Omg please write an imagine in which reader and snape are in a relationship and she never calls him by his name, only nicknames and stuff like that (baby, darling, love, different nicknames, etc.) one day either the fight or he tells her off about it and suddenly she stops and calls like everyone else (Severus/snape/whatever) and only then he realizes how much he loved the way it previously was and it drives him mad trying to get her to go back without out right saying it (cause the grumpy proud man that he is😂)
Title: Grumpy Proud Man
Warning: A bit of angst
Words Count: 2000+
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The warm, golden light of the early morning filtered through the greenhouse windows, casting intricate patterns across the floor. Y/N hummed softly to herself, her hands deep in the soil of a Venomous Tentacula pot. The plant quivered slightly, its tendrils curling inwards as if it recognized her gentle touch. Herbology was her passion, and every day spent tending to the vibrant flora of Hogwarts felt like a dream come true.
She glanced at the clock on the wall and smiled. Severus would be finishing his first class of the day soon. Her heart gave a little flutter, as it always did when she thought of him. Severus Snape, the enigmatic Potions Master, with his sharp wit and sharper tongue, was a man who had captured her heart entirely. She adored him, though he often pretended to be immune to such affection.
Y/N wiped her hands on her apron and set the Venomous Tentacula aside. She wanted to surprise him with tea in his office—a small token of her love. As she prepared the tray with precise care, her mind wandered to the first time they’d spoken. It had been over a shared interest in rare magical plants. What had started as professional respect had grown into a deep bond, though they couldn’t have been more different in temperament.
Where Y/N was warm and openly affectionate, Severus was reserved, his emotions locked behind an impenetrable wall. But she saw through it—the way his eyes softened when he looked at her, the way his voice lowered when they spoke. He loved her, even if he struggled to say it aloud.
Over the following days, Y/N made a habit of showering Severus with affection in small, thoughtful ways. She would slip into the dungeons with a fresh cup of tea or a plate of his favorite biscuits, always accompanied by a soft kiss on his temple or a playful ruffle of his hair. “My Sevvy,” she’d call him, her voice dripping with adoration. “You work too hard. Take a moment to breathe, love.”
Severus would sigh, his expression caught between exasperation and fondness. “You’re incorrigible,” he’d mutter, though he never truly pushed her away. He didn’t know how to respond to such open affection, but he found himself craving her presence nonetheless.
In the evenings, she’d join him in his quarters, curling up beside him on the worn sofa as he read through his notes. She’d rest her head on his shoulder, her fingers tracing idle patterns along his arm. “Sevvy, darling, have I told you how much I love you today?”
“Only a dozen times,” he’d reply dryly, though his lips would twitch as if suppressing a smile.
“Well, it bears repeating,” she’d say, kissing the corner of his mouth. “You’re brilliant, and I’m so lucky to have you.”
These moments brought a flicker of warmth to Severus’s otherwise somber world, though he struggled to reconcile them with his own guarded nature. While he appreciated her love, he often found himself retreating inward, unsure of how to handle such unabashed devotion.
One morning, as Y/N prepared a basket of pastries to bring to the staff lounge, she couldn’t resist adding a small bouquet of flowers from the greenhouse. Severus had been particularly terse the day before, and she wanted to brighten his mood.
When she arrived at his office, she found him hunched over his desk, his hair falling in dark curtains around his face. She knocked lightly before stepping inside. “Sevvy, love, I brought you something.”
He looked up, his expression immediately guarded. “What is it now?”
She set the basket down, her smile unwavering. “Just some pastries and a little something to make your office feel less dreary.” She held out the bouquet, her eyes shining with hope.
Severus stared at the flowers, his mouth pressing into a thin line. “Y/N,” he said, his tone measured, “this isn’t necessary.”
“Of course it is,” she replied, undeterred. “You deserve to be surrounded by beauty.”
“I’m quite capable of managing without,” he said sharply, pushing the bouquet away.
Her smile faltered, but she quickly masked her disappointment. “Alright,” she said softly, setting the flowers on the windowsill instead. “I’ll just leave them here in case you change your mind.”
The tension reached its breaking point a few days later. Y/N had come to his office after dinner, her arms full of papers she’d been grading. She’d planned to sit with him while he worked, enjoying their usual quiet companionship. But when she called him “Sevvy” for the third time that evening, his patience snapped.
“Y/N,” he said, his voice dangerously low, “must you persist with these ridiculous nicknames?”
She blinked, startled. “I didn’t think you minded,” she said, her voice tinged with hurt. “It’s just my way of showing you how much I care.”
“And I have tolerated it,” he said, standing abruptly. “But there are limits. I am not some simpering fool to be coddled with pet names.”
Y/N’s cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and anger rising within her. “I never meant to make you feel that way. I just… I thought it made you happy.”
“Happy?” he repeated, his tone biting. “Do I strike you as a man who delights in such trivialities?”
Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “I didn’t realize my affection was such a burden to you.”
“Y/N,” he began, but she shook her head, cutting him off.
“No, I understand,” she said, her voice firm despite the crack in it. “If it bothers you that much, I won’t call you those names anymore.”
She turned and left, her footsteps echoing in the dimly lit corridor. Severus watched her go, his chest tightening with an unfamiliar ache. He didn’t try to stop her.
The days that followed were marked by a distinct shift in their dynamic. Y/N kept her promise, addressing him only as Severus or Professor Snape, even when they were alone. She no longer reached for his hand during their quiet walks around the grounds, nor did she surprise him with kisses on his cheek when they crossed paths in the corridors. Her vibrant warmth seemed to dim, replaced by a careful restraint that mirrored his own.
At first, Severus told himself it was a relief. He valued order and discipline, even in his personal life. But as the days turned into weeks, he began to notice the absence of her usual cheer. The way her laughter no longer echoed through the greenhouse, the way her smiles didn’t quite reach her eyes. She was still kind, still attentive, but there was a distance between them that hadn’t been there before.
One evening, as they sat together in her quarters, the silence between them felt heavier than usual. Y/N was curled up on the sofa, a book in her lap, while Severus sipped his tea. The fire crackled in the hearth, but its warmth did little to dispel the chill in the room.
“Y/N,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence.
She looked up from her book, her expression neutral. “Yes, Severus?”
He hesitated, the words forming and reforming in his mind. “Have I upset you?”
Her brows lifted in mild surprise. “Whatever gave you that idea?”
“You…” He gestured vaguely. “You’ve been different.”
She closed her book and set it aside, turning to face him fully. “I’ve only been doing what you asked. I’ve respected your boundaries.”
Her words were calm, but there was an edge to them that made his chest tighten. “I didn’t mean for you to… withdraw entirely.”
“I haven’t,” she said, folding her hands in her lap. “I still care for you deeply, Severus. I’m just… trying to be what you need.”
He frowned, leaning forward slightly. “And what of what you need?”
Her lips curved into a sad smile. “I thought what I needed was you. But perhaps I’ve been asking too much.”
Her words hung in the air, and Severus had no reply. The fire crackled, filling the silence as the space between them seemed to grow wider. For the first time, Severus realized just how much he missed the sound of her calling him “Sevvy,” of her warm laughter echoing in the stillness. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it.
The following week brought more moments of realization, though Severus kept his thoughts buried. One afternoon, as they worked side by side in the greenhouse, Y/N handed him a cutting from a Fanged Geranium.
“Here, Severus,” she said, her tone polite but distant. “This one’s ready for potting.”
He took the cutting, his fingers brushing hers for a brief moment. The usual spark of warmth was absent, replaced by an emptiness that gnawed at him. He watched her as she moved to the other side of the greenhouse, her focus entirely on the plants. She didn’t hum as she usually did, and the silence felt oppressive.
Later that evening, during dinner in the Great Hall, Y/N addressed him in the same formal tone. “Severus, could you pass the salt?”
He complied, the simple act feeling strangely hollow. As he glanced at her, he noticed the faint lines of exhaustion around her eyes. She was smiling at something Professor Sprout had said, but it didn’t reach her eyes. He looked away, a knot tightening in his chest.
By the time the evening ended, Severus found himself lingering in the corridor outside her quarters. He raised his hand to knock but hesitated. What could he say? That he missed her warmth, her nicknames, her unbridled affection? The words refused to form, and after a moment, he turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
As the days stretched on, the distance between them became almost unbearable. Severus found himself longing for the very things he’d pushed away—the sound of her laughter, the way she’d light up a room just by being in it. But his pride held him back, keeping the words locked inside.
One evening, as they passed each other in the corridor, Y/N offered him a small, polite smile. “Good evening, Severus,” she said softly.
He nodded, his throat tightening. “Good evening, Y/N.”
As she walked away, the realization struck him with full force: he’d driven away the one person who had ever truly cared for him. And though he desperately wanted to fix it, he didn’t know how. Instead, he stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her retreating figure until she disappeared around the corner.
The following night, Severus sat in his quarters, the air thick with the scent of brewing potions and the faint crackle of the fire. A small vial of calming draught sat untouched on the edge of his desk. He had been staring at it for an hour, his mind replaying the moments of their relationship, the brightness she brought, the warmth he hadn’t realized he depended on.
He set the vial aside and stood, his resolve hardening. Enough was enough. He couldn’t undo the pain he had caused her, but he could at least admit he was wrong. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and left his quarters, his strides purposeful yet hesitant.
When he reached the greenhouse, he found her bent over a table, tending to a row of Flutterby bushes. The moonlight streaming through the glass panes caught in her hair, making her look ethereal. For a moment, he simply watched her, his chest tightening with a strange mix of longing and guilt.
“Y/N,” he said finally, his voice low but steady.
She straightened, turning to face him. “Severus,” she said, her tone neutral but not unkind. “What brings you here so late?”
He hesitated, his usual composure faltering. “I need to speak with you.”
She wiped her hands on her apron and nodded. “Of course. What is it?”
The words stuck in his throat for a moment, but he forced them out. “I… I owe you an apology.”
Her eyes widened slightly, surprise flickering across her face. She said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
“I’ve been a fool,” he admitted, his voice heavy with self-reproach. “Your affection, your warmth… I took it for granted. Worse, I dismissed it as trivial when it was anything but.”
Her expression softened, though she still looked guarded. “Severus…”
He stepped closer, his dark eyes searching hers. “I thought I needed distance, control. But all I’ve managed to do is drive you away. And in doing so, I’ve come to realize how much I miss… everything about you. Your laughter, your kindness. Even the ridiculous nicknames.”
A faint smile tugged at her lips, though tears glistened in her eyes. “You mean that?”
“I do,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m not good at this, Y/N. I don’t know how to show love the way you do, but… I want to try. If you’ll let me.”
She closed the distance between them, reaching up to cup his face in her hands. “Oh, Severus,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “You didn’t have to be perfect. You just had to be you.”
His hands came to rest lightly on her waist, his touch tentative. “You deserve so much more than I’ve given you.”
“What I deserve,” she said firmly, “is a partner who tries. And if you’re willing to do that, then that’s all I need.”
He nodded, a faint sheen of tears in his own eyes. “I’ll try.”
She smiled then, the first genuine smile he’d seen from her in weeks. “That’s all I ask, Sevvy.”
A soft laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. “You’ll be insufferable with those names again, won’t you?”
“Absolutely,” she teased, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “But only because I love you.”
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Severus allowed himself to smile—a small, hesitant smile, but genuine nonetheless. Together, they stood in the moonlit greenhouse, the distance between them finally bridged.
