Hair Dryer
genre: fluff, established relationship, tooth rotting fluff
pairing: anton x reader
warnings: none
word count: ~700
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~▸ Now Playing: Forever Only
Your old, oversized t-shirt is soft against your skin as you put your hair up in a towel. The other arm of your boyfriend is tucked behind his head as he scrolls through his phone on the couch. He turns his face to you and his face lights up. On the coffee table lay two unexpected items: your pink hairdryer and a hairbrush.
“I had an idea when you were in the shower.” He confesses and seems to fidget with the fabric of his sweatpants pockets.
“How’d I get so lucky?” You ask yourself as you sit down on the sofa next to him.
Back facing him, he takes your wet hair in his hands and combs it with his fingers. “I shouldn’t brush it when it’s wet, right? Because it’ll break?” You nod gently, already relaxing from the long day. You’re impressed he remembers little things like that, but that’s always been his way of showing his love. Buying your favorite soda without you asking, remembering your favorite kind of flowers on dates, all of his gestures, really. They’re all full of his love for you. He slowly stands up to plug in the hairdryer. You close your eyes and feel the sofa sink softly when he sits back down.
Hot air greets your neck as he turns it on the lowest setting, careful not to startle you. “Is the temperature okay?” He asks.
“No.” You mumble, tired and relaxed. The fact he could make you so comfortable makes him smile. If only you could see the concentration on his face as he rotates the dryer around your head. You feel his careful fingers lift up layers of your hair to dry it thoroughly.
When it’s almost dry, he stretches an arm to get the hairbrush and runs it gently through your hair, and you swear you’re about to fall asleep. “I know you don’t like it when your hair dries all the way when you use the hair dryer.” He muses and continues brushing your hair. He’s nearly encyclopedic about you. He loves doing things for you. If you asked him to give you the moon you think he’d do it. “Do you have a hair tie?”
“Yeah.” You take a thick black band off of your wrist and hand it behind you, and his rough hand gingerly takes it from you.
He parts your hair into threes and when he’s done, he flips the expertly done braid onto your front for your inspection.
“It’s perfect. Where did you learn how to do that?” You query him, because, as far as you know, he’s never braided hair before.
“I watched some tutorials…” He confesses sheepishly. He looks awkward, but instead of thinking it’s awkward or embarrassing, you marvel at how hard he tries. You pepper slow kisses on his face and relax into him on the couch, gently pushing him backward onto the pillow-clad arm of the sofa.
“Thank you, baby. You’re sweet.” You praise him and a blush starts to form on his cheeks. Cute. Lying comfortably on his chest, you can only think about how much he shows how deeply he cares about you.
