to say hi.”

She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek—careful not to smear her lipstick—and sashayed off into the crowd like she hadn’t just dropped a live grenade in the middle of the bar.

Hilly watched her go. Then looked back at you.

You looked away first.

“I’ll be in the back,” you muttered.

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then let you go.

For now.

Hilly thought about following you. He really did.

His eyes lingered on the swinging door to the storeroom long after you disappeared behind it, jaw tight, heart ticking in a rhythm he didn’t particularly like. That voice in his head—the one that sounded a little too much like his ex-wife and a little too much like guilt—told him to go after you. Say something. Fix it. But the bar was full, and he couldn’t just leave it unmanned. Not with this many half-drunk amateurs sloshing around like toddlers with beer bottles.

So instead, he sighed.

Long. Heavy. The kind of sigh that carried too many years and not enough patience. Then he turned back to the bar and served a guy who’d wandered up holding a crumpled ten and asking for “whatever’s cold and won’t make me puke.”

Hilly poured the beer. Took the cash. Didn’t say a word.

But his eyes kept flicking back toward the door.

You returned less than five minutes later.

Your expression was neutral. Not cold, not angry—just blank, like someone who’d carefully folded all their feelings into a box and shoved it under the bed. You weren’t crying. You weren’t even flushed. You were just… working. Holding a case of bottled beer against your hip, moving with practiced focus as you crossed behind the bar and crouched near the fridge.

He watched you silently for a moment, his mouth twitching—like there were words trying to crawl their way out of his throat, but he hadn’t decided if they deserved to live yet.

Then he cleared his throat.

"You can leave early if you want."

You paused, halfway through loading the fridge. Slowly, you looked up at him.

Hilly wasn’t looking at you now. He was focused on restacking some cocktail napkins that didn’t need restacking, his voice gruff but quieter than usual. “I can handle it here.”

You blinked. “It’s barely ten.”

“Don’t care,” he said, brushing a bit of lint off the bar. “Crowd’s mellow. Band’s winding down. And you’ve still got that test coming up, right?”

You straightened a little, still kneeling, your fingers curled around a bottle. “You remembered?”

Hilly snorted. “What, you think I bought all those stupid mechanical pencils for my health?”

You smiled faintly.

He finally looked at you again—just a glance, but it was something. His eyes were softer now. Still tired, still rimmed in exhaustion and nicotine and whatever passed for sleep in his world—but softer.

“I meant what I said,” he added. “You want out of here someday? You gotta pass that damn test. I don’t want you dragging your ass in here tomorrow looking like death just so you can pour beers for a bunch of people who don’t tip.”

You hesitated.

“You sure?” you asked, quieter now. “I don’t want to bail on you if you’re short-staffed.”

“I’m always short-staffed,” Hilly muttered. “That’s not new. What is new is you giving a damn.”

He leaned on the bar then, elbows on the counter, looking at you fully now. No smirk. No sarcasm. Just Hilly—real and tired and oddly sincere.

“Go home,” he said. “Eat something. Read a book. Hell, sleep. Just… take the night. You earned it.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So you nodded.

“Okay.”

Hilly reached under the bar, pulled out your jacket, and tossed it to you without fanfare. “And take the damn pencils. I’m not gonna use ‘em.”

You caught the jacket. Smiled a little. “Thanks, Hilly.”

He grunted. “Don’t thank me yet. If you fail, I’m making you write band setlists on napkins until your hand cramps.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

As you turned to go, Hilly called out, one last time—voice rough, but not unkind:

“Hey.”

You looked back.

“Don’t let anyone talk down to you again,” he said. “Not some drunk in a booth. Not a pretty girl at the bar. No one.”

You nodded, heart catching in your chest.

And then you left—out the back door, into the night, jacket slung over your shoulder, Hilly’s words still echoing quietly behind you.

He watched the door for a few seconds after it shut.

Then he turned back to the bar.

“Alright,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles. “Who the hell wants to overpay for PBR?”

Because Hilly Kristal might not’ve been great at people.

But he was getting better.

Especially with you.

[lazysundaytales]

This was getting so long I decided to split it. Any guesses what the cliffhanger is about??

Violet

They met when he was still recovering, when he leaned heavily on a cane and spent most of his time in the muggle world where no one knew who he was.

He frequented a cafe near his house, walking there slowly every morning and ordering a single coffee that he could nurse for hours as he watched the world go by.

He didn’t think anyone at all noticed him until the weather made it too difficult for him to make the trek for a few days. When he returned, the woman behind the counter gave him the warmest smile he’d ever received. “There you are! I was worried when I didn’t see you all week.”

Severus opened and closed his mouth several times but did not speak. Worried? About him?

“If you can’t get here, you can always call the cafe and I can drop you something round on my way home.”

“…I don’t have a phone.”

She stilled for a moment, then lifted her eyes to look at him with a slight smile “Perhaps send a pigeon then?”

He didn’t realise she was teasing him. “Pigeons are useless at sending messages. They may be able to get from point A to point B, but they will drop the message on the way. Owls are much better.”

She stared at him now.

He took a step back. Time to find another cafe.

Except suddenly his coffee was moving towards him without her touching it.

“Send an owl, then.” She said, then turned on her heel to serve an approaching customer, leaving Severus’ drink hovering midair.

That day he stayed until the cafe closed. “It is illegal to use magic where muggles will see.”

“They’re oblivious. And besides, I don’t care. That world abandoned me, so I abandoned it. Their rules do not apply to me.”

Severus watched in silence as she manually cleaned all the tables. When she returned to clean the coffee machine, he asked “What is your name?”

“Violet.”

“Your full name.”

“So you can look me up? I don’t think so. What is your full name?”

“Severus Snape.”

He waited for the widening of her eyes, the worry, or the admiration, or the fear. Her face remained blank. She did not know.

“Suits you.” She replied before flicking the lights off. “Well, I don’t interact with that world anymore, so you’d better find another cafe.”

“I have not used magic here, only you have. I have no interest in that world either, which is why I am here, in a dark muggle cafe with a rather annoying barista.”

The corner of her mouth flicked up into a slight smirk as she grabbed her bag, then tossed him his cane. “Come on then, cripple.”

“I beg your pardon.” He seethed.

“I have art class. You can come with me.”

“Art class is to the muggle world what divination is to the magic one, I presume.”

He still followed her there, pretending not to notice she walked slowly so he could keep up, then sat while she painted something he could not place until he realised half way through that it was his own face, materialising out of canvas and paint. “You used magic.”

“No I didn’t.”

“You must have!” He hissed as they were shushed by the teacher.

Violet simply handed him his own paint brush.

After much agonising, he drew a field and a tree.

Then he felt ridiculously pleased when the teacher commented on how good it was and didn’t say a thing about Violets painting.

~~~

4 months later

~~~

It was completely and utterly ridiculous. He was a grown man who had fought wars and almost been killed. He did not need anyone else’s approval for anything at all.

Still, he hovered around outside Violet's class in the dark, waiting for her.

After his first foray into hobbies, he had joined her at pottery, archery, knitting. She grew tired of them all within weeks. A restless soul, the only time she ever seemed to stop and breathe was those rare occasions she would get absorbed in a book. Not a muggle book, but a magic one.

He knew she missed that world, and yet she would not discuss it with him.

The door in front of him finally opened, and a woman almost screamed when she saw him. The woman with her just shrugged. “Violets boyfriend.”

Was he? Her boyfriend? They were friends, certainly. Even Severus could tell that much, despite having little to compare to.

He got his answer, unexpected as it was, when Violet entered and her face lit up as soon as she saw him, then threw her arms around him. “No cane!”

He hesitated before he wrapped his arms around her. “I was half way here before I realised I’d forgotten it. Violet, am I your boyfriend?”

She laughed at this, as she always did at almost everything, and her hands came to rest on his cheeks. “Do you want to be?”

Severus was never able to formulate a reply that was quick enough before she would begin talking again. This time, she did not talk, and just turned to point at a poster on the wall; metal work and jewellery making. “You could make me a wedding ring.”

He wasn't sure what the average wizard or muggle was supposed to feel, but he suddenly felt worse than he’d ever felt in his life.

“We c-“

“I have to go back.”

Violet finally stilled, turning to face him. For once, her smile was gone. “No.”

“I have to. I have a duty to. The school I worked at needs to be rebuilt, and there are few of us left who remember what it should be like.”

“You told me you were done with that world.”

“It appears it is not done with me.”

“…well, I do not associate with that world so you’d better find a new cafe.” She turned on her heel.

“Violet. Violet, I want you to come with me.” I need you to come with me, he realised as he spoke. She was a normality he had never had but had so longed for.

“Goodbye, Severus Snape.” She stomped away, and he knew from how she held herself that she was crying. Crying over him?

He followed a few paces behind her and reached her front door just as she had unlocked it.

His mouth opened.

Then the door was shut in his face.

…

Professor Snape was quieter than anyone remembered. He worked tirelessly as always, but there were no arguments, no detentions, and still no chatting. He refused to say where he had been, and if anyone ever talked about the war he would turn on his heel and stride away, robes billowing.

The only thing he asked for in return for his work was every Friday evening to himself.

~~~

3 months later

~~~

“Boyfriend’s here.”

Violet rolled her eyes, assuming her coworker was referring to the old man who always tipped her. He still tipped her now, even though she didn’t smile as much as she used to.

“Usual?” She asked without looking up.

There was the sound of something small and metal hitting the top of the counter, then being pushed her way.

She knew the hand that covered it.

When it lifted, it showed a ring. Handmade, delicate, precise. A black obsidian stone sparkled.

“Oh wow, did you make that?” Her colleague reached for it, but violets hand shot out to take it herself.

“..black obsidian is used for protection, grounding, and emotional healing. It-“ her colleague offered when the silence had gone on too long.

Severus finally spoke. “It is what you offered me.”

Violet held the ring tightly between her fingers but did not speak.

“Come with me.”

Still, she shook her head, though now a tear fell down her cheek.

When Severus’ hand reached out to brush it away, she launched herself forward to hug tightly, burying her face against his jacket. “I’ve missed you.”

His arms moved easily around her this time. “Tell me what happened.”

…

Severus was not a patient man in general, but for her he would wait for eternity.

It took a month for her to tell him even a little about her life as a witch; orphaned, abandoned. Unlike Harry Potter, she was of interest to no one and consequently she left the world with only the most basic spells and an anger that had taken years to harness.

To thank her for her openness, he shared a little of his own life with her.

She wept for him.

And, he hoped, for herself.

…

As students returned to Hogwarts and life began to return to some semblance of normal, Violet still refused to enter the magic world.

Instead, every Friday night a man dressed head to toe in black would enter the bright little cafe and wait in a chair by the counter for the place to close.

He would help clean the machine, the tables, and only then would he get what he waited all week for ; Violet’s arms wrapping around him.

…

Severus got what he had always dreamed of. He got the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, but now he found he no longer had the drive for it. What he preferred was teaching small, simple spells that made Violet laugh, or potions that made her muggle medicine taste better for her when she was sick.

He would tell no one, of course.

Instead, he struggled on day after day thinking only of Friday.

Until one morning in the great hall when an old brown owl flew not to one of the children but to him, a letter clasped within its claws.

He ignored the looks of the other staff as he opened the letter, but they saw well enough the anguish on his face as he read the words within.

The whole hall watched in silence as he fled the room.

[lazysundaytales]

Noooo, I forgot AO3 was down and I was planning a Frank Benson readathon