Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Boston Lobster hated humans. Despised them, even. He always had since the moment he was created. They were greedy, weak, and utterly unworthy of the power they wielded over Food Souls like him. Summoned to serve, to fight, to cook—hah! The indignity of it all set his fiery temper ablaze every time he thought about it. But you… his Master Attendant… you were different. And it was starting to become a problem.

The Food Soul stood alone in his quarters, a private room that was next to the kitchen pantry, his broad frame taut as he leaned against the shut door. His crimson claws twitched, glinting faintly in the moonlight that filtered in, as if itching to tear something apart. It was hot, too hot as he shifted to crack open the small window of his room. The sound of crickets chirping in the night now seeped through the crack and into the once quiet room.

He growled low in his throat, dragging a hand through his tangled white locks. The memory of your smile from that morning clung to him like smoke, impossible to shake off. You’d been in the kitchen, your apron dusted with spilt flour, your laughter soft as you both fumbled with a recipe he had barked at you to perfect. “You’re too hard on yourself, Boston,” you had said, your eyes crinkling with that infuriatingly warm smile. “Not everything has to be perfect. You’re doing great, just as you are.”

He slumped onto the edge of his bed, the wooden frame creaking in protest under his weight. His mind betrayed him that night by replaying every moment of your kindness towards him. The time you bandaged his hand after he carelessly sliced it on a knife, your touch gentle despite his cold demeanor. The way you’d praise his cooking, even when he burnt the sauce out of spite. And that smile today… it was the last nail in the coffin for him.

He felt hot, like he was boiling alive. With a low, frustrated snarl, he tugged his shirt up, exposing the taut muscles of his abdomen. His nails grazed his skin as his other hand slid lower. He closed his eyes, and there you were again—plauging him with your smile, your voice, the way you’d look at him as if he was more than a weapon, more than a tool. His hands moved almost of its own accord, slow at first, tentative, as if he could stop himself if he tried hard enough. But he couldn’t.

Boston was sweating by the time his hands undid his pants, throwing them haphazardly across the room. He wasted no time in letting his boxers follow, finally freeing himself from the confined space. The lack of clothing barely offered him any relief as he stared at the pre-cum that dribbled down his length. He smeared it with his hand, using it to help lubricate him before wrapping his fingers around the base of his cock.

The first stroke had him groaning, eyes fluttering closed as he finally felt the friction he desperately needed. The third stroke has his antennas folding back along his head and his claws gripping the comforter beneath him. His cock throbbed every time he ran his thumb over the slit, smearing the leaking, viscous fluid that persistently beaded up along his length.

“Master…” The word slipped out, barely a whisper in the stillness of the night. He hated you for this—for making him want you, for making him feel so desperate. He hated you, yet he was desperately fisting his aching cock to the thought of you. His hand moved faster, rougher, his claws digging into the sheets below as he bit back a growl. The image of you just wouldn’t leave his mind—the times you would lean in close to him, where he could pick up your scent of flour and vanilla. The way your lips curled when you teased him in the kitchen for being clumsy with his utensils.

His breaths came in sharp, ragged bursts, his body tensing as he chased the release he didn’t want to admit that he needed. Every stroke was a betrayal of his pride, and every shudder a crack in his well-built armor. Boston imagined your hands instead of his own wrapped around him, your voice whimpering out his name as he pressed into you for the first time, and it was too much. His hips desperately bucked into his fist, no longer caring if he was quiet as the room filled with the sounds of his endeavor.

He couldn’t contain the loud groan that left his lips as the heat boiled over, tumbling through him until it spilled from his cock. Long, white strips of cum now coated his abdomen and leaked down onto his hand. For a moment, he sat there, his chest heaving as he came down from his high. His claws released their grip from the now torn fabric of his bed. The silence was deafening, broken only by his uneven breaths. Even the crickets seemed to have gone quiet. Guilt clawed at him, but it was drowned out by the lingering warmth of your image in his head. He hated you for it. He wanted you for it.

“Damn you,” he whispered, but there was no anger left within him. Only longing.

Chapter Text

A single, flickering candle was the only light source left within the Potion Master’s classroom. The air, filled with the scent of herbs, parchment, and damp stone, served as a comfort to the man himself, who stood rigidly by the shelves. The dim lighting made his black robes pool around him like ink. The hour was late, far past Hogwarts' curfew, and the castle was silent save for the faint crackling of the candle flame.

Severus had agreed to meet you here—you, the new Herbology professor, whose presence has been a thorn in his side since you were hired several months ago. Not because you were incompetent, you were far from it, but because you had a way of crawling under his skin that no one else has ever possessed.

You were kind, infuriatingly so, with a warmth that seemed to pierce through his carefully crafted defense. You sought him out each day without fail, even when his demeanor was cold enough to freeze hell itself. You’d generously give him herbs at the end of each week and curiously ask him about anything that your brain could possibly think of. You’d question him on his potions, brewing methods, and even sometimes about his life outside of Hogwarts, as if he were a man that was worth knowing. Tonight was no different, as you had come to him for help in brewing a particularly complex potion that would help cure a disease in one of your plants. By now, though, the lesson had ended and the cauldron had long grown cold. You now sat on the edge of his desk, eyes trained to him with an intensity that made his throat tighten.

“Severus,” you called out, your voice soft but deliberate. “You don’t have to keep your distance. I’m not going anywhere.”

His lips curled into a familiar sneer, though it lacked its usual bite. “You presume too much,” he muttered, turning to rearrange a row of vials that didn’t need rearranging. His hands, however, betrayed him as they trembled with each movement. You had a way of doing that, unraveling his resolve without even trying. Your laughter, your gentle teasing, the way you’d always say good morning to him, the way your hand would occasionally brush his as he stirred potions—it was maddening.

You slid off the desk, aiming to close the distance that rested between the two of you. Gently, you placed a hand along his back. He stiffened under your touch, but didn’t pull away either. “I’m not presuming,” you told him, your voice lower than before, earnest despite your teasing lilt. “I want to be here, to be with you.”

His breath caught the moment you uttered those words. He had to dare himself to turn around, his dark eyes finally meeting your own. You were close—too close for his liking—as he could catch the scent of lavender and soil that clung to you. It was nearly intoxicating. Severus thought about pushing you away, retreating into the safety of his solitude, but he couldn’t will himself to move. Instead, his gaze dropped to your lips, giving into the overwhelming feeling bubbling up within his chest. Desire. It was a foreign feeling for him, one that he kept buried away beneath years of discipline and self-loathing.

“Severus,” you whispered, your hand reaching out for his own. He flinched at the contact, but made no move to pull away. Your touch set his nerves aflame, yet at the same time it managed to anchor him. “Let me see you.”

Your words were like a spell, crumbling his defenses before he could even realize it. Before he could stop himself, he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours tentatively, as if he was expecting you to recoil. To change your mind as soon as he touched you, to finally realize he wasn’t what you would ever want, what anyone would ever want. You didn’t. You kissed him back, and he could feel the smile that sat on your lips through the kiss. Your hands slid up to his shoulders, one opting to rest there while the other snaked higher to the nape of his neck. You pulled him down, closer to you as you deepened the kiss. His heart pounded, a traitor to his composure, and he found himself guiding you back to the desk, his hands shaking as they settled on your waist.

He kissed you with a hunger he didn’t know he could still possess. His long fingers traced the curve of your hips, and you sighed into his mouth. He found himself wanting to hear it again, to please you and know that he was the cause of your moans of pleasure. His hands moved lower, slipping under the hem of your robes and hiking them up past your hip. You gasped, arching into his touch once his hands finally caressed your bare skin. The sound was electric, sending a jolt through him that settled low in his body, hot and insistent.

“Severus,” you murmured, voice breathless as his hands finally made it between your thighs. You clutched his robes tightly as he pressed a finger to your aching core, exploring you. He relished in every reaction you gave him—every soft moan, every shiver, every gasp of his name left his mind reeling. He focused on you entirely. On the way your body responded to his touch when his thumb circled your clit, on the way you tilted your head for him to trail hot kisses down your neck. With each one he could feel your pulse racing beneath his lips. He was utterly lost in you, in this impossible reality that someone, that you, truly wanted him.

For once in his forsaken life, he finally held hope that he could let himself go. When the heat rose within him, he didn’t fight to keep it at bay. He embraced it, embraced the way you were making him feel with each gasp and moan that fell from your lips. It wasn’t long before he was grinding against nothing, spurred on by the way you threw your head back as his fingers dipped into your wet heat. He couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched you, couldn’t believe that you were letting him touch you where few ever have. When your hands reached for him, tangling in his hair and pulling him down into a hungry kiss, he couldn’t take it anymore. The flood of emotions suddenly became overwhelming. He gasped out your name, body shivering as a wave of pleasure ran through him as he came. The moment was short lived, however, as he suddenly froze against you, like a deer in headlights.

Quickly, he withdrew himself from your body, his face burning red with shame and guilt. Surely now you would see just how pathetic he was. He was nothing but a repulsive and repressed man that wasn’t deserving of the touch of another, let alone their love. “I—,” He started, but found that the words came out dry and hoarse. Truthfully, he didn’t know what to say, because deep down he knew that he had ruined it. He had finally exposed himself as the pathetic, untouched man that he was, and the evidence was now staining his robes. He was prepared to flee from the situation entirely, to retreat back into the shadows of his chambers alone where he belonged. You wouldn’t let him, though.

“Severus.” You called, your hand reaching out to cradle his own. You looked up at him as you linked your fingers together with his. He swore he stopped breathing as soon as your eyes locked onto his. There wasn’t a trace of the anger and disgust that he expected to see, only a soft look of longing, laced with heavy desire. As if you knew he would try to run away, you lifted your other hand to his chin, forcing him to keep your gaze. Your thumb brushed his cheek as you simply told him “It’s alright, I promise. There’s no need to feel ashamed.”

“You don’t understand… I…” He started, fumbling with the words that caught in his throat. “What happened was… unacceptable. I’m not—”

“Severus.” You cut him off, your voice firm. He froze for the second time that night, unsure of how to proceed. Did you finally realize that he wasn’t worth it? That all he could provide you with was pathetic excuses and sob stories? His thoughts were cut off as you led his hands back to you, gently guiding his fingers to graze your core, which was now soaked and dripping. “Do you feel that?”

“Yes…” He answered, his fingers now coated in your slick. Merlin, he swore that you were going to be the death of him.

“I want you, Severus. All of you, just as you are,” You say, reaching to now brush your fingers against the scar that rested along his throat. He never told you how he got it, but you didn’t need to ask, you already knew about the role he played during the war. It was a miracle that he survived, even if he himself didn’t quite think that. You smiled softly as his body finally relaxed into your own.

For once, he had no retort, no snarky remark or self degrading comment to make as your fingers gently traced the outline of his welted scar. Perhaps, he thought, it was okay to finally believe that someone wanted him, truly wanted him, even with all the baggage he kept hidden in the dark. He gave into that thought as he pulled you closer, his lips connecting with yours.

Chapter Text

It was always cold within the dungeons of Hogwarts. The quarters of Severus Snape, however, were even colder. It was as if it were an impenetrable fortress of shadows, a place where the sun never dared to touch with its warmth. Now, it felt as if the room was freezing as you stood before a furious Severus, his expression illuminated from the lantern that rested on his bedside table.

You knew this confrontation was coming. You’ve been with Snape for over a year now, and knew well enough when he was in a foul mood. You had felt it in the way his eyes bore into you all evening, ever since you laughed a little too freely with Professor Lupin in the staff lounge. To you, it was innocent, nothing more than a shared joke over some tea. Severus, however, had seen it, and his icy demeanor afterwards had been deafening.

“You think I don’t notice,” he said, voice low and laced with a venom that froze the blood in your veins. He stepped in front of you, his presence borderline overwhelming as he glared down at you like a snake eyeing its next meal. “The way you smile and laugh,” he continued, leaning down ever so slightly. “The way you lean towards him. Do you think I’m blind?”

You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze head on. His eyes were dark, darker than usual, and swirled with emotions you’ve hardly seen him directed at you before. Anger, frustration, but most importantly, undeniable hunger. The sight sent a rush of blood straight to face, tainting your cheeks with a dusting of pink. “It was nothing, Severus. You’re overreacting.”

His lips curled into a sneer. “Nothing?” He parroted, his voice dropping down to a dangerous whisper. He leaned closer, shadowing over you completely. “You forget, my dear, that I am not a man who is keen on sharing.” You could feel his lips graze against the shell of your ear as he spoke.

Your breath hitched once you felt the warmth of his lips against your neck. You never thought you’d see the day that Severus Snape would be jealous. At least, not like this. Not in a way that made your pulse race or sent a burning heat straight down to your core. “I’m not your possession,” you breathe out, testing the waters of this newfound territory. No matter how angry he was, you knew that he would rather die than hurt you, even if it was just a scratch.

“No,” he agreed, his tone soft yet unyielding. “But you are mine.” He pulled away, just enough for him to slide his hand under your chin, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look up at him. His touch was firm, possessive, and carefully calculated as he brushed his thumb across your bottom lip. “It seems that you need to be reminded of such.”

Before you could respond, he guided you back towards the foot of his bed, gently gesturing for you to sit. You obeyed, hands clutching the dark navy satin sheets that adored the mattress. A color that fitted Severus well, you thought. You didn’t have much more time to think, though, before the man himself was pushing you down to the sheets below. His hands swiftly snatched your wrists, pinning them above you now that you laid on his bed. He loomed above you, with the lantern light casting his long shadow over your form.
“Severus,” you started, but fell silent the moment you gazed upon his scornful expression.

“You’ve tested my patience,” he stated. You swore you stopped breathing from the dark look in his eyes. “Now, you will learn what it means to push me.”

He released your wrists, hands now sliding down to your robes. He unfastened them with a deadly precision that spoke for his control over the situation. Your breath quickened as he slid the fabric down your figure, exposing your body to the cool dungeon air, before mindlessly tossing them aside. His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your neck, past your collarbone, before resting just shy of your breasts.

You arch into his touch, sighing as the warmth of his fingers awakened every nerve in their path. You move to guide his hand over, desperately needing to feel his touch, but he pulled his hand back as soon as your fingers met.

“You don’t get to decide.”

“But—”

“No,” he told you, cutting you off firmly, his voice akin to a growl. “You don’t get to take. You will wait, and you will beg, and you will remember who commands your attention.”

You wanted to be annoyed, to snap back with some snarky comment and shut him down completely. The heat pooling in your core, however, told a completely different story. He seemed to take notice of it, too, as his lips twitched into a rare, smug grin that made your heart palpitate.

His thumb grazed over your chest, rubbing a few small circles over your perk nipples as a reward for your silence before sliding down lower. He teased you, as his hands would fall just short of your aching core. He spread them across your abdomen, circling the outline of your navel before resting them on your hips.

“Severus,” you whined, a feeble attempt to make him cave.

He ignored you, opting to settle between the inside of your thighs instead, thumbs rubbing agonizingly slow circles just below your dripping heat. You squirmed, desperate to have his hands on you, on where you needed him the most. With each restless buck of your hips, he’d slide his hands lower, punishing you without saying a word. Minutes started to feel like hours, and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Severus, please,” you begged, writhing in his hold.

“Please what?” he replied, his lips twitching up into a rare smile. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t entertained by your misery.

“Touch me.”

He must’ve taken mercy on you, because within the next second his fingers were finally slipping between your folds. A moan of relief left your lips as he gathered your slick, spreading it up to your clit before massaging it with small, tight circles. Your hips thrusted up into his hand, a silent plea for him to go faster. He obliged, picking up the pace while you ground yourself on his palm. It wasn’t long before you were close, the heat in your core building until it was almost boiling over. Severus could tell, too, as he suddenly switched to a leisurely rhythm.

“Severus!” you cried, your body writhing at the loss of your orgasm.

“Not yet,” he whispered, his fingers pausing completely, leaving you trembling with need. “You think you can flirt with another man and walk away unscathed? You will wait until I allow it.”

You glared at him, your voice breathless but sharp. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet,” he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against yours. “You’re still here,” he said, his hands resuming their torturous treatment. You could’ve cried when he pushed his fingers in, blissfully stretching you open as your walls fluttered around him. His strokes were tedious, but he made up for it by lapping at your clit with his tongue, his nose pressing against your pelvis. Your moans filled the silence, your hands reaching down to tangle into his greasy hair. You were close, oh so close, until he suddenly pulled away, leaving you increasingly agitated.

You let out a frustrated groan as you threw your head back against the covers. “Severus, please,” you begged, your pride abandoned, forgotten along with your shame. Your nails clawed at the navy sheets below, seeking some form of comfort from the torment he was putting you through. “Let me come, I can’t take this any longer!”

“Soon,” he hummed, his mouth returning to lick a long stripe through your drenched folds. “After you learn your lesson.”