#severus snape x you

Severus Snape x Fem! Reader

Warnings:None.

Word Count: 0.7k

“The world can wait, yes?”

“Stop moving so much.” Severus grumbled, shifting underneath you to get comfortable for the dozenth time.

“Sorry. You’re just so warm.” You bubbled.

His chest rumbled with the low chuckle that vibrated out of his chest. His nose was buried into the crown of your head, nestling into it as he allowed the serenity of the evening soak in. The house was quiet and still, and neither of you had moved from the sofa. Dinner had been delicious and filling, so the two of you couldn’t help but crash afterwards. 

Besides, the circumstances were right for a perfect night in. It had been raining outside since lunchtime, and it didn’t show any signs of stopping. The unrelenting rain outside mixed with the wintery air was far too much of a nuisance. It was a much better idea to stay inside in front of the fire while snuggled up with one another. It wasn’t often that you were granted this kind of opportunity, so it was a chance well taken.

“I’m beginning to wonder if we’re the most boring couple on the planet.” You murmured into the material of his sweater.

“Boring? What about us makes you believe that we’re boring?” Severus let out a noise that was a mix of a snort and a scoff.

“It’s a Friday night and we’ve hardly moved in nearly an hour.” You remarked.

“That makes us boring?” He asked.

“To most people.” You giggled.

“I don’t think of us as ‘most people’. We’ve always been homebodies, my love.” He pressed a kiss to your head.

He had a point. To be honest, if the two of you were given the option to go out or stay in – odds were that you’d choose to spend your time at home. Both of you took advantage of the time set aside for recharging your social batteries. After the crazy busy week that the two of you had, your batteries had been low for days. You’d both be ready to get back to it by the time Monday came back around, but for now you were content to stay right where you were.

The drum of the rainfall on the roof was almost enough to lull you to sleep. You weren’t sure if you could get up from your position right now even if you did want to. It was a perfect, blissful moment that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. When you got married just over two years ago, this wasn’t exactly what you had pictured for your day-to-day life as a married couple. You didn’t exactly imagine the two of you as a non-stop, always on the go kind of couple. However, you also didn’t envision this either. 

Not that you were complaining at all. This was better than anything you ever could’ve dreamed up.

“We can go somewhere if you wish. We don’t have to-”

“No, no, no. Don’t move. Stay.” You latched to him a little tighter. 

He let out a proper laugh this time, clearly not expecting your reaction to be so desperate. He wrapped his arms around you fully, keeping you just where you had been for the last hour. 

“Alright,” He grinned. “The world can wait, yes?”

You giggled again at that. It sounded so silly when he put it that way. Of course the world wasn’t going to stop spinning just so the two of you could recharge and have an excuse to be lazy. Was that going to make you feel bad about doing it? Not at all.

“Do you ever wish we could stay like this forever?” You questioned. 

“Hm. I don’t know about forever, but I’d very much like to do this more often.” He answered.

You turned your head so that your chin was resting on his chest and your eyes were on his. His heart beat a little faster at the way you tilted your head when you gazed up at him. He’d never get used to being taken breathless when he looked at you. He didn’t want to get used to it.

“Then why don’t we?” You grinned.

That was the best idea that you had proposed in weeks. If only he had thought of it. He leaned down to kiss your forehead, his lips turning up into a smirk against your skin. 

“Sounds perfect to me.”

Severus Snape x Fem! Reader

Warnings:Alcohol.

A/N:This is the first chapter of my current Wattpad Snape x reader series! It’s a Muggle reader and Snape, which is different than what I’ve done in the past. It is currently a non-completed fic. All currently available chapters are available on my Wattpad @seriouslysnape​ and my ao3 @allixiler​ - the book is titled The Magic of Different Worlds! (No, this is not the promised Snape fic. It’s coming soon!”

Word Count:4.7k

“I’ve been doing this a long time. It comes naturally too.”

To this day, I have absolutely no idea how to make Firewhisky. Believe me when I say that I’ve tried. I’ve tasted plenty of glasses of Firewhisky. It has become one of my favorite alcoholic beverages to sip on at the end of a long day. It’s not like any other alcohol I’ve ever tried, and it has certain effects on me that not even the most potent tequila could even attempt to mimic. I’ve spent an embarrassingly long time trying to replicate a drink that even remotely tastes like Firewhisky. I’ve never come close, and I’ve pretty much given up on trying to get it right.

I also have absolutely, positively, not even the slightest idea of how he ended up walking into my life that night. To put it plainly, our lives were so different. You could even argue that we didn’t live in the same world. In many ways, that argument completely fair. We didn’t live the same lives. We didn’t eat the same things. We didn’t know much about each other’s interests. Hell, we didn’t even KNOW any of the same people.

So how was it that our souls were so perfectly connected? How was it that all of the blurry spots of our lives became so blatantly clear when the stars in our eyes danced together? How was it that I fell in love with a man who was never even ever supposed to cross my path? I don’t have an answer for any of those questions. To this day, I still don’t know.

And I am perfectly fine with that.

I lived a fairly “average” life. I stuck to a schedule that worked for me and made my life both productive and easy. I slept from 5 AM to 12 PM, then I took a shower, then I had lunch, I did chores around my apartment, went to work at 8 PM, came back home at 4 AM, and the cycle repeated. My work hours probably sound a little odd to you. Most people work a regular 9 to 5 job to return home to their family by dinnertime. I should probably preface that I was a bartender.

A damn good one at that.

I had been a bartender since college, and had sort of gotten stuck in the profession. The bartending gig was meant to be temporary. It was just supposed to be a short-term job to keep me financially stable enough until I found a job that was more…acceptable (in the eyes of my parents, at least). One year at the bar turned into two, and then into three, and then before I knew it I had put in over a decade behind that bar. I didn’t expect to fall in love with it the way that I did.

I fell in love with the thrill that came with the rush of the late night crowds. I became proud of the way I became able to make any kind of drink without giving it a second thought. I grew to adore the conversations that I had with people. I made friendships with my regulars, and left my one-timers with a good lasting impression. I loved the way that I fit so perfectly into my job.

It was one of two things in my life that made me feel complete.

Most nights were pretty much the same. I’d clock into work, make sure that the bar top was just as clean as I left it from closing last shift, and work through my nine hour shift. I was a fun bartender. I was constantly making conversations, keeping the music on an upbeat shuffle, and doing skillful bar tricks that I had both learned and made up over the years. The bar was my sanctuary. It was my place of refuge, and the place where I found myself each day when I felt hopelessly lost. That bar in downtown London was my happiness, my comfort, and my world. I didn’t think that my world was ever going to change.

Not until I saw him for the very first time.

I had never seen him before. He definitely wasn’t one of my regulars. He was strikingly good looking, yet he didn’t look like anyone I had ever seen. He had long black hair, and his eyes were pools of matching inky black. He had pale skin, and a hard frown on his features. In my years of bartending, there had only been two people that had stopped me dead in my tracks behind my usually fast pace behind the bar.

This man, and another guy from about five years ago who had just escaped from prison (still in his prison jumpsuit and everything).

As a bartender, I had grown to read people over the years. I could see when people were burdened. I could tell when people were coming in to kill their sorrows by drowning them with each burning swallow of alcohol. With this man, I could see that he had been hurt. He had been hurt more than once, and each time had been worse than the last. He had beautiful eyes, the kind that were easy to get lost in and the kind that told stories. I saw far within his eyes. I saw the brokenness, the insecurity, and the hate for the world. He was a lost, shattered man.

And it absolutely pained my heart to see such a sad human being.

He was extremely out of place. I knew it, the other bar patrons knew it, and honestly I’m pretty sure that he knew it too. I could tell that he wasn’t exactly comfortable being there. I broke out of my daze once he found an empty space at the bar. I remember that he had been wearing a black collared shirt and slacks. It was a pretty standard outfit, but it didn’t look like something he’d usually wear. I wasn’t judging him in the slightest, but I was extremely curious.

He had entered the bar at around 2:00 AM. The bar closed at 3:00, so he only had about 45 minutes before I announced last call and an hour before closing. It had been an extremely busy Friday night, and the bar hadn’t slowed since opening at 8:00 PM. However, when I spoke to him, it felt like we were the only ones in the room.

“Hi there.” I greeted the man with my usual smile, catching his frazzled gaze.

He looked at me silently for only a second or two before he replied. I could tell he was nervous, or maybe just confused. It wasn’t uncommon for people to get a little overwhelmed within the bar. Between the music and the busy chatter, it was a lot of noises to process at once. But he didn’t seem like that kind of nervous. He seemed like he was hiding something.

“Hello.” He greeted me back.

His voice sent a shudder down my spine. It was deep and dark, like an empty cave at the bottom of the ocean. It was cool too. It had a collected tone that would make me believe that he had never raised his voice a day in his life. As intimidating as it was, it was calming as well. It was the kind of voice that I wouldn’t mind putting me to sleep at night.

“Can I get something started for you?” I asked him for his order.

There was this fun game that I used to play with myself whenever I encountered a new customer. I would try to challenge myself by predicting what they were going to order before they actually ordered. Sometimes I was spot on, and other times I was dead wrong. I’ve had the most prim and proper women come in and order straight up shots of vodka with no chaser. I’ve had big, burly men come in and order a lemon drop cocktail. Some people were predictable, and some people weren’t.

That was just life in general.

I had a feeling he’d order a beer to start off with, and them something stronger later in the evening. He seemed like the kind of guy who started out slow and then totally snowball into the deeper stuff. Instead, he shocked me with his answer.

“I’ll have a Firewhisky.” He requested.

The moment the words fell from his mouth, I could tell that he regretted it. I stared at him blankly, my head tilting to the side in puzzlement. I had been bartender for twelve years, and I had made and memorized any alcoholic drink under the sun. It had been a very long time since someone had come in and ordered something that I wasn’t familiar with. Firewhisky didn’t ring a bell. Not even remotely.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to make a Firewhisky,” I told him, “But if you tell me what’s in it, I could try to make it!”

He looked like a toddler who had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. No, scratch that. He looked as if he had just straight up confessed to murder.

“I-I, uh, it’s not- forget it. I’ll just have something else.” He sputtered.

His cheeks began to burn red, like he had just embarrassed himself to death. I was gentle with him. I could tell he was flustered, and I knew that some people had a hard time trying to adjust to being in such a crowded space. I knew that it was still very possible that he had just ordered something that I simply didn’t know how to make. Even though it was unlikely, it wasn’t impossible.

“I assure you that I can probably make it if you tell me what’s in it. I want to be sure that you get what you want.” I continued to smile in hopes of settling him down a bit.

“Trust me when I say that you probably can’t.” He responded, his eyes flashing with a certain mysterious gleam.

Normally, I would’ve taken that as an insult or as a jab at my bartending skills. However, I could tell that wasn’t what he meant. He was implying that it was actually impossible for me to make it…for whatever reason. I let it go, because there was no sense in making him more uncomfortable, but I did make a mental note to look it up later.

“Alright then. Is there something else that you want?” I moved on.

He thought about it for a second…or at least, he pretended to think about it before he answered.

“Surprise me.” He replied.

Usually, I hated it when people said that. Like I said before, there was usually NO way to tell what sort of drinks satisfied people’s pallets. He could’ve been the type of person to prefer something sweeter and I’d give him a vodka soda. It was an innocent request with complicated results. However, I humored him and let the wheels turn.

I decided to go for something simple to start off with. A lot of men liked hard liquors, or the ones that weren’t as “feminine”. I plucked a clean whiskey glass from under the bar, filling it only about a fourth of the way with scotch whiskey. It served it straight, giving him just enough to try it first before I gave him more.

While he was taste testing, I moved down the bar to an older man that had flagged me down. He was a first-time customer, and I remembered that his name was Jerry. One of my most admirable traits was that I never forgot a name once someone told me. Jerry politely asked for another beer, watching me pour him another mug and handing it to him. He thanked me with a kind smile, sliding me a tip that I appreciated with a grin. I made a few more new drinks, (and cut off a very, VERY drunk newly 21 year old) and made sure everyone was satisfied.

I could feel him watching me. Not in a weird way, but in a fascinated way. He looked captivated by the shakers, strainers, bar spoons, and cocktails pourers. He had never seen a bartender at work before…or at least, not any bartender that I was familiar with. I went to return to him shortly after, but noticed that a very familiar face had snuck in while I was occupied.

Isobel had been a regular customer of mine for about a year. She was in the bar usually about once a week, and it was almost always on Saturday night/early Sunday morning (in this case, it was technically Sunday morning). She never failed to order the exact same thing. A dry martini with extra olives. She was sitting just a few seats down from the mystery man that I was trying to get back to, but I could never deny Isobel my attention. She was one of my most loyal customers after all.

“Hi, Isobel! You’re a bit late. I’m announcing last call in about fifteen minutes.” I told her, not even realizing how much time had already passed since the man had walked in.

Isobel smiled her kindest smile…well, honestly she always gave me her kindest smile. She was tall and lean, and she was significantly older than me. She had some age on her and it showed, but she was a beautiful woman nonetheless. She was extremely motherly, but I would’ve also ventured to say that she was truly a friend of mine. Isobel was eccentric, or even quirky if you will. There was always something about her that struck me as odd. I never could figure it out on my own. I felt like I never actually saw her walk in. She always seemed to end up sitting at the bar before I could notice her entrance. I don’t think I had ever seen her leave either. Some people were just sneaky that way.

“Oh, no worries, dear. I’m only having one tonight,” She stated, her eyes focused on the man, “Do you know that man?”

I poured the liquid into a martini glass, looking over at him in response. His eyes were trained at the bottom of his now empty glass. I snickered to myself. I guess he liked the scotch.

“I don’t. This is his first time here,” I replied, “Why?”

“He’s been looking at you ever since I sat down.” She said, looking at me from under her lashes.

I knew what she was trying to say, but I ignored it. Isobel was constantly trying to set me up with men around the bar. I always turned her down, because I had convinced myself long ago that the love of my life wouldn’t ever walk into my bar.

“He’s just nervous. Some people have trouble settling in to a place that they’re unfamiliar with.” I declared, setting her glass in front of her.

She continued to stare the man down. She looked at him almost as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. Seriously, I was convinced that she was trying to bore a hole through the poor man.

“Don’t stare at him, Isobel. You’ll scare him off. I can’t have you scaring off my potential regulars,” I hissed, “Speaking of, I need to check in on him.”

I left Isobel to enjoy her martini, although I’m pretty sure her eyes never left me as she watched me interact with the man. He looked up at me when he noticed my presence, his expression still stoically still.

“Enjoy the scotch?” I asked, pointing towards his empty glass.

He looked down into the glass as if he were putting two and two together, and he nodded. He extended his arm just a touch to put the glass closer to me.

“Could I possibly-”

Before he could finish his request, I was already pouring a heavier fill of the same scotch into his glass. He looked at me quizzically, as if I had read his mind. I gave him a smirk, setting the bottle back in the cocktail rail for easy access later.

“I’ve been doing this a long time. It comes naturally too.” I answered his non-verbal question.

He was stunned as he watched me work my way back down the bar. Most people had hit their limit already, calling for cabs and stumbling out onto the street to walk home. I announced last call at 2:45 AM. If you don’t know what a last call is, it’s basically to let the people who aren’t done drinking that the bar was closing soon and that any orders needed to be put in within the next 15 minutes. There were always two or three that put in a last call order, but most of the time, people took that as a sign to go ahead and close their tab.

The crowd started to thin out, piles of people exiting through the front door and waving me goodbye as they did so. I noticed that Isobel had (per usual) slipped out undetected, but paid for her drink as always with a healthy tip. I never minded when she left without saying goodbye, because I knew she’d be back.

I always got SUPER busy in the last fifteen minutes. Calling cabs, safely storing car keys for the people too drunk to drive home (don’t worry, they always came by the next shift to get their cars), closing tabs, turning the music off, and getting the place ready for close out. I got so busy, in fact, that I didn’t even notice the last bar patron until they were gathering themself to leave.

One of the downsides to bartending was that no matter how much or how little of a connection that I made with a customer on the first time, there was always a chance that I’d never see them again. Sometimes it was because it was a London tourist only staying for a few nights. Sometimes it was because that person drank so much that the next morning’s hangover was bad enough to convince them to never return. And sometimes (and this one hurt the most) it was because that person came into the bar with a purpose of escaping their life for a few hours…but they were too far gone to get away from it. So, they never come back because my bar wasn’t enough of a place of comfort for them.

It was the man, the one that I had been trying to get through to within the last hour. He had left the money on the bar top (along with a tip) and was getting ready to walk out when I saw him. His stomach did this weird, instinctive roll that I had never felt it do. My gut was screaming at me not to let him leave. I had a strong intuition that rarely ever failed me. Now, it was yelling at me louder than ever.

I could not let this man walk out of this bar.

“Hey, do you want another one?” I asked, re-entering behind the bar.

He stopped what he was doing, pausing to look at me. I looked pretty stereotypical in this moment. I had a rag in one hand and a shaker in the other as I dried it from being freshly washed. He looked at me with uncertainty, his eyes darting to the clock on the wall. It was a few minutes after 3:00, so technically the bar was closed. But I’d be a liar if I said that I never let a person stay after hours from time to time.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, clearly not wanting to bother me.

“I’m positive. I’ll pour you another one.” I reached for the same bottle.

He settled back into the barstool, his eyes following the stream of the amber liquid as it rose higher and higher into the glass. I was amused at how entertained he was by it. It was so everyday for me that I never really saw the magic in it anymore. I set the glass between his hands, also sliding the money that he had put down earlier back towards him.

“Drinks are on the house tonight. I always treat my first timers.” I told him, watching as he lifted the glass to his lips.

He thanked me as he took a sip, an extended silence floating between us as the next few seconds passed by. I could tell he wanted to say something, but couldn’t seem to get the words out. I took the lead on the conversation. I never minded doing that.

“I’m pretty sure this makes me the worst bartender in the world…but I don’t believe I caught your name,” I held my hand out to him, “I’m [Y/N].”

He took my hand to shake it, but another look of hesitation crossed his features. I wasn’t sure what it was about him telling me his name that was so daunting. He blushed when he told me what it was.

“Severus.” He finally said.

That was one for the books. I had met some people with some CRAZY names. I wouldn’t necessarily consider Severus a totally wild name, but it was definitely unusual. Despite that, I could see how that name fit him so perfectly. He was definitely a Severus.

“Last name?” I pushed.

“Snape.”

Severus Snape. It fit him like a glove.

“It’s nice to meet you, Severus. What brings you to London?” I questioned, leaning on my palms against the edge of the bar top.

“Is it that obvious that I’m not from around here?” He queried, spinning the glass slowly and watching the way the liquid splashed back into the center when he stopped.

“I can tell the locals from the tourists, but I have to say that you don’t look like either.” I told him.

He avoided my gaze completely. I had met some shy customers over the years, but he was up there in the top five for sure. Still, he was incredibly cute.

“You’re right about that. Let’s just say that you wouldn’t be able to find your way to where I’m from.” Severus claimed.

I shrugged. Okay, then. I guess I hadn’t ever been that great with geography anyways.

“Fair enough. Do you have family in London?” I questioned, trying to get some sort of conversation going.

“No.” He replied blankly.

Strike one.

“Do you work in the city?” I tried again.

“I do not.”

Strike two.

I was running out of conversation starters. I had never had anyone who didn’t reply yes to at least one or all three of the questions I had already asked. Severus was one tough nut to crack.

“Are you planning on staying in London?” I questioned.

“Nope.”

Strikeout. Severus was not giving anything up.

While I was a bit frustrated, I was also amused. Some people just didn’t like to share their personal lives. I was completely fine with that, but it felt more like Severus couldn’t tell me rather than he didn’t want to. I huffed at him, wiping down the bar to begin cleaning up for the night. I had to dig a little deeper to get to a question that would make this work.

“What do you do for a living?” I acquired, thinking that there was no way he couldn’t answer that one.

He paused for about half a second before he responded.

“I’m a teacher.” He stated plainly.

I did a silent cheer. Now we were getting somewhere.

“Oh, that’s so nice. Do you like teaching?” I went on.

“Some days. Kids can be challenging.” He answered.

“Kids” meant that he probably wasn’t a university professor, and (quite frankly) he didn’t exactly look the part for preschool age students. I ballparked that he was probably a middle and upper grade school teacher. I could definitely see him teaching moody teenagers.

“That they can. You wouldn’t believe the underage kids I get in here.” I snorted, refilling his glass once it was empty again.

It was easy to see that he wasn’t much of a drinker. You’d be surprised at the number of non-drinkers that came in. I made just as many “mocktails” as I did actual alcoholic drinks.

“Is it usually as busy as it was tonight?” Severus questioned.

“Pretty much. It depends on the day and time of year.” I answered, returning all the bottles from the cocktail rack.

A silence soon fell between us, and I knew this conversation wasn’t going anywhere else. It had been a lousy one anyway. He had clammed up completely, and honestly I wasn’t sure what to say either. I think he had pushed his boundaries and stepped outside of his comfort level enough for one evening. I knew that I couldn’t make him come back, but I hoped with every part of me that he would.

He downed the last of his third drink, the smooth liquid sliding down his throat with ease. He stood from his seat, and I felt the dejection in my chest. I tried not to take it personally that he wasn’t any more interested in talking to me. Some people were just like that.

“Thanks for letting me stay.” He said meekly, his eyes never meeting mine.

He walked to the front of the bar, ready to make his leave when I spoke up again.

“Anytime, Severus,” I smiled, “So, will I see you again soon?” I asked with a glimmer of hope that he’d say yes.

He stopped just as his hand landed on the door handle.  I was actually sad to see him go. His eyes flickered up at me and sparkled like the most dazzling black diamond. It sent a chill down my back, and my heart fluttered like I had never felt before.

“Yes. I’ll be back.”

Without another word, Severus exited the bar and disappeared around the corner. I leaned back against the back counter, my hand absentmindedly continuing to work the rag over the highball glass that was beyond dry and squeaky clean. I was replaying my encounter with Severus over and over again. I was exceedingly interested in him. I could definitively say that I had never met anyone quite like him.

And trust me when I say that I had met a lot of people in my life.

Mysterious was the only way that I knew how to describe him. He wasn’t as easy to read as most people were, but I could tell that it was an intentional trait. I wanted to be friends with him. I wanted to make a connection with him. I remembered how broken he had looked when he first walked in. I wondered if he had always been that way.

I wondered if he had spent all of his Christmas holidays alone, sitting by himself and staring out the window as he watched the December snow fall from the gray skies, wondering what it would be like to have someone to share his life with. It hurt me to think of all the birthday candles he had blown out in the emptiness of his kitchen, his sad and black eyes watching the temporary line of smoke rise and dissipate out into nothingness.

I wondered if that was how he felt about himself. Like he was nothing more than a temporary being, the clock counting down to the moment where he didn’t exist anymore. As if there wouldn’t be even the slightest break in the atmosphere if he were to suddenly disappear into the past as nothing more than a memory.

I wanted to know who or what had broken him to such a state of self-hatred.

His heart didn’t deserve to feel that way. No one deserved to feel that level of unloved and uncared for. The soul wasn’t designed to feel worthless. No matter how shattered and damaged a soul might be, there was always a chance of coming back to see the good in life again. I wanted to know more about Severus. I wanted to know everything about Severus.

I wanted to unravel the mystery that was Severus Snape.