#snape fandom

[dragonlover736]

Good Little Wife

Summary: Kinktober 2025, Day 5 - Husband/Wife kink

Pairings: Severus Snape x f!reader

Warnings/tags: EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT, MINORS DNI - Soft Severus, thoughts of marriage, Severus gets hot and bothered by someone calling you his wife

A/N: I struggled with naming this one, but overall I’m happy with how it turned out. I had a dream about Severus being married and just couldn’t shake it out, so consider this the result of that. Can either be viewed before or after the war :)

Masterlist

The streets of Hogsmeade were busier than usual for a chill autumn evening. All around you were students with their Hogwarts cloaks, darting from store to store, villagers idly chatting along the sidewalks, and leaves leisurely floating through the gentle breeze. You had convinced Severus to slip away with you, to have an afternoon just to yourselves and away from all the papers that needed grading over the weekend. 

It had been a little over three years since you started this relationship with Hogwarts’ great potions master, and while the question of marriage had never been brought up, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t thought about it. The thought of Severus as your husband never failed to make you feel giddy with excitement. You wouldn’t dare push Severus towards the thought, though, knowing he’d bring it up whenever he was ready.

You linked your arm with his as you both wandered into The Three Broomsticks, seeking refuge from the chill autumn wind. His black cloak billowed dramatically behind him, as it usually does, before finally resting along his figure once he was out of the cool breeze. Madam Rosmerta acknowledged you both with her usual warm smile. “Ah, Professor Snape! And your lovely wife as well. Welcome back!” she greeted you as she wiped down the bar. “The usual table by the fire?”

Your steps faltered. Wife? You never told her that you were married before. Severus stiffened beside you, his grip on your arm tightening ever so slightly. You glanced up at him, expecting a sharp correction like he would carry out to his students, but he merely nodded curtly. “Yes, that will do.”

Rosmerta hurried off, oblivious, while you slid into your seat at the table across from the brooding professor. As you admired the warmth of the fire, you couldn’t help but notice Severus’s expression. His brows were furrowed, his dark eyes distant in thought. 

“Wife?” you teased softly after the inn keeper had delivered you both a drink, nudging his knee under the table. “I’m surprised you didn’t correct her.”

He took a slow sip of his firewhiskey. “It seemed unnecessary. The woman prattles enough without encouragement.”

But there was something in his voice, a warmth beneath the drawl, that made your heart skip a few beats. You studied him, the way the firelight softened the sharp lines of his face, highlighting the stray silver strands in his black hair. “It didn’t bother you?”

He set his glass down with an audible clink. “Should it have?” he asked slowly, his gaze meeting yours. “We’ve been together long enough that assumptions are… inevitable.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you replied, finally taking a sip of your own drink. 

—

Severus barely closed the door of chambers before his lips were on yours, his kiss hungry and fierce. His hands pulled you closer, pressing you against him as he mapped the curve of your waist, the lines of your shoulders. In his mind, though, he thought about what it would be like to be married to you. To wake up to you each morning in his bed, to have your laughter echoing through these cold stone walls, a ring shining on your finger as a declaration of his devotion. The thought made him deepen the kiss, a low groan escaping him.

You smiled against his lips, your own hands reaching up to undo the ungodly amount of buttons he had along his robes. “You’re imagining it, aren’t you?” you asked, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. “Tell me, my love, what would it be like if we were married?”

He exhaled sharply, his dark eyes meeting your own as he busied himself with the fastenings of your own robes. “You’d be insufferable,” he said, but his tone was fond and tender. “You’d fill my shelves with unnecessary knick-knacks, beg that I leave my papers to come read with you only to wind up talking about my day instead, and overall, you’d be like an annoying bug that wouldn’t leave my office even if the door was left open.” 

You laughed softly as he slid your robes off of you. “You’d love every second of it, though.”

He didn’t deny it, instead, he finished undoing the rest of the buttons of his own robes, letting them meet with yours on the stone below. He kissed you again, slower this time, savoring your taste, savoring the way your body arched into his. 

You guided him back, pressing him down onto the satin sheets of his bed, and he let you. He let your hands slide down his body and settle on his waist. He let you crawl your way over top of him and straddle his hips. He let you tease him by rubbing the fat head of his cock against your clit. And finally, he let you toy with his chest as you sunk down onto him, taking him inch by inch into your wet heat. His hands gripped your hips, gently guiding you as you rode him. 

“You’d make such a good husband,” you gasped out, nails clawing for purchase against his skin as he buried himself to the hilt. 

He groaned, low and deep in his throat, as his cock throbbed deep inside you. His own nails dug into the flesh of your hips, leaving small crescent marks in their wake. 

You teased him by sliding up, stilling when it was just his tip left inside you, before circling your hips down with a breathy moan. “Such a good husband,” you repeated, continuing your teasing. “Letting me have you like this, letting me take care of you like a good little wife.”

A breathless whimper escaped his lips as his hips bucked up to meet your own, hands guiding you to go faster. A loud moan slipped past your lips as he angled himself to go deeper, to press against the bundle of nerves that rested inside you with each desperate thrust. “That’s it,” he cooed, fucking up into you with a precision that left you breathless. “My beautiful wife, taking my cock like you were made for it.”

You swore your heart stopped when he finally called you his wife, heat gathering quickly in your core. You leaned down, bringing him into a sloppy kiss, his tongue clashing with your own. The sounds of your wetness filled the room with each thrust, only adding more fuel to the fire in your belly. “Severus,” you gasped against his lips, hands tangling into his hair and gripping desperately at his shoulder. 

“Yes, wife?” he hummed, his lips grazing your ear as he spoke, as if he knew the effect that one word had on you. Turns out, he did, for in the next moment he guided your hips as you came around him with a cry of his name. “That’s it, good girl,” he coaxed, gently guiding you through your orgasm as he picked up the pace, now chasing his own high as his thrusts grew sloppy. “You’re going to be a good little wife and let me fill you, yes?” he asked, titling your head up to meet his gaze, his aching cock throbbing against your pulsating walls.

You nodded, too blissed out to respond, but that was all he needed. He spilled into you, burying himself as deep as he could possibly go, a strained whine escaping from his lips. For a moment, you both stayed like that, joined together and breathless, basking in the afterglow. His hands rubbed soothing circles into your hips, before he pulled you up for another kiss, slow, sensual, but just as passionate. 

“You did so good,” he praised, rubbing your cheek with his thumb. Gently, he slipped out of you, maneuvering you to rest beside him on the sheets. As if on instinct, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into your chest. Your fingers ran through his hair, which was now tangled as well as greasy, but you didn’t mind in the slightest.

“You treat me so well, my dear, my sweet husband” you hummed contentedly, smiling down at him as you pulled him in closer. Severus sighed, relaxing into you and your touch. Perhaps the idea of marriage would be coming sooner than he had thought, because for once in his life, he finally felt cared for, loved, and, dare he say it, happy.

[thebanddragon]

Harry isn’t interested on the books in the potion section and Severus is still unsure about how this whole parenting thing works

I think the quality went down considerably because of the size of the document..... so here are some close ups that hopefully look better:

[madocasmagic]

Nerds ☺️

Comms open 😭

[fafodill]

A commission I made for @shikix this summer~ Thank you again! After reading "A Patchwork Family" I can say I became quite fond of Severitus (how can you not, really, after such a read?) and really enjoyed working on this piece.

Which reminds me to tell you I'm open for commissions folks! I'll be working on a commission price sheet/post but in the meantime if you'd like something just feel free to reach out via DMs and we can talk about it together! On my Ko-Fi you can find prices for banners and little cartooney drawings~

[localcalico]

Mama

[chanchansthings]

Teen Sev ready to kick some ass—he'll get his own kicked instead :(

Finally found the reference so I could finally post it

[goosegrease]

currently feeling maternal for mii snape

[ladyhelona]

Planted Love

💌Severus Snape x Herbology Professor(or intern/new professor)!Reader

💭SFW: Fluff, kind of slowburn ish, Snape falling in love for you, Snape asks you out at the end, reader being kind of oblivious to Snape’s feelings, McGonagall not so secretly rooting for you 

A/N: This was a request I got a long while ago that I forgot to publish and then I accidentally deleted my entire inbox ago like a week and a half ago… oops. Still working on that Harry smut, energy has been finicky and I’m also running out of title names so…enjoy! Also I kind of made up herbs here so....I can't remember if everything mentioned is genuinely in Harry Potter. I got lazy, ok?

—

The last rays of sun filtered in through the greenhouse glass, casting long amber streaks across the rows of plants. The warmth of the day still clung to the air, mingling with the earthy scent of damp soil and fresh herbs. You were bent over a tray of dittany, carefully snipping the mature stems, fingertips smudged green and brown.

A faint click of the door opening broke the quiet.

“I assumed this time of day would afford me some peace,” came the familiar drawl, dry as ever.

You didn’t look up right away, too focused on trimming the final sprig just so. “It usually does. But Pomona let me stay late—she’s already gone for the evening.”

You turned then, wiping your hands on the edge of your robe. “If you’re here for your asphodel, I set aside a few roots. The good ones.”

Snape paused, half-shadowed in the doorway, robes billowing slightly with the breeze that followed him in. “You’ve taken to preparing them for me now, have you?”

You shrugged, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Well, you don’t like when the third-years mangle it. Figured I’d save us both the trouble.”

He stepped forward slowly, eyeing the basket of sorted roots with a furrowed brow that wasn’t quite irritation. You knew that look by now—it was his version of…appreciation, maybe.

“You’re far too accommodating,” he muttered, reaching for the basket.

You tilted your head. “You say that like it’s a flaw.”

There was a beat of silence. He didn’t respond, not directly. Instead, he took the basket and turned away, muttering something that might have been “Hmph. At least someone here is competent.”

As he pushed the door open, you called gently after him, “You’re welcome, Severus.”

He paused again. Just briefly. Didn’t turn back. But the door closed a little more gently than usual behind him.

— 

The last of the students had filed out in a flurry of parchment and scuffed shoes, leaving behind the usual aftermath—dried potions clinging to cauldrons, the faint scent of burnt lavender, and his patience hanging by a thread. Snape waved his wand with a practiced flick, vanishing the worst of the mess, but left the benches and shelves untouched.

He glanced at the time.

You were usually in the dungeons by now, carrying that blasted basket of herbs and trimmed ingredients like it was second nature. No fanfare. No knock. Just a soft rustle of robes and the gentle thud of the basket placed near his desk.

But the hallway outside was silent.

He paced once behind his desk, then again. Sat. Stood up. Adjusted the jars along the side shelf with more force than needed.

Ridiculous.

He had no use for distractions. Least of all ones that came in the shape of a professor too kind for your own good—offering him perfect snips of monkshood and bundles of fresh lavender, leaving little parchment notes in neat handwriting:

“Figured you’d want this batch—fresh from greenhouse three. ”

He still had yesterday’s note tucked under a stack of unused parchment, though he told himself it was only because he might need to reference it later.

Another glance at the time.

Then, as if summoned—soft footsteps echoed down the hall. A pause. The faint creak of the classroom door, opening just a bit.

Your voice, a quiet breath of warmth in the gloom:

“Sorry I’m late. I got caught up de-thorning the wandwood. Nasty thing today.”

Snape didn’t move at first. He just blinked at you from behind his desk, caught somewhere between relief and something far more irritating.

You stepped fully inside, brushing a stray leaf from your sleeve as you set the basket down. “I brought extra. Pomona said the next few weeks might be rough with the way the fluxweed’s reacting to the moon cycle.”

Still, he said nothing. Just looked at you. A little too long.

“…Is everything alright?” you asked finally, uncertain.

Snape cleared his throat. “Perfectly fine,” he said, voice clipped. “You’re late.”

You raised an eyebrow, more amused than offended. “Didn’t know you timed my deliveries.”

“I don’t.”

You only smiled, starting to turn to go. “Alright, then. I’ll be out of your way.”

But this time, he spoke before you reached the door.

“…I expect the same quality tomorrow,” he said, low and almost gruff. “If you’re planning to make a habit of it.”

You turned back, eyes bright with just the hint of a knowing smile. “Of course, Professor.”

And then you left. And he stood there for a moment longer than he meant to, listening to the echo of your footsteps as they faded down the corridor.

The kettle was whistling gently in the corner as you poured yourself a cup of tea, the clink of ceramic and quiet shuffle of parchment the only sounds in the room. A rare moment of peace between classes.

“Ah, there you are,” came McGonagall’s voice, crisp and familiar, as she stepped inside with a small stack of essays in hand. “I thought I saw you duck in.”

You smiled over your shoulder. “Just grabbing a quick cup. The third-years nearly destroyed my entire bench this morning trying to identify waterweed.”

She tsked sympathetically, setting her papers down and conjuring a second cup for herself. “Better yours than mine,” she murmured, then took a sip. “Though I must say—Herbology seems to be agreeing with more than just your students lately.”

You blinked, turning slightly. “…Pardon?”

McGonagall’s expression didn’t change much, but there was an unmistakable gleam in her eyes. “Severus has been… unusually tolerable these past few weeks.”

Your brows lifted. “Tolerable?”

“Oh, don’t look so surprised,” she said, waving a hand. “I’m quite fond of the man in my own way, but I’ve known Severus for decades. He doesn’t do pleasant unless something’s caused it—or someone.”

Heat began creeping up your neck, but you busied yourself with stirring your tea. “Maybe he’s just been getting more sleep.”

“I highly doubt that,” McGonagall quipped, then added more softly, “He’s been speaking quite highly of the new monkshood you brought in. Very precise. And I’ve heard him recommend your tincture preservation methods to Slughorn.”

You blinked. “He… recommended me?”

“Mmhmm.” She glanced at you over her glasses. “So whatever it is you’ve been bringing down to those dungeons—it’s working.”

You chuckled nervously, pressing the rim of your cup to your lips to hide your smile. “It’s just plants, Minerva.”

“Yes,” she said, tone far too knowing, “and perhaps something a bit more human than that.”

And with that, she turned back to her papers, utterly serene, like she hadn’t just thrown your morning into a tailspin.

Your knuckles tapped gently against the heavy door of his office. It was half open—rare. Even rarer that the flickering firelight within actually gave the place a warm glow.

“Come in,” came that familiar, velvet-dry voice.

You stepped inside, arms cradling the satchel of fresh-cut lovage and yarrow. “Brought your request, Professor.”

“Must you always call me that?” he asked, barely glancing up from his parchment. “We’re both professors.”

You smiled faintly as you walked closer, noting the way his hand had paused mid-sentence. “Habit, I guess.”

Snape looked up then—really looked—and his expression softened almost imperceptibly. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered. You never did.

“I harvested the yarrow early this morning,” you added, laying the bundle gently across a cleared space on his desk. “Before the sun fully crested. It’s more potent that way.”

He nodded, fingertips brushing the stalks like they were something rare. “Of course you’d know that.”

There was something in his tone. Not sarcasm, not dismissive. Just… low, quiet appreciation. It made your chest tighten.

“You always bring exactly what I need,” he said after a beat, voice even softer now. “Even before I realize I’ve run out.”

You shrugged gently, watching him with careful eyes. “That’s what colleagues are for.”

But he didn’t answer.

Instead, he stood.

He didn’t loom the way others claimed he did—no, this was different. Hesitant. Like he was standing on the edge of something he hadn’t allowed himself to want in years. Maybe ever.

“I’m not…” he started, then stopped. Frowned. Tried again. “I don’t do this.”

You tilted your head. “Do what?”

He stepped closer. “This. Whatever this is between us.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’ve watched you flit about this castle with a smile that could undo the very seams of a man’s restraint,” he said, voice low. “And yet, you never seem to notice the effect you have. On me.”

A silence stretched. You felt it crackling between you like static.

And then, almost shyly—almost—he reached out, fingers brushing yours. Testing.

“If I were to ask if I might… take you to Hogsmeade. Not as a colleague. Not as a favor.” His eyes held yours. “But as a man very foolishly falling for you.”

Your heart soared.

You stepped closer, letting your fingers slip fully into his hand.

“I’d say yes,” you murmured. “Even if you are a little foolish.”

His mouth quirked upward. Just slightly. Just enough.

And in the quiet of his dungeon office, for the first time in far too long, Severus Snape let himself feel hope.