Experience Tumblr Like Never Before
I really hope I’m not overwhelming you but I think it’s got a cute opportunity. “Can I do your hair?” with Peter?
𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: peter maximoff x reader 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓: “can i do your hair?” 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 940 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: 18+, fluff, peter and reader are early to mid twenties, british reader 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: y/n is known by the mutant name “scribe” and is charles xavier’s niece.
Sometimes, you think it’d be easier if you were bald. Like Charles.
Your hair is a great source of irritation when it doesn’t go the way you plan. Truthfully, you know very little about hair: you know how to make sleeping in rollers somewhat bearable and you know how to Dutch braid it, but that’s about it. You thought it would be fun to try something new today, something glamorous like the models in the magazines, but it’s not going well at all. Is it the hairdryer? Is it the brush you’re using? Is it the way you’re twisting your hand? You don’t know, and it’s driving you insane.
“Bloody hell,” you grumble, one hand wrapped around the handle of the round brush while you position the hairdryer at the right spot again. “How hard is it to make a curl?”
Peter, laid back on your bed in his leathers and band tee, asks, “Why don’t you—”
The hairdryer whirrs to life again, a loud, obnoxious sound that’s getting on your nerves by now. You can’t hear him over the noise of it. “Huh?”
You squint at him across the room; all that lies between your full length mirror and your bed, pressed against the wall, is the trunk you brought with you to school. Peter has been watching you try to do this for a while now, your frustrations rising, and you’ve only got fifteen minutes left until you’re due to hang out with Jean, Scott, Kurt and Jubilee.
The speedster shakes his head dismissively. He turns to the side and watches you twist the brush in your hand, leave the hairdryer to heat it up, and then when you pull it away—
Limp. It’s flat and downright awful, and your face is going red at the sight of it.
Your fingers clench in irritation as you set the brush down. Peter’s laugh rings out across the room to you. It’s a sound that usually sparks amusement, but right now it sparks vexation.
“It’s not funny!” You fire back at him, frustration evident in your tone.
Peter, however, thinks otherwise. “It’s pretty funny. You’ll laugh about it in a few days’ time.”
You growl in frustration. “Not if I can’t do this bloody hairstyle,” you respond. You throw your hands in the air and bring one to tug at your hair, as if to prove your point. “I might say to hell with it and get a perm.”
Peter’s laugh is filled with amusement, louder than before, as he stands from the bed. “Wanda did that and she came out looking like a grandma. Wouldn’t recommend it.”
You jut your chin upwards defensively. “It’s in fashion right now. It’s the 80’s.”
“It definitely didn’t look in fashion on my sister. I teased her about it for weeks.”
You shake your head. You turn to look back at yourself in the mirror, sighing. “What would you recommend, huh? Hair Stylist Maximoff?”
Peter’s brows rise as he takes a few slow steps across the room towards you. “Can I do your hair?”
You frown at him. Your mother used to try to help you when you got like this, except she’d never be able to do it either and you’d just both end up frustrated. You turn back to him, suddenly feeling a little defeated, and sigh at your reflection in the mirror. “What do you know about hair?”
Peter appears behind you at superspeed and places his hands on your shoulders. “You think I go to the little old lady salon and walk in and ask for silver hair? Please. I do this crap myself.”
Peter reaches up to run his fingers through your hair, and you close your eyes at the feeling. His touch is comforting. Teasingly, you ask, “Do you curl it too?”
You open your eyes to see Peter shrug. “Nah,” he answers softly. His gaze follows his fingers as they rake gently through your hair. “But Wanda asks me to get the back for her sometimes.”
You raise your brows. “Really?”
Peter nods. “Dinner on me if I screw it up?”
Your lips quirk up in a small smile. “Deal.”
Peter grins at you, and then in a flash, he’s speeding around the room. You can’t see what he grabs, but you know the rough location of everything he might be grabbing—hairspray, the brush, the hairdryer…
And when he’s done, you’re choking from the amount of hairspray lingering around you. Genuinely choking. Your throat feels like it might give up from the fumes, but when you’ve finally stopped, when your eyes stop watering enough to see—
“Oh my god.”
You look good. Exactly like the models in the magazines. Your curls are voluminous, bouncy, and it compliments the natural makeup on your face almost as if you woke up looking like this. You can’t help but gape at the sight of yourself in the mirror, and you catch the sight of Peter’s grinning mouth as he watches the recognition flash in your eyes.
“Peter,” you breathe, “never mind the X-Men. You need to get a job in a salon.”
Peter laughs. “Personal stylist for the X-Men? I’ve got some good ideas for what I’d like to do to Scott.”
You let out a laugh, your fingers twisting through the ends of your hair. Oh, it’s perfect. “Personal stylist for me, at the very least.”
Peter grins, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “Glad you like it, Y/N.”
“Like it? I love it.”
“Good. Now can we please get going?” Peter begs, giving your shoulders a squeeze. “If I don’t get food soon I think I’ll combust.”