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Hair Journey
❣ Summary: If he had to choose one thing he adored the most about you, it was your hair. ❣ ❣ Word Count: 2.6k ❣ Warnings: Black! Reader, fluff, slice of life, comfort, Chris has insecurity over his hair, hair talk, low self esteem, slight humor, discussion of future family ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Chris is referred to as Christopher, Chris, Baby, and Channie, Reader is referred to as Baby ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist
Christopher loved you more than words could ever describe - there weren’t enough languages in this universe that could even begin to express the hold you had on his heart; from the top of your head to the very soles of your feet, he adored you.
Of course, if asked about any particularly favorite parts about you, he would always start with your smile, something that was just so undeniably you it made his heart soar - or, for a non-physical attribute, he would choose your voice, reminiscing on the way your warm tone would guide him out of his loud thoughts, and how your soft whispers would lure him to sleep better than any ASMR could try.
However, the part of you he adored the most was your hair, something he never thought he’d ever find himself caring about on a person until he met you.
He could still remember the first day you met, how he found himself getting lost in the beautiful, ringlet curls that framed your face and seemed to defy gravity everywhere else. A few weeks down the line he’d encounter you again, but this time the curls he’d dreamt of were nowhere to be seen, instead, in their place were beautiful braids done up into a ponytail - but, what truly caught his eye, and ears, were the captivating sounds of the beads decorating the ends.
Mentally, he swore he would use the sound they made when they clacked together whenever your head would move with each laugh he charmed out of you in a song one day.
Eventually, he would get used to seeing you with a different style every other time you’d meet, and when you eventually got together and subsequently moved in with him, he found himself absolutely excited over learning your routines, and how they differed to his.
He’d learned that ‘wash day’ didn’t only reference laundry, and realized why whenever that time came around, you claimed you’d be busy the whole afternoon; it was truly a day, and the act of simply watching you go about your routine - with your permission, of course - had him feeling like he had gone through the carefully carried out tasks of detangling, washing, and detangling once more.
Not to mention the time variation of either styling your hair from that point, or the arm numbing job of blow drying your hair in preparation for the appointment he’d always convince you to let him pay for - there was no way he could let himself not cater for you, especially after seeing the dedication it took to even prepare for it.
Hair appointments - those were probably the days he looked forward to the most, seeing the grand reveal of what style you chose to pamper yourself with for the next month or so. It didn’t matter to him if it was the simplest blowout, or the wonderfully blended tones of extensions set into twists or braids or locs or even a weave - which he was both amazed and terrified of when you’d first told him of the installation process, but you kissed his worries away as you reassured him that it was something you were completely fine with.
It had taken an embarrassingly long amount of time to find a hairdresser who was able to provide for your hair needs, but it was all worth it in his eyes whenever he’d get a notification on his phone while he was at work; a simple selfie with your new do and the following text ‘you like it?’.
Thus, followed a blush that crept onto his ears, and the flying of thumbs across his screen as he gushed about how beautiful you looked while trying not to giggle like a giddy schoolboy - something his ever loving members never failed to point out.
In the end, no matter how many styles you’d have done, his favorite sight would always be when your hair was in its natural state; fluffy curls trained after a simple twist out that always left the apartment smelling like your products, pomegranate and honey following after you like the fresh waft of a freshly baked pie.
He loved your curls, and he’d never forget to remind you whenever he had the chance, they were the purest form of you, and nothing would ever surpass that in his heart.
But, his love for your hair seemed to be a double edged sword with the hatred of his own.
Well, hate was a strong word, but he wasn’t in love with his hair like he was with yours - your hair was beautiful, lively, cared for in a capacity he wished he had done for himself, but sadly he could only do so much when it came to his own head.
He leaned against the bathroom doorway as he watched you carefully take down this week's twist out, oiled fingers gently tugging and untwisting the sections as you went, eyes trained on your own reflection in the mirror.
“Channie, if you keep staring at me like that, you’re gonna burn a hole in the side of my face, baby.” You teased, turning your head to catch his eye with a glittering smile.
Shrugging, he didn’t even try fighting the smile that graced his lips as he stepped further into the shared bathroom, “I can’t help it, I was lucky enough to have a girlfriend as beautiful as you, it feels like a crime to not stare.”
Your shoulders shook in a light laugh as you shook your head, fluffing out the root of the twist to make sure it was fully undone, “You’re too much for me, you flirt.”
As you went back to tending to your hair, he took his new place by the counter to continue watching from an up close perspective.
Eventually all of your twists were out, and you started the next step of separating and fluffing to give your hair more volume, lips pursed as you thought of the final layout.
“I love your hair.” Chris breathed softly, utterly awestruck with the way some strands bounced back into place as you tugged and pulled.
A small smile curved your lips, “I love your hair too, baby.”
His heart clenched as the voice in his head suddenly came to life, refuting your statement like it was a debate based on false pretenses.
“You do? I thought you liked the orange?” He brushed a strand of black away from his forehead, recalling the night he decided to dye it black since his roots had been showing more than the orange could pass up.
“I mean, I did, but you know me,” shrugging lightly, you gave him a warm side eye, “your hair looks good in any color in my eyes, and as long as you like whatever style you’re going for, and it’s healthy, that’s all that matters.”
“So, if I said I wanted to cut-”
“Aht- Don’t even say those words, be quiet.”
He laughed at your diversion, fully aware of how you liked it when he had at least enough to run your fingers through, “I’m kidding, baby, I’m safe from the scissors… for now.” Running a hand through his hair, he sighed softly as he leaned further against the countertop.
If only it wasn’t curly…
“What?”
Chris froze, eyes widening while a rush of embarrassment washed over him - did he seriously say that out loud?
Clearing his throat, he shook his head, “I- Nothing, it wasn’t anything important.”
Of course, he couldn’t expect you to not notice the subtle change, not when his eyes fell from your face to focus on the small rips in his jeans, fingers looping through the threads nonchalantly.
“Chris?”
Guilt sunk his shoulders as he slowly looked up at you once more, his heart clenching at the worried dip of your eyebrows and the soft pout of your lips.
“Baby, do you really not like your curls?”
You’d been through the surface of this topic every now and then, from the introduction of his personalized hair care to the worried, late night discussions of the state of his hair and the reaction of stays whenever the stylists would introduce a new hair color for a comeback, or his own experimentation - but, you never thought his woes ran this deep.
“I… I mean…” He scrambled for an excuse, something to rationalize his completely irrational thoughts, but his mind ran dry and he sighed, “A little bit? It’s just- I showed you what my hair used to look like before, back when it was healthier, and my curls were easier to deal with because they were fine! I was used to dealing with them as often, but now it’s like… I don’t even know how to style my normal hair anymore and it’s aggravating because if I keep treating it, it’s just going to make things worse, you know?”
Now it was your turn to sigh, turning on the faucet to wash off the product from your hands before drying them with a paper towel, “Have I ever told you how I got my hair to the point that it’s at?”
Pausing, he wracked his brain for any hint of a memory, but when he came up empty he shook his head.
“Alright, well, I didn’t always have my natural hair,” you leaned your hip on the countertop, “at some point when I was young, my mom started to perm my hair - a perm that makes your hair straighter, easier to manage, especially for a little girl back in the day, perms were everywhere.”
Chris scanned your features, trying his best to imagine a version of you without the curly mane he’d loved so much; even when you straightened your hair or got a weave, he knew your curls would always come back eventually.
“Back then, I didn’t really think too much about my hair because I was still young, you know? As long as I had pretty barrettes, or, eventually, long straight hair like the girls I saw on TV, I was perfectly fine - then I got into high school and things changed.” A soft smile curled your lips, “One of my friends told me how she was going ‘natural’, and when I learned that she wasn’t perming her hair anymore and was letting her natural hair grow out, I wanted to do the same thing! I was tired of sitting in the kitchen chair with those gross smelling chemicals in my hair, and her hair was shorter, but prettier - she looked more like herself and I wanted that too.”
Despite how long ago the memory was, it still felt fresh whenever you thought of it, recalling the way the signs of your perm wearing off started to show, and how your hair slowly started to change with each passing week thereafter.
“Long story short, I went through a lot of stages with my hair, from straight, to this awkward phase of straight hair and fuzzy roots because I refused to cut my hair, to the first time I thought I found my true curl pattern, to the time I actually found my pattern and started feeling like I was me - no longer trying to fit an image required of me.” You tilted your head slightly, “I know you don’t have complete control over how you’re supposed to be publicly viewed with your hair, and I know how it feels going from something you were used to, to a completely different situation, but you shouldn’t start to hate your natural hair over it - you shouldn’t start to hate yourself over it.”
Chris bristled, taking a sharp breath as he looked down at his hands, his thumb rubbing at the pads of his other fingers anxiously.
Pushing away from the counter, you stepped in front of him, taking his hands in your own, “I understand it’s stressful trying to balance what you want and what’s required of you, but I want you to know that I love your hair; damaged curls or healthy, weird fuzzy phase or the prettiest pattern known to man, you’re doing what you can and I love you for it - just as much as you love me for mine.” Squeezing his hands, a soft giggle shook your shoulders, “And I’m sure there’s a lot of stays out there who agree that curly haired, natural Channie is the best.”
He managed to let out a watery chuckle, sniffling as he turned his head up to finally look at you, brown eyes swimming in unshed tears. “Even if they aren’t as fluffy as they used to be?”
“Especially if they aren’t as fluffy as they used to be, baby.” Bringing a hand to his cheek, you wiped away a stray tear, “You told me first hand, your hair was getting healthier, now it’s just a matter of time for your curls to follow suit, yeah? Plus, you’ve got me, I don’t mind helping you figure out how to style your hair, even if it’s just between me and you - anything to help you love your curls again.”
Nodding, he took a slow breath to calm his nerves, the guilt melting away to hopefulness the longer you caressed his cheek, “Does… Does that mean I’ll get to use your hair products too?”
You laughed heartily, shrugging, “I guess I can use some things on you, but there’s no way all of my products will work on your hair, Channie - we can go shopping and figure it out, but be prepared, it’s a long process.” Bringing your hand up to his lightly tousled hair, you tucked a few strands into place, “I actually can’t wait to use my peppermint oil on you, I think that’ll be the first step we take.”
“The one you use after your leave in conditioner?” He beamed, easily recalling the calming scent of the oil that - embarrassingly - put him to sleep faster than the occasional sleep routine you introduced him to. “I love that one, it makes your hair smell so good!”
“Yeah? Well your hair can smell like mine now!” Grinning up at him, a spark of mischief flashed in your eyes, “And, you know, when we figure out your curl pattern…”
Chris nodded, urging you to continue as he settled his hands onto your hips, “Mhm?”
“We’d have a good idea for whose hair our future kids would have.”
You pressed your lips together in an effort to contain the laughter shaking your shoulders, but when his eyes widened as he registered your words, you fell into a fit of giggles.
“You can’t just say things like that out of nowhere!” He whined, tugging you closer to lean his head forehead on your shoulder, extremely aware of the heat rising on his face and undoubtedly turning his ears red.
“But I’m not wrong! There’s no way we’re not gonna have curly-headed babies, Chris, we might as well try to figure out what they’d look like!”
“You’re going to be the death of me, baby.” Lifting himself from your shoulder, he silenced your laughs with a kiss, smiling against your lips as you kissed back without hesitation. He pulled away not long after, gazing at you with eyes filled with adoration, his heart swelling as you smiled up at him with the same look. “I love you.”
You hummed happily, “I love you too, now, can you help me make sure I got all the curls separated in the back?”
With a nod, he let you slip out of his hold to face the mirror once more, sliding behind you to carefully readjust any out of place curl while you fluffed out the front and sides - glancing up every now and then to see the adorably focused furrow of your brow.
Maybe one day he could picture himself standing next to you, styling his own, less curly hair, but he knew for certain he could picture a smaller combination of you both sitting on the counter with your eyes and his personality.
Hopefully, they'd have your hair, too.
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I AM CRYING AND SWOONING AND LOSING MY MIND 💗💗😭😭 I got my commission from @sweetlandspos, which she drew for my story "I wanna be your Endgame." Here is Hockey Player Sukuna:
Émilie, thank you so much for drawing this beautiful and sexy commission for me and bringing this version of Kuna to life!! I love it so much, and honestly, I can't stop looking at it 💗 The butterflies are real 💗😵
(The girl is based on me, but of course, in my story, the Reader doesn't have any physical descriptions and can have any skin color, hairstyle, etc.)
There is cuteness.....and then there is Cavill cuteness. 🤗❤❤
Lil Egyptian Gods by Silverfox5213
IM SOBBING ABT THESE