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Severus never liked mornings. He was a night creature by nature—quiet, sharp, elusive.
But saturday mornings?
They were his favorite.
The soft golden light of an autumn sun leaked through the curtains, casting warmth over tangled sheets and sleepy limbs. Your back was pressed to his chest, your legs a mess with his under the blankets. One of his arms rested heavy across your waist, fingers loosely laced with yours, and your hair was tickling the side of his face.
He didn’t even care.
In fact, he leaned in a little closer, just to breathe you in.
“Your hair smells like treacle tart,” he mumbled against your neck, voice thick with sleep.
You let out a small giggle. “You’re dreaming again.”
“Possibly. It’s a very pleasant one.”
You wiggled your toes against his shins and turned slightly to look back at him. “You’re clingy today.”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered, nuzzling into your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. “You’ve simply made the bed too warm to leave.”
You reached behind you to playfully pat his thigh. “Liar.”
“Correct.” His lips brushed your shoulder again. “I’m absolutely smitten and you know it.”
You laughed—soft and snorty and completely ungraceful. He smiled against your skin.
“Do you ever get tired of cuddling?” you asked.
“I get tired of other people,” he said sleepily. “You, I tolerate. Exceptionally well, in fact.”
You turned in his arms to face him, burying your face in his chest. “You’re disgusting.”
“You’re warm,” he said, pulling you closer. “Be quiet and let me worship you in silence.”
You poked his ribs. He flinched with a surprised chuckle.
“You’re not supposed to giggle, Severus.”
“That was not a giggle.”
“That was totally a giggle.”
“If you tell a single soul—”
“—You’ll what?” you grinned. “Snarl at me from the other side of the bed?”
He sighed like a martyr.
“You’re unbearable,” he said softly.
You smiled wider. “But you like me unbearable.”
“I like you obnoxiously wrapped around me in my bed,” he replied, shifting to roll you under him, pinning you lightly with his weight and curling his arms around your sides, his hair falling in a curtain around your face.
You squealed. “Severus!”
He grinned—an actual, boyish grin that no one outside this room ever got to see—and kissed your cheek. Then your jaw. Then your forehead. Then the tip of your nose.
You blinked up at him, suddenly quiet under the affection in his eyes.
“If you say something sappy, I’ll die.” You whispered out to him.
“Perish away, darling. I’m not done yet.” He leaned in again, nose brushing yours.
“Love of my life,” he whispered dramatically. “Sunshine in my dungeons. Blanket thief of my heart.”
You wheezed. “You’ve lost it.”
He leaned down and kissed you—slow, smiling.
When he pulled back, he was still so close your noses brushed. “Let’s stay here forever,” he murmured.
“You say that every Saturday.”
“And I mean it every time.”
You reach up to rest one hand on his cheek and whisper, “You’re lucky I love you more than tea.”
“Don’t lie,” he said, voice shaking with laughter. “You’d sell my soul for a cinnamon scone.”
“Only on weekdays.”
You burst into laughter and he let his head fall onto your shoulder, chuckling along with you, content to just be here.
Eventually—eventually—you rolled out of bed.
Or rather, you tried.
Severus let out a pathetic groan and clung to your waist like you were a body pillow being stolen by an angry house-elf.
“Don’t go.”
“I’m not leaving,” you laughed, prying his fingers off of you one at a time. “I’m going ten feet to the kitchen to make tea.”
“You’ll vanish into the void. I’ll never recover.”
“Severus, your ‘void’ is a five-by-five pantry and a questionable stash of biscuit tins.”
He rolled onto his back with a theatrical sigh and one hand over his heart. “You wound me.”
You leaned over the bed, cupped his face in your hands, and kissed his forehead like he was a sulky prince.
“I love you. Now come help me butter toast before I butter you.”
That got him up.
The kitchen was glowing in the soft light of morning, and the two of you moved like a slow, sleepy dance—bare feet brushing, arms wrapped around waists from behind, kisses pressed into shoulders while tea steeped.
You were wrapped in one of his oversized shirts, sleeves drooping past your hands, and he looked at you like you were some kind of dream he hadn’t meant to wish for.
He slid up behind you while you were reaching for the honey jar.
You didn’t even flinch. Just sighed and leaned back into him.
“You’re not helping,” you murmured as his arms circled you, his chin resting on your shoulder.
“I’m providing moral support.”
“You’re being clingy.”
“You’re irresistible.”
You snorted and leaned your head against his.
For a long, quiet moment, you just stood there like that, swaying slightly, like a couple on a dance floor no one else could see.
“Will you kiss me every morning like this?” you asked softly.
“For the rest of our lives, if you’ll let me.”
You turned, pressed a kiss to his lips—slow and warm and a little cinnamon-sweet.
Then he pulled you down into the little breakfast nook with toast, jam, and exactly three awkwardly stacked teacups. You sat pressed together on the same bench seat, his leg curled over yours under the table, your toes nudging his ankle every time you giggled at one of his dry little morning comments.
“I like you like this,” you said around a bite of toast.
“Sleep-rumpled and overly affectionate?”
You leaned in and nuzzled his cheek.
“No. Mine.”
He didn’t say anything. Just set down his mug, cupped the back of your neck, and pulled you in for another kiss—gentle and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world.
Because today, he did.
And so did you.
—
After breakfast, you both wandered back into the sitting area—still wrapped in sleep and toast crumbs and each other.
You dropped onto the sofa first, pulling the blanket from the back of it like a practiced thief, curling into your usual spot like you were claiming a throne.
Severus moved slower, a book already in his hand—worn spine, pages softened with time. He sat beside you, the way he always did: close enough to press your knees together, yet angled like he was pretending not to crave the exact thing he was already leaning into.
You stared at him until he looked up.
“What?”
“Come here,” you said, patting the space between your legs under the blanket.
He raised a brow. “You’re needy this morning.”
“You like me needy. Also you are no better now come here”
He huffed—but he moved. Always did.
Settling between your legs, back against your chest, your arms slipped around him like they were made to be there. You kissed the top of his head, just once.
“Continue,” you whispered.
He opened the book, and began to read aloud.
His voice—low, slow, thoughtful—turned the words into something more than words. You rested your chin on his shoulder, following the rise and fall of his cadence with a smile so soft it hurt.
He paused, eventually, halfway through a passage, and tilted his head slightly back. “You’re not listening anymore.”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re warm and smell like tea and soap and you’re reading with that stupid soft voice that makes me want to melt.”
A small, reluctant chuckle. “So it’s my fault.”
“Entirely.”
He set the book aside, turning in your arms just enough to rest his head on your shoulder, one hand brushing over your thigh.
“I could stay like this for hours.”
“Let’s.”
It wasn’t clear who said the word “bath” first.
But the idea hung in the air like a lazy promise, and neither of you fought it.
The bathtub in his quarters was deep, old, and charmed to heat itself. You filled it with rose and bergamot-scented soap—your pick, of course—and Severus didn’t protest. He merely raised a brow when the bubbles frothed too high and murmured, “You’ve turned this into a cauldron of glitter and nonsense.”
You tugged him by the hand anyway, grinning like a devil. “And yet here you are.”
The water was bliss. Warm. Weightless. The kind of comfort that soaked into your bones.
You sat between his legs, your back to his chest, his arms lazily draped around your waist as the bubbles climbed up to your shoulders. He nuzzled into your neck with the occasional kiss, half-asleep but still humming contentedly.
“Still think the bergamot was too much?” you murmured.
He inhaled slowly. “It’s growing on me.”
“Hmm. Like me.”
His voice dipped low. “No, you’re already part of me.”
You turned your head to look at him, eyes wide and caught off-guard by the softness of it.
He kissed your cheek. “Stay as long as you want.”
You tilted your head back against his shoulder and whispered, “Forever, then.”