#Salon Shears | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shalomniscient · 10 months

Note

sev do u have literally Any headcanons ab adela. nsfw or sfw. im begging. theres so little on this app and shes seriously the love of my life like im ceying i love her so bad

ADELAAAAAAAA i will confess i haven’t really Thought about her in a while because……. shalom……. BUT i do have SOME thoughts (shocking)

of all the sinners i feel like adela is the most inherently domestic, if that makes sense? she’s nurturing by nature (an absolutely AMAZING adela-coded song is two by sleeping at last) and if that comes at her own expense, so be it. it’s wonderfully, beautifully tragic, especially when contrasted with how chief/we feel about her. i worry because i love you vs. i don’t want you to worry because i love you dhshksskjd i’m scratching at the walls of my enclosure—

adela is so used to giving, giving, giving that when she recieves it throws her for a loop sometimes. there’s a supervision incident where we give her hand cream since her hands have started to crack due to shampoo overuse and she’s a little taken aback by it. she’ll take your hand in hers and whispers her gratitude so softly, only for you to hear. maybe you can even see the tips of her ears turning a light pink.

quality time, acts of services and physical touch are definitely adela’s top love languages. return any of these to her and she’ll feel her heart pitter-patter in her chest. maybe bring her a blend of tea she enjoys that she was running low on, or help her clean up her salon (cell?) as she closes up. if you’re feeling a little romantic, play some music on the record player and dance with her a little. she’s a little like raven in the sense she likes the idea of being romanced. she’ll rest her head on your chest and sway with you, hand in hand, and nothing else in the world will matter. in this place, in your arms, there are no worries. sometimes, it becomes difficult to leave.

but when you do leave, inevitably, to risk your life over and over again that tight knot in her chest worsens. she sees it, the strands of worry, all around her cell and her hands itch for her shears. she’ll be tense until the moment you return—and when you do, she won’t fling herself into your arms. but if you decide to pull her in anyway, hold her tightly against you, she won’t object. she’ll dig her fingers into the fabric of your coat and hold you tightly. run your fingers through her hair until she feels the tension bleed from her body. expect her to be a little more clingy after that, always wanting to ensure you’re in her vicinity, or if she can be selfish, in her arms.

adela’s kisses are gentle and tender. her lips are soft against your own, and she tastes like sweet tea and mint. she prefers to kiss you when she has you all to herself, in the privacy of her cell. she’ll loop her arms around your neck, or cup your face in her hands—she just wants to hold you close, always. she especially loves pressing butterfly kisses on your cheeks, adoring the way you flush under her touch. you mean so much to her, more than she can express in words, so she’ll be sure to show you.

[nsft utc]

adela is a huge switch to me. it’s part of her tendency to put others before herself; she’ll do pretty much anything that makes you happy. i don’t see her as a strap kinda gal, but if you want her to top you best be sure she’ll finger you until you see the gates of heaven. her fine motor skills are digustingly good and she will be sure to make full use of it. your whimpers and whines of pleasure are intoxicating to her, and sometimes she’ll become so obsessed with them she’ll have you crying tears of overstimulation as you cum on her fingers for the nth time.

but that being said, she doesn’t mind bottoming either—go down on her and she’ll give you the breathiest, sweetest moans you’ve ever heard. her hands will tangle in your hair, tugging and scratching at your scalp whenever you brush a particularly good spot. she’ll giggle a little when you come back up to kiss her and your hair’s a mess; she’ll do her best to fix it somewhat, but it’s an exercise in futility when you inevitably decide to go down and devour her again. i feel like she’s also a creamer rather than a squirter, but oh boy can she get you to squirt with those fucking fingers…

i think adela’s a little less into toys in general, preferring to go about it the more “traditional” way, if you will. but best believe she is very into lingerie. on you, on her, doesn’t matter—but she’ll definitely enjoy seeing it on you. wear something lacy and blue (her particular shade of blue) and she’ll turn the brightest shade of red before dragging you right to bed to unwrap you. if it’s a little too complex to take off she’d totally summon her shears and snip them right off—but she’ll promise to buy you a new set between sweet, breathless kisses.

adela loves, loves, loves aftercare too. she’ll spoil you rotten with it. and if she’s the one boneless on the sheets, then be sure to spoil her with aftercare. a long, warm bath after fucking each other silly is one of her favourite things in the world, and depending on how either of you are feeling, she’ll either be spooning you in the tub or be the one being spooned. in whichever case, the wind-down is always soothing and affectionate, a time just for you and her and nothing else. it’s in these quiet moments she’ll bury her face into your hair and whisper those fragile words, “i love you”.

(don’t you know? she loves you more than anything—even the fear of losing you.)

#sev.responses #tldr; if ur romantically involved w adela it’s pretty much like being married to her lmfao #path to nowhere #[nsft]#ptn #ptn adela #her event was soooo good ngl #so heartbreaking too #aisno writers r so goated frfr #adela x reader #ptn adela x reader

116 notes · View notes

borntoocry · 8 months

Text

life and death and summer

trigger warning: death

summary: y/n's mom passes away and ellie is there to consolidate her.

wc: 1.4K

You hate the phrase ‘gone but not forgotten.’ When you lose someone, everyone and their mother uses it to try and make you feel better about who you’ve lost. They recall all their memories with your person and laugh while you sit in front of them with bloodshot eyes and sticky tears coating your face. But the truth is, more than half of the people attending your person's funeral will forget about them after a few months–five max. They will gasp and cover their mouth when someone brings it up and say, “Oh shoot, they passed away a year ago!” While you’re still retrieving all that’s lodged in your mind about them: their voice, their clothing, what they ate, what they did on the daily.

No one here thinks they’ll forget your mother, and it fuels your anger. It’s even worse that you’ve never even seen some of these people. Where did they come from? Who were they friends with? Surely not your mother–you knew who she was friends with because she didn’t have many to begin with. Your dad wasn’t friends with anyone, either. Unless siblings were counted as such.

Everyone is stuffing their faces with crackers and cheese from the cheese platter. You’re full of so much grief that you didn’t dare touch anything.

You move out of the room trying to gasp for air. Air that doesn’t consist of old lady perfume, laughter, smiles, or food. However, with each turn you find yourself faced with the same things. So you take the route outside where no one is occupying besides Ellie with a… joint in her hand?

You brush up beside her and she turns to face you. Her hair is choppy again, meaning she’s recently cut it with her own shears. She’s never liked going to salons or barber shops despite being told there are some people who specialize in whatever she wants.

“What are you doing out here?” you ask her, your hand slowly maneuvering into hers to steal her joint.

She easily passes the joint into your fingers and shrugs. “I hate funerals,” she says.

You nod. “I don’t know why I asked that,” you scoff, feeling stupid.

She nods. “Joel,” she says. “When he died, a bunch of people came to his funeral bearing food and gifts for me. Especially stupid words like, “You’re in our prayers,” or, “He’s watching over you.” I’ve never been really religious, you know? I think he is watching over me, but not from heaven. From the sky–the clouds, the stars.”

You nod and take a puff. You cough on this one. The entire day has been pounding its fists into you that the long and quite suffocating puff worked well. It quickly floods into your body and you instantly feel buzzed.

Ellie takes the joint from your hand and takes an excruciating inhale. She doesn’t choke up like you did, instead beautifully exhaling like the pothead she is. You watch her continue smoking because you’re buzzed enough to not mind the crowd inside.

“I didn’t mean to not reply to you,” you tell her, remembering the conversation you were having.

She shakes her head and turns to you, a soft smile gracing her lips. “The silence was the answer. I know how you feel, especially on a day like this. Everyone’s having fun while you’re mourning. And you’re expected to chat, smile, eat, but you can’t even bear talking about anything, much less about your mom.”

You lean into her more and lay your head on her shoulder. You want to cry, but to cry in front of someone else disturbs you. It’s almost revolting.

Ellie picks up on this, because she begins caressing your face, whispering, “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

You slowly let yourself cry. You cry so much that you have to push away from Ellie and sit on the back door steps. She follows you down and grabs your hand, rubbing circles into your skin. She even goes as far as kissing the front of your hand. You’ve never been loved the way she has done right now, and it’s not strange. It feels as though it was supposed to happen years ago.

You and Ellie have been friends since you moved into the city. Aka 13 years ago when you were only eight years old. She lived next door and had no friends beside a toy car named ‘Merry.’ And of course her father that found her in a trashcan. He didn’t really find her in a trashcan, but she has told you that since you met, so you obey her story.

Since you were eight and she was nine, you’ve remained in contact, knowing shifting details about one another. You may have drifted between your teenage years, but you know enough about her to consider her a close friend.

Ellie has always been nice to you, never fussing or hating on who you surround yourself with, who you’ve dated–which has been not a single person since freshman year; which happens to be when you came out–etc. The summer before your freshman year of college, you and her hung out more than you had in 10 years. You went to her college parties, drank, smoked weed, went out to eat, found hideout spots, and more you can’t recall. It was also the time you began forming feelings for her. Nothing came of it, but you’ve been holding onto that one summer for three years. And her kissing you–not your face, or lips, but your hand–has the blistering sunny days coming back like they were only yesterday.

However, you don’t want to keep thinking about her lips on the remainder of your skin, so you push away and gulp down more alcohol. She doesn’t stop you, just glances at you every now and then while she sips on a flask she took out of her coat pocket.

By the time half your bottle is empty, you can barely stand. It’s as if someone has taken the world and spun it like a yo-yo. You try grabbing onto the steps, a coat, maybe yourself, but you become frustrated and whine like a child.

A chuckle alerts you and it’s like you’ve forgotten all about Ellie–which is what you never wanted to happen. You gleam up at her and allow her hands to grab onto your elbows. She slides you up and loops her arm around your waist. She disposes of your bottle and takes you around your home into her backyard. She inherited the small home after Joel passed away–something she is very proud of.

It’s clean–her backyard. No signs of dogs, or animals, or even plants. It’s clean green grass and you feel like sinking in and lying in it, but she pulls you forward until she’s slamming you into a bed.

“Jeezusss,” you groan, grabbing Ellie’s coat. She falls beside you and says something you can’t really focus on. You turn your head to face her and watch her mouth as she repeats her words.

‘You need to sleep,’ she says.

You nod. “‘Kay,” you answer and shut your eyes. “G’night.”

And that’s all. Lights out. You say nothing more, think of anything else, dream of anything nor feel anything. You sleep in your alcoholic warmth and don’t even think about the puking you’ll want to do when you wake up.

That is until you’re awake at… 11 at night, coughing up a lung in Ellie’s toilet. She’s rubbing circles on your back, whispering incoherent words to you. You want to shove her off, but her acts of kindness slowly seep back into your brain. By the time you finish, you fall back onto the cold tile and hug your knees, digging your head between them to shut everything out. The memory of your mother’s funeral works its way into your head just as Ellie does and to see it all happen is gruesome.

“You alright?” Ellie asks.

You want to glare at her, but instead you shake your head.

She snuggles up beside your shaking body, smelling of vomit and alcohol. She kisses your temple and grabs your clean hand. She envelops your fingers with her own and sits with you as you shed more tears than you ever had.

She doesn’t judge. She doesn’t tell you to calm down when you can barely breathe. Or when your heaving leads to you throwing up. She kisses your cheek and temple every time and goes as far as setting up a bath for you once your stomach and mind have settled.

Your mouth says thank you but your mind cannot stop replaying the one summer three years ago. The feeling of lust or attraction seeps into your bones and you hope it isn’t friendliness she’s shedding.

#ellie williams #elliewilliams x reader #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams headcanons #oneshot #ellie x fem reader #ellie the last of us #lesbian romance #the last of us #ellie williams x you

61 notes · View notes

wildemaven · 2 years

Text

A Cut Above

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Hairstylist!Reader

WC: 2680

Warnings: T; Mentions of food, divorce, lots of pining and fluff otherwise.

A/N: I wanted to write a Hairstylist!Reader story a few years ago, but l wasn’t feeling super confident about my writing and just never got around to it. In the last few months I’ve had this urge to get back behind the chair again, which is what sparked this fic. Still haven’t decided if I will get back into doing hair as of yet, but I can enjoy writing about it. This is not beta’d and hope it reads well cause I’ve been run low sleep. Enjoy!!

Masterlist / Series Masterlist / Next

“You done for the day?”

The question pulls you from your thinking. It’s an organized chaos of mental notes streaming through your subconscious.

“I wish. I have one more then I’m done. It’s a new client too. So I’ll be a bit longer.”

“Color?”

“No, thank god! I don’t think my feet can take another 2 to 3 hours more.” The day was filled with back to back clients— a typical Saturday in the salon. Your clients who worked long hours, were always filling up your Saturdays. “Just a cut. Benny made the appointment for him, said his friend was in need of a change— very vague about it”

“Mmm.. Benny.”

“Earth to Hannah!! Gonna need you to touch back down girlie.” Hannah was the salon receptionist, and Benny Miller’s secret admirer.

“Huh? Oh sorry, got a bit distracted.”

“You don’t say? You know, you could just ask him out, would probably be way more exciting than sitting there and daydreaming about him 24/7.”

“I do not daydream about him 24/7–“ She tries convincing you, but you know her far too well. You shoot her a pointed look— you’re not buying it. “Okay! Alright, I do think about him— a lot! But I can’t help it, he’s so…”

“Pretty?” You finish her thought.

“Yeah. He’s so pretty.”

“Well, I have it on good authority that said Pretty Man Child Benny, might have an itty bitty crush on a cute little receptionist. So, put your big girl panties on and make a move.”

Benjamin Miller— Benny, was a long time client of yours, turned friend. He was in your chair every 5 weeks maintaining that gorgeous head of hair. Gotta look good for the ladies when I’m in the ring— his words.

As the years went on, you found you were collecting Benny’s friends and family as clients. His older brother Will, Will’s wife Nicole, his close friend Pope (still haven’t heard his real name), as well as Mom and Dad Miller. Benny kept your chair busy and you were grateful for that.

He’d text you on Monday saying he’d had a friend who was needing a cut, something about a fresh start. He was in luck because you had one spot open, so you scheduled some guy named “Fish” as your last client for the week.

“Wait really?! He knows who I am?!” Shock was written all over Hannah’s face.

“Hannah, you greet him every appointment— of course he knows who you are.”

“I think I black out the minute he walks through the door.”

“That would explain the drool every time.” You can’t help but laugh at her expense.

She rolls her eyes back at you as she gathers her things from the front desk. “Alright, I’m going to leave before you decide to carry on with this onslaught of nonsense. Going to go home and pour myself a glass of wine in celebration!”

“Celebration?? For what?”

“Benny Miller knows who I am! And he has a crush on me!!” You let her bask in her glory, as she all but floats to the front door.

“Hannah…” You catch her attention before she’s exits. “Text him! Preferably before the wine.”

“Yes mom!” She mocks back at you before the door swings shut.

You had 15 minutes until your appointment would be showing up, so you took the time to clean your station up a bit and set up for his hair cut.

Your shears, combs and clippers laid out on your hair cutting tray, clean cape folding on top of your station.

As you were checking over your schedule for next week, making a list of colors you needed to pick up from the beauty supply, the front door opened welcoming your client— your very handsome client.

He looks nearly 6 feet tall, and so broad. His hair is dark chestnut from what you can see peeking out from under his hat. There’s a casualness to him in the way he carries himself— a shy confidence.

“Hi! You must be Fish.” You give him your name as you make your way up to him, extending your hand out in greeting. His rather large hand gripping yours, firm but a gentleness to it.

“Did he really tell you my name is Fish?! Fuckin’ Benny.” He shakes his head, as if to fain off embarrassment. Shoving his hands in his pockets he starts laughing about it. “Yeah, he did. I am assuming that’s not actually your name though. Although, not judging if it is.”

“No, my name is Francisco Morales, but you can call me Frankie.” You notice the flush creeping up his neck— you make a mental note at how gorgeous he is before you get caught staring.

“Okay then, Frankie. You can come on back and have a seat here at my chair. Feel free to put your hat on my shelf there.” Helping him get situated.

“Let me go grab a clean towel and then we can chat about what you are wanting.”

Frankie sits himself down and starts to take in the space. You seem very tidy and organized as he glances over at your tray of cutting tools. He right away decides he likes that about you. Benny didn’t mention how beautiful you were when making him this appointment. He said you were pretty but he wasn’t expecting to be overwhelmed by how stunning you were— he knows he has to try his best to be cool and not ramble on.

He sees you making your way back to him in the mirror, his eyes locked on yours like magnets— he notices you catching him staring, but then you give him a smile that lights up your face. There’s that butterfly sensation tickling his insides, he hasn’t had that happen in a long time, but he welcomes it.

Arriving back to your station you take the small towel and place it on his shoulders before securing the cutting cape around his neck.

“So what are we thinking?” You ask as you begin to run your fingers through his hair, taking in the texture, density and the shape of the cut he has now.

“Uhh, I umm… I don’t know. I’m open to your professional opinion.” He didn’t realize he needed to come in with a style in mind. His usual barber usually says “Hi” then starts hacking at it.

“That’s okay.” You look at him in your mirror, his eyes already fixed on you and you feel your breath catch in your throat.

You hadn’t noticed his dimple earlier, and you can’t seem to keep your eyes off of it when he smiles. You steady your thoughts and continue to comb your fingers through his hair making note of how it lays and it’s natural growth pattern.

“You have a nice wave going on. If we work with it and bring your sides and the back in a little tighter the top will lay nicely.”

He’s captivated by everything you’re saying, and yet he doesn’t understand a single word of it. You could tell him he needed to shave his head and he’d willingly let you, no questions asked.

“How does that sound Frankie??”

“Honestly— I have no idea what any of what you just said means, but I trust you.”

“Well, I appreciate your honesty.” You find his nervousness charming. “You won’t be losing much length overall, it will be more shaping and connecting the sides to the top.” Your hands moving around his head as you try to explain your process.

“Again— no clue what you just said.”

“Got it! Enough hair jargon then. Let’s get you back and washed up first.”

The warm water hides the sweat that’s formed on your palms as you begin washing his hair. He’s settled into the shampoo bowl, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest in such a kicked back manner.

Your fingers work diligently as you begin to scrub the soapy liquid through his wet locks. As you spend ample time working over his scalp, you catch the sound of a faint moan. You don’t think he meant for it to sound so erotic, but it’s stirring a warm feeling with in you.

“Feel good?”

“Mmmhmmm..” It’s all he’s able to manage, your movements awakening him in so many ways, his spine vibrating with an indescribable desire.

Suds throughly rinsed, leave in conditioner combed through, you both get situated back at your station.

He seems way more relaxed, more chatty and asking questions as you go section by section, meticulously trimming away the unwanted ends.

His questions alternated between your professional life and personal— where you grew up, favorite food and what made you decide to become a hairstylist. In a different circumstance, it might have felt invasive— but there was an ease to Frankie that had you spilling your life story to him so freely.

In return you asked him for more about himself. He shared about his life in Delta Force, where he had met Benny, Will and Pope, who you now know as Santiago.

His life as a helicopter pilot keeping him busy most of the time. He even felt brave enough to mention his semi recent divorce. You didn’t feel like you needed to delve deeper into his failed marriage, especially for only just meeting him.

You shared the same sentiment in working long hours and how it had you feeling overwhelmed at times, like you had less free time for yourself— mentioning you were working on trying to have more fun and go out. You shared how your former partners were always annoyed with you for being so consumed with work, the main reason you hadn’t been dating as much.

Checking and cross checking the length, you’re happy with how it’s shaping up.

“How do you normally style your hair? What are your go to products?”

He looks at you with the most sincere and confused expression, nervous to share his routine with you.

“Normally it’s just straight out of the shower, quick rubbing of the towel over it so it’s not dripping, then toss the hat on.” Pointing to the battered hat he’d worn in.

“Frankie! If there’s only one piece of advice you leave here with, please let it be that you never aggressively rub a towel over your hair again!”

He thinks he should feel embarrassed but there’s a sweetness in the way you share your knowledge with him— he will make a conscientious effort to gently pat his hair dry from now on.

“Since you mentioned you are usually throwing on your hat, it’s probably safe to assume there’s not much actual styling going on?”

“Uh, yeah… Not much styling. The least amount of steps possible is my go to method.”

“While the hat vibe is cute, I would not be doing my job if I sent you out of here wearing—”

“You think I’m cute?” He cuts you off. That dimple again making an appearance, his grin slightly laced in flirtation.

“Umm, yes.” Your face feels hot, the blow-dryer not helping much, as you try to remain calm and collected.

“Hm!”

Grabbing some product and applying a small amount to your palm, you begin to distribute it throughout his hair. .

“But I think without the hat is cute too. Easier to see all of your,” You gulp at your next admission. “Attractive features.” You giggle as you finish styling his freshly trimmed hair, each strand manipulated with such precision— the new length really does add to his handsomeness.

“You think I’m attractive too?” He says shifting in the chair, his gaze still steady on you.

“Oh wow, I’m really just letting my internal monologue run my mouth aren’t I?”

He shrugs with the slightest cock of his eyebrows in response.

“And now would be a good time for the ground to just swallow me up!” You groan, hands covering your face as you attempt to hide your embarrassment.

“You’re cute when you get all flustered.”

“So you think I’m cute now? We just going to spend the rest of the night confessing our new found feelings having only just met?”

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to it.” He states so casually.

The rest of his appointment is filled with more flirtatious banter, a connection that you’re both very much aware of— yet neither of you stating the obvious

“Thank you again.” Frankie says holding a bag of products he insisted he leave with, wanting to branch out from his usual “hat vibe”’as you called it— said hat’s bill tucked into the back pocket of his already snug blue jeans.

“So… Do you want to set something up for next time?” Pulling out your schedule, hoping that Frankie likes his cut, and you, enough to return regularly. “I think 5 to 6 weeks would be a good amount of time to see you again.”

“Actually— I was hoping I could see you sooner than that.”

“Oh! Okay. When are you thinking?” Slightly confused, you start scanning over the openings you have in the coming weeks.

“Tonight.”

“Tonight?? I’m not follow— Oh! Ooooh!”

“Yeah….” There’s a budding nervous energy about him as you realize what he’s asking. “There’s this sports bar around the corner— the guys and I hang out there from time to time. Anyways, they have some great appetizers and craft beer on tap… If you’re open to it, we could, um go… Unless you have other plans…”

“Yes! I’d love to Frankie.”

“Yeah?!” His face instantly beaming with excitement.

“Yeah! Just let me clean and lock up real quick, then we can head out.”

Drinks and appetizers flowed into a moonlit walk back to your car— both of you stalling out your goodbyes.

“So, I’ll call you tomorrow.” Frankie says as his hand cups your cheek, his warm gaze fixed on yours. “I hope this isn’t too soon, but would it be okay if I kissed you?”

“Yeah.. I’d like that.” Leaning into him to close the gap, fingers carding through the nape of his silky waves.

Frankie’s lips all but crash into yours, the intensity growing from your own, eager for more of him. He nips at the plumpness of your lower lip, encouraging them to part for him. His tongue slipping inside your mouth and you can taste the bitterness from his beer still lingering.

A grip is established on your hip, his hand slowly moving around to your backside eliciting a breathy moan from deep with in you as the heated kiss escalates.

Laughter from a rowdy group of bystanders reminds you both of your surroundings.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away there.” Frankie rests his forehead on yours as he tries to regain his composure, his breath fanning across your cheeks— they’re no longer cold from the frigid air.

“Well, I most certainly wasn’t complaining. In fact, I look forward to you doing it again sometime.”

He places a kiss to your forehead, before exchanging goodbyes. He promises again to call tomorrow, and you’re already breathlessly excited for it.

Heater cranked up in your car, willing your body to adjust to the heat. You grab for your phone in your purse, pulling open your message app so you can send a quick text before putting the car in drive.

-Hey Benny, just wanted to thank you for setting that appointment up for Frankie. He’s a great guy! Super funny and hella charming.

-You sure we’re talking about the same Frankie?? 😉

-Funny! Anyways, I appreciate it and I’m looking forward to seeing him again!

-Oh! Hannah called, we’ve got a date next week!

-You be good to her Benny!

-Of course! No problem! Make sure you and Frankie thank me in your wedding toast 🍾🍾 Night!!

You roll your eyes at his last text before tossing your phone in to the passenger seat. The entire drive home you can’t get Frankie out of your head, wondering if he’d find you too eager to call him when you got home.

The decision made for you by the buzzing of your phone— Frankie’s name flashing on the screen.

#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier #wildemaven writes #pedro pascal

399 notes · View notes

jaketposts · 2 years

Text

shears | jtk

a/n: i was very inspired by cob's haircut and had to put it down in words. this is the result. also this is my first fic! warnings: none! just a lot of fluff. mention of scissors maybe? word count: 3.7k

You weren’t exactly thrilled that your first job out of cosmetology school was at Great Clips. You hoped to score a job at a fancier salon as you had shelled out a pretty penny for a more prestigious beauty school, but it was, at the moment, your job.

You didn't even like men’s styles. You thought the endless slew of clipper cuts and fades were repetitive, and you longed to get your hands on a head full of long, luscious hair. Sadly, most women already had a stylist that they trusted and had a bond with, so you were stuck with every Joe Schmoe in Nashville who didn’t care to run a dab of pomade through his comb-over every once in a while.

Sometimes your customers were even rude. Many pompous businessmen who never looked up from their phones had sat in your chair. You had cut the hair of just as many older men who made crude comments about your figure or told you to smile while you tried to fix up their rapidly thinning crew cuts. Neither of these groups tipped very well.

Truthfully, you loathed Great Clips, but the job kept you afloat while you built a resumé.

You found that you had much to complain about while idle at the front counter, waiting for a walk-in when the doorbell pulled you from your daydream of a real salon.

The bright chime of the bell echoes through the empty lobby, alerting you to someone's presence. Your eyes rip away from the spot on the wall you had been absentmindedly staring at while your mind wandered, falling to the man stepping through the doorway.

He was gorgeous, you thought. He wore a wide-brimmed black hat and a stylish pair of sunglasses. Between the two accessories, you weren't sure what he actually looked like, but you just knew he was pretty. He wore a pair of off-white linen pants paired with a black linen button-down that looked to have been cropped to his hips. The shirt was mildly wrinkled but barely buttoned, which gave you an ample view of his smooth, tan chest adorned with a couple of silver pendants.

You were enamored with his jewelry and open shirt before you realized the most important part of his appearance.

His hair.

He had wavy chestnut hair that spilled over his shoulders and fell past the collar of his shirt. You hadn't had hair that long walk through the doors in months, maybe ever.

You were pulled out of your silent admiration by the sight of him walking towards the counter, towards you. You quickly shut your mouth, as your jaw was beginning to hang open at his beauty, and flash him the brightest smile you could muster.

"Hi, welcome to Great Clips! Do you have an appointment?" you chirp, silently thanking whatever power was above that your voice didn't crack. You bit your lip in anticipation of his answer. You were next up to take a walk-in, but there were stylists in the back who had appointments with regular customers. You hoped he was not one of them.

Even his voice was gorgeous, "No, just looking for a walk-in if you have time," he replies. He had a perfectly deep, but kind rasp to his voice. You felt your cheeks redden at the sound.

"Sure! Follow me, please." This time, you aren't so lucky, as your voice breaks and your face flushes deeply. You quickly turn and motion for him to follow you to the chairs, attempting to hide your undoubtedly scarlet face. You could have sworn he chuckled under his breath at your shyness.

Once you arrive at your station, you gesture for him as you take your spot behind the chair. You start to introduce yourself, "My name is y/n and I'll be cutting your hair today." You pause, expecting him to remove his hat and sunglasses.

Instead, he rasps, "Hi y/n, I'm Jake." He smiles a gentle, toothy grin at you that you can't help but return. He still does not move to take off his hat or glasses yet, so you pause again, moving to lightly graze your fingers along the brim of his hat.

"Can I take these off?" you ask.

Jake's eyebrows raise in realization, "Oh! Of course." He reaches up to lift his hat off his head and place it in his lap, which you had been avoiding looking at. Then, he removes his sunglasses, folding them and sliding them into the top of where his shirt was buttoned, no higher than the bottom of his sternum. He looks back up expectantly, finally making real eye contact with you for the first time since he arrived. Tragically, your face flushes again, but he seems to blush as well.

"There we go," you whisper. Then, in a louder voice, you say, "It's nice to meet you, Jake. What are we doing with your hair today?" You move to run your fingers through your hair to feel the texture and judge the care that it might need.

"Well," he starts, "My little brother says the ends of my hair look ratty and that I need a haircut. So, here I am." He grins. As you comb your fingers through his hair, you understand what his brother meant. His hair is soft until you get two inches from the ends, where it feels rougher and dryer than the rest. He continues, "Take off whatever needs to come off."

Your mind automatically ponders the dirty implications of his directive, but you furrow your brow to push that thought away, "When did you last have your hair cut?"

Jake squints in thought, then shrugs, "Eight months? Maybe a year? I'm really not sure. I've been so busy with work lately, I just haven't had time to think about a haircut."

You hum and nod at his answer, "What do you do that has you so busy?"

His face splits into a wide smile and his eyes shimmer at your question, "My brothers and I are in a band. We've been on tour and finishing up our next album," he replies, still wildly grinning. You smile back and your heart flutters at the passion for music he exudes.

"Very cool, anything I might have heard?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, but with a tiny smirk that you almost miss, "Maybe," he starts, but he turns his focus back to his hair, "what's the damage?"

You pull the pieces of his hair that lay in front of his shoulders between your index and middle fingers and let the hair feed through until you reach where you think his locks need a chop. About two inches of hair needed to be cut off to keep it healthy. You reply, "About this much."

His eyes widen in shock at how much you indicate. He swallows, then asks, "Are you sure?" Jake's voice is almost timid, and your heart aches.

You nod solemnly, "Sadly, yeah. You have a good bit of split ends here and the only way to get rid of them is to cut them off." He nods back in understanding.

"I get it. It just seems really short. My hair hasn't been that short in a while."

You can tell Jake is a little nervous about the necessary length, so you lean over so that your head hovers right next to his, just above his shoulder. You look deeply into his eyes in the mirror and smile, "Yeah, but I promise you'll still look amazing," you reassure him.

This time it's his turn to flush a deep crimson, which he couples with a shy smile, "Whatever you say."

"Perfect," you reply as you stand up. You pat his shoulder and he follows you to the shampoo bowl. You grab a towel and lay it over the divot where his head is to rest. He sits down and leans back, his hair falling into the bowl. Usually, your customers focus on a spot on the ceiling, but he looks directly into your eyes. His gaze is piercing but soft, his smooth chocolate eyes dulling the sharpness of his glare. The pesky flush of your cheeks rises again, so you quickly avert your gaze in search of the shampoo and conditioner. You could feel his eyes tracking your movements.

You turned the water on, waiting longer than usual to make sure that the water was warm enough. You wanted it to be perfect for him. You ran the shower head over his hair, soaking it in the warm water and turning the faucet off when it was saturated. After pumping shampoo into your hand and lathering it between your fingers, you started to work the solution through his hair. His eyes, once trained on you, flutter shut with a sigh at the feeling of your hands massaging his scalp. His cheeks were rosy and you swear you saw a content smile play across his lips.

With his head stretched back, the smooth column of his neck was on display, leading your eyes down to his necklaces, which glinted in the overhead light. Your eyes moved to the smooth expanse of his chest, and you almost wished you could run your hands down the warm, tanned skin. At that moment, you realize you had been massaging the shampoo into his hair for too long, distracted by the man in your chair. You rush to grab the showerhead and turn it back on. You gently rinse the suds from his hair, holding your hand between the water and his forehead, protecting his face. Once his hair is clean, you grab a couple of pumps of conditioner and work it through his ends. As you run his wet hair through your fingers, you can tell that his hair really is gorgeous. It just needs some care.

After rinsing the conditioner from his hair, you gently squeeze out the excess moisture. His eyes open at this, sensing that you're done washing his hair. His eyes find yours again and he gazes up at you. You try to cut the tension with a joke, "Good morning, sleeping beauty," you say softly while a wry smile creeps across your face.

Jake flushes at your bold joke, "Oh hush," he replies. His words don't hold any malice. He continues, still making eye contact with you, "It felt nice." His face pulls into a shy smirk.

You have him sit up, and when he does, you grab the corners of the towel by his face and fold his hair up into the towel on top of his head. You lead him back to your salon chair and he sits down. After you grab a cape from the hooks on the wall, you drape it over him. The movement of the cape wafts the sweet smell of the conditioner towards you, but you can smell something else, a scent that is uniquely Jake.

After you snap the cape around his neck, you remove the towel from his head. You match his gaze in the mirror. He flashes a grin at you, again, and says, "Cut away, Doc." You nod in return.

You turn to grab a comb and a pair of shears and get to work. As you work through his hair, you strike up a conversation. "What kind of music do you and your brothers play?"

"Rock 'n roll mostly. Maybe a little bit of blues. Whatever we want, really," he replies. You can't see his face from your position behind him, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

"Ooh, rock 'n roll? Are you a rockstar, Jake?" you tease. You move to cut the hair on the side of his head.

"Maybe a little bit," he chuckles. He tries to turn his head towards you to punctuate his reply.

"Hey, keep your head straight." You stop his head with the back of your hand. He raises his eyebrows and flushes with embarrassment as he snaps back to face the mirror.

"Sorry," he replies. He averts his gaze in the mirror.

You smile reassuringly, "No worries," you say. He settles again, "What instrument do you play?"

This question truly makes him light up, "I play the guitar." He beams at you in the mirror and continues, "I started when I was pretty little, and it's taken me a lot of cool places." His grin shows off his shiny, white teeth.

"Any Grammys yet?" you jest. You assumed he was a small artist waiting for his big break.

He looks down at his lap and chuckles, "Just the one."

Your head snaps up to look at him in the mirror, "Really?"

He lets a small smile play across his face, "Yeah it was kind of a miracle, actually." You stand up as your mouth hangs open. Then, you begin to laugh, full and from your belly. He flushes again, "What's so funny?"

It takes a second for you to stop laughing and collect yourself to answer him, "You've won a Grammy and you're getting your hair cut at a Great Clips!" The thought, once said out loud, sends you back into a laughing fit. His own bright and genuine laughter joins yours.

When the laughter dies down, he turns his head towards you and you let it slide this time. He looks up at you and says, with a smirk, "Yeah, but you're cutting my hair here, aren't you?" He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

You blush furiously, but roll your eyes and turn his head back to the front with a hand on top of his head, "Oh, stop it," you mumble. His self-satisfied smirk remains as you finish cutting his hair.

Once pleased with your work, you set down the comb and shears. You reach for a bottle of light mousse and pump a small amount into your hand. Jake looks at the product in your hand, then up into your eyes, and asks, "What's that?"

You rub the mousse between your hands and start to rake it through his hair. "It's a mousse. It'll make your hair voluminous and give your waves some definition," you reply.

"Oh," he whispers and nods as you finish with the product. You grab the hairdryer and run it over his head for a few minutes, spinning the chair as you evenly dry his hair.

Once you've finished, you run your fingers through his locks one last time, breaking the cast and giving his hair the tousled look he came in with. You suspect he likes that look.

You finally spin Jake back around to see the final look in the mirror. The corners of his mouth and his eyebrows rise in unison. He turns his head from side to side, examining his new style. He brings his hands up to his scalp to tousle his hair from the roots. The wide, sparkling grin you were newly familiar with grows even stronger across his sharp features.

"It looks amazing. You were right about the length," he says. The gratitude is evident in his voice, and you match his grin.

You watch him admire his haircut in the mirror for just a little longer before he meets your gaze and sighs with contention. After standing there for just one more moment, you pat the back of the chair and say, "Alright, let's go get you checked out, Jake." He stands and follows you as you lead him back to the lobby. You notice that he puts his sunglasses back on his head, but continues to hold his hat in his hands.

You resume your spot behind the counter and give him the spiel on the cost and other services provided at Great Clips. When it's time to pay, he slides a shiny card toward you. Upon picking it up, you find the card is heavy for such a small item. Your eyes widen at the weight of it in your hand and he chuckles. You look up at the sound, and he shrugs, "Rockstar money, I guess."

You laugh at his jokes one last time before you swipe the card and hand him the receipt with a pen to sign. He scribbles something on the receipt and hands it back to you. Your fingers brush as you take the paper from his hands and a shiver runs down your spine. You smile as he pats the counter, rings clacking against the hard surface. He puts his hands in his pockets and goes to leave, but before he opens the door, he turns around to say, "Thank you, y/n, it really does look great." A kind grin accompanies his expression of gratitude.

You match his grin with a sugary sweet smile, "No problem, rockstar. Good luck with the new album." He waves and continues walking backward toward the door. It comes up quicker than he was expecting, and he turns around with surprise and embarrassment when he runs into the door. He waves goodbye before he's out the door and never to be seen again. You watch his profile walk down the street through the window, illuminated by the warm afternoon sun.

You looked down at the receipt, hoping to find a sweet message or even a phone number, but you were met with a tip that far outweighed your service. Your heart flipped at the bittersweet gesture until another customer strolled through the door.

❁❁❁

After closing out your last customer for the day and sending him out into the night, you began to sweep up. All the other stylists had gone home, so it was just you closing up the shop. Technically, you didn't close for another five minutes, but nobody was coming in, so you figured you would get a head start on cleaning up.

You had just begun sweeping up the loose clippings left over from the day when the doorbell chimed again. Your heart sank at the sound. You hoped to get home early, but it seems your dreams were shattered by the high-pitched chime. You turned to see who had ruined your plans, but you froze mid-spin. The sight of Jake leaning on the counter shocked you. His elbows rested on the counter with his arms crossed while his fingers absentmindedly tapped at his bicep and his eyes darted around the lobby nervously. His sunglasses were perched on top of his head.

"Back again, rockstar? Wanna go shorter?" you tease as you saunter back to the counter. You stand across from him, arms spread and hands grabbing the edge of the counter. You pop your hip out to the side and wait for his response with a smirk on your face.

He laughs at your question, "No, this is perfect actually." He moves to run his fingers through his hair.

"Well, what can I do for you? We close in," you check your watch, "two minutes."

"I have a question for you, actually."

"Sure! Is it about the mousse? I can sell you a bottle, or I can let you take a picture of the label. If you don't like it, I can recommend you something else, too!" You start to ramble a little bit, flustered at the proximity.

"No," he pauses, "well, actually I'd love to take a picture of the label, but that's not why I'm back."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. You don't want to get your hopes up, but you like the direction this conversation is going. You reply, "What is it?"

He takes in a shaky breath, "Well, uh, I really enjoyed my haircut."

You smile at his accidental display of nerves, "I'm glad you did. Is that all you wanted to tell me?"

"No. I, um, well, I really enjoyed your company, and, uh," he pauses to search your eyes, biting his lip, "I wanted to know, well I wanted to ask if, maybe, um." He stutters and trails off.

You try to help him out, "Wanted to know what?"

He stands up and sucks in a deep breath, "Are you free on Friday night?"

His question, though it was the one you had hoped to hear, hits you like a freight train. Your eyes widen and a giddy smile slowly creeps across your face.

Jake is seemingly impatient, pushing for an answer, "Well?"

You let out the breath you didn't know you were holding as you reply, "Yes, I am."

He doesn't celebrate yet, but asks, "Can I take you out to dinner, then?"

Your smile stretches even further across your face, "Yeah, I would love that."

The biggest smile you had seen from him that day erupts onto his face. You stand there grinning at each other for a second until he breaks out of the trance, "Great, it's a date," he exhales, "could I maybe get your number before I go?"

You nod, "Of course." He hands you his phone, already open to a new contact. You type in your number and your name, making sure to add a ":)" at the end. While you type, you can see him bounce on his toes with anticipation, and it makes you smile. You hand the phone back to him and he smiles down at the contact. You watch him for a moment before you lean across the counter and give him a quick kiss on the cheek, against your better judgment, "See you Friday, Jake."

He quickly looks up, having flushed scarlet yet again. He smiles and whispers, "Yeah, see you Friday." He turns to leave, clutching his phone to his chest and still gazing at you. He runs into the door again, distracted by you, but finally makes it outside. You watch as he exits and holds his phone up to his ear, smiling as he speaks to whoever is on the other line.

❁❁❁

Your phone buzzes in your pocket as you shut the door to your apartment. You drop your keys into the bowl by your door and scramble to fish your phone from your jacket. Only one notification is displayed on your lock screen.

unknown number: hey gorgeous :)

You immediately save his number and giggle to yourself. You lean back against your door as you type out a response.

you: hey rockstar :)

❁❁❁

if you'd like to be tagged in any future works let me know!

#greta van fleet #gvf #jake kiszka #jake gvf #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader #jake kiszka fic #greta van fleet fic #jake gvf x reader #gvf fic #jake kiszka fluff

257 notes · View notes