Day 2 - Hair
Ship: Severus Snape x Reader/OC
Story Summary: An Autumnal collection of Snape/Reader one-shots and ficlettes based on my main story, Dream Sequence.
Length: 2,326
Rating: T
Warnings: They’re naked again, but nothing rly spicy.
Notes: Round two! A smol continuation of the last story. They won’t all be like that, but these two just happened to fit together well uwu I also don’t think they’ll all be this long????
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Master List
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You wondered if anyone had noticed that the pair of you were frequently absent for breakfast these days.
It probably wasn’t a good look, honestly; especially for a Head of House to be missing from the Great Hall in the morning. You were certain the Slytherins had already noticed, as well as a vast majority of the teachers. But you weren’t sure if they’d noticed that you were also missing on a regular basis. And if they had noticed, had they connected the dots about it? Neither of you were being particularly secretive about your relationship, but Severus valued his privacy above all else, and it wasn’t like either of you went about broadcasting it to the world. Public displays of affection were virtually nonexistent, but that suited you just fine. The private displays more than made up for it.
You were still in his bed. Neither of you had gotten very far after both his towel and your nightgown had been flung to the floor. You hadn’t made love, there simply wasn’t enough time for that, and he’d just taken a shower after all, but you’d languidly kissed each other into oblivion for what easily could have been hours. Now both of you were just procrastinating, his head pillowed against your small breasts as you lazily carded your fingers through his thick, coarse hair. The clock above the fireplace was ticking away the minutes, and you knew you would have to get out of bed soon.
You were entranced by how different his hair looked and felt when it was wet. When it was dry, it reminded you of horse’s hair, heavy and dark, the subtle waves slipping through your fingers like ink. Not as wavy as yours of course, but it still gave his hair those cute little flips at the ends (not that he’d ever consent to being called cute). Though it was no longer dripping wet, it was still damp enough to appear much straighter and longer than it did when dry. It rested several inches past his shoulders now, and you lifted your head slightly to get a better gauge on it.
“Your hair’s gotten long,” you noted quietly, pressing your lips to the crown of his head as you smoothed your hands over the impressive length of black hair. You felt a soft hum of acknowledgement against your chest, and you smiled slightly as you combed your fingers through it once more, watching trails of pale skin peek out from between the dark strands. “You don’t usually keep it this long, do you?”
Another hum, followed by a puff of warm breath against your collar bone as he lifted his head to speak. “I don’t,” he admitted, resting his chin against your sternum as he peered up at you. “But to be fair I’ve been incredibly busy in the mornings lately. I haven’t been able to maintain my usual upkeep.”
You narrowed your eyes at his deadpan delivery, but immediately burst into giggles when he waggled his eyebrows at you suggestively, your head falling back onto his pillow. “Yeah, yeah, blame it on me. Fine.” You could feel his chuckle against your belly, and smiled serenely as you continued to pet him tenderly. It took an embarrassingly long time for his words to actually register with you, and you tilted your head back up, brow furrowed with incomprehension. “You cut your own hair?”
His expression was impassive again, though he did arch a challenging eyebrow. “I do,” he answered blandly, watching you carefully, as if looking for signs of judgement.
But you certainly weren’t being critical, only curious as you continued to lazily stroke his hair. “Why?” you asked, making sure to keep your tone light and inquisitive, lest he get the wrong idea. You knew there were certain things he was sensitive about (though he’d never freely admit to them), particularly concerning his appearance, and you never wanted to give him the impression that you were anything but wildly attracted to every single thing about him. And that was especially true in regards to his hair.
Seemingly satisfied that your intentions were pure, he merely shrugged a shoulder, settling his cheek back against your chest. “Why not?” he countered, smoothing his hands along your side, brushing his thumbs slowly back and forth against your ribs. You tried not to giggle. “I always have. Or rather… my mother cut it for me, when I was a boy.” You sobered up quickly, suddenly not terribly ticklish. He didn’t talk about her very often, so you always made sure to listen closely when he did. “Barbers were expensive and unnecessary. I started cutting it myself as a teenager and…” There was a pause, and another shoulder shrug, before he wrapped both of his arms around your waist. “The aesthetic remained.”
Your heart ached at this confession. It usually did that, when he talked about his mother, about his past. His delivery was casual, but you knew that there was pain under the surface. And though your relationship was still fledgling, every little chip at that surface brought you a little closer to him. “Is that why you keep it long? Easier to cut?” you asked, attempting to keep your own voice casual as you tried not to let your empathy overwhelm you.
You felt him nod his head more than saw it, accompanied by a lazy “Mmhmm…” that rumbled against your chest. You couldn’t help but smile a little. He better not be falling back asleep; the bells would start ringing soon. His eyes were closed, dark lashes fanned out over the dark smudges under his eyes. But you were always pleased to see that the deep lines usually marring his face seemed to smooth away when you were together. “Doesn’t it get in the way?” you asked, trying to keep him attentive as you pushed a few loose strands from his face, tucking it behind his ear.
“Constantly,” he replied, and you saw a smirk tug at his mouth as you giggled again. He finally opened his eyes, and they seemed to focus on something beside the bed. You turned your head as well, eyes falling on his still open nightstand drawer. “You could cut it for me,” he suggested abruptly, and you would have jolted upright if there wasn’t a whole bunch of Severus keeping you pinned to the bed.
“Whu… What?” you giggled nervously, looking down at him doubtfully as he turned his face back to yours.
“You could cut it for me,” he repeated, propping himself up on his elbows, straddling your waist. “I mean, it’s not like I can’t just do it myself, but it is considerably easier to manage with some assistance.”
You couldn’t believe what he was suggesting, but you also couldn’t keep your incredulous smile off of your face. “You want me to cut your hair,” you asked for clarification, just so you could be absolutely sure, and he nodded. “Right now?”
He finally rolled himself off of you, and you lamented the loss of his weight and body heat almost instantly. “Why not?” he asked, reaching into the bedside drawer and retrieving the pair of heavy silver scissors, holding them out to you, and you stared at them like he was offering you a loaded gun.
“Because I’ve never cut someone else’s hair in my life!” you protested, pushing yourself up into a sitting position and bringing your legs up to your chest, wrapping your arms around your knees to try and retain some of his lingering warmth. What if you screwed it up? Made it all lopsided or just totally butchered it? Logically you knew he could use a hair growing charm to even out the damage but you didn’t want to make him go through the extra effort just because you were inept with a pair of scissors that clearly was not meant for cutting hair!
“There’s nothing to it,” he soothed, and you pouted at being spoken to like a child. “You just put it in a ponytail and then you lob it all off.” He punctuated the point with a snip of the scissors in the air, and you gasped with another bubble of anxious giggles.
“Oh my god,” you protested, shaking your head in utter horror and fascination. “Does Lucius know you do this to yourself?” you asked accusingly, and your giggles only intensifying as Severus rolled his eyes theatrically.
“What Lucius doesn’t know can’t hurt him,” he assured you, turning the scissors around to hold them by the blade end, offering them to you once again. “Please?” he asked, knowing the pleading note in his voice was only there for dramatic effect, but it still tugged at your heart strings nonetheless. Despite all of the teasing and nonchalance, this seemed like a rather intimate gesture. He’d been doing it himself for years. He was asking you for your help, something he didn’t actually do very often. You usually had to be the one to press him into allowing you to help him, so this felt… sort of important.
“If you insist,” you relented, taking the handle of the scissors, feeling their cold weight in your hand. He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and you melted instantly. You’d do anything he asked of you, honestly. You placed your free hand against his cheek, making him stay a little longer so you could give him a proper kiss, before you pressed on his shoulder, making him sit up straight with his back facing you.
It looked even longer now that he was sitting up, and you felt your fingers trembling slightly as you set the scissors down on the pillow. He said to just put it in a ponytail and cut the whole thing off, right? You could do that. Twisting around in the bed, you saw the black velvet ribbon you had pilfered from the drawer earlier, and plucked it up from where it was hiding among the sheets. That would do. Turning back to him, you sat up on your knees, cursing the chill of the dungeon against your naked skin, especially because you felt feverish with dread.
You held the ribbon between your lips as you used both hands to comb his damp hair back, doing your best to make sure it was even and smooth. You supposed you could have summoned a comb from the bathroom, but Severus didn’t seem too concerned with the logistics of the operation. Once you had his hair gathered at his nape, you held it securely with one hand, taking the ribbon from your mouth with the other. “How short do you want it?” you asked, tying the ribbon snugly around his mane, just at the base of his neck.
“Hmm… Pull the ribbon down about two inches,” he suggested, reaching a hand back and brushing his fingers against yours as he tried to measure the length. “It gets shorter once it’s dry,” he explained, and you smiled, thinking about the triumphant return of his flippy ends. Yes, okay, this was actually a fantastic idea.
You slid the ribbon down as instructed, and made sure to pull the bow nice and tight so it stayed together once you cut. “Okay,” you breathed, plucking the scissors up from the pillow. “Oh… Kay…” You whined a little. Why was this so scary?!
“Gwen, please,” you heard him sigh, and you pouted as he looked over his shoulder at you. “I usually have to do this by myself with a mirror spell and a severing charm. I’m lucky I haven’t sliced my neck open.” Okay, that did not make you feel better! But his smirk and arched brow told you that… that may or may not have been hyperbole. The point was that he usually had to do this himself. And there probably wasn’t anything you could do to fuck it up that terribly…
“Okay,” you said, finally, and took a steadying breath. He turned back around, and you held the base of his ponytail tightly. You pulled the scissors open, before slotting the cord of hair between the blades. His thick hair showed only a little resistance to the sharp edge, and you sawed slowly and methodically in an attempt to keep the cut as straight and even as possible. It felt like it was taking forever, but you squeaked when the scissors suddenly snapped completely shut, and the length of dark hair came away in your hand. The remaining hair fell heavily into place, resting just above his shoulders now, though the strands in the front were considerably longer. You felt a whine rise in your throat. Oooooh no you fucked up why had he let you-
“Thank you,” you heard his deep baritone next to your ear, and you snapped your red face up to meet his. He was easing the scissors and lock of hair from your hands, discarding both to the bedside table, and you pouted as you reached up to touch the uneven ends. “I’ll take care of those,” he assured you, taking your face in his hands, before he dug his fingers into your hair, capturing your lips as he tilted your head back. You sighed into his mouth, feeling your tension drain away as you placed your hands against his wrists. “Really,” he muttered between kisses. “Thank you, for doing that.”
You pouted, accepting that he was ultimately the one who decided whether you did a good job or not, and you nodded before you kissed him one last time. “You’re welcome,” you relented, and he grinned against your cheek. You knew you would have to leave soon. Put your clothes back on and Floo to your quarters to get ready to teach. But you’d drag this out for as long as he’d let you.
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Art by BlooeyedTroll!
Art by thepomegranatejuice!
Art by sadttitude!
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