#and he told me about how he wants to open a barber shop

[ang3ltine]

"𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐫𝐲" - James Bucky Barnes x freader

Scenario - You and Bucky spend the last night in New York together at Starks expo with Steve. What he doesn't expect is for his date to be flirted with by a charming inventor.

a.n - this is set during Captain America the first avenger movie and is just self indulgence. Also here's pt.2!

warnings- slightly possessive Bucky, hickeys and suggestive comments but overall it has light banter and tooth rotting fluff

Bucky wasn't sure why you were so excited as you head home with shopping bags in hand.

He had picked you up from downtown after a shopping spree, but you hadn't told him what you had bought yet. Bucky pays the taxi driver his fee and he speeds off into the distance.

"Come on Bucky, can't you walk faster?" you ask impatiently as you gently drag him by the arm towards his apartment.

Bucky scrambles to get his keys out of his pocket as you bounce on the spot. Waiting for him to unlock the door before you make your way inside with the bags. Bucky chuckles at your enthusiasm while you brush past him.

You ask Bucky to wait in the hallway while you rush upstairs to unpack in his room. At this point its your room too from how many nights you stayed there. All your things was scattered around the snug room with a picture of you and Bucky on his nightstand.

Bucky waited patiently for you as he leaned against the wall. Growing worried as you were taking a while.

"Close your eyes Buck! I'm coming down" a muffled voice yelled from upstairs. He shook his head in amusement and closed his eyes.

"Ok doll, my eyes are closed," he shouted back as he waits patiently for your voice.

Bucky could hear the clicks of your heels coming down the stairs and hushed cursing because you misses a step. He was about to open his eyes out of instinct but stopped himself. Thinking that you're probably alright.

"Alright open them," you say with excitement. Bucky did what he was told and was in awe.

There you stood with a pale blue summer dress paired with a white bow that was neatly at the front. You had also quickly styled your hair with your curler. Giving you a classy look.

"Oh wow Darlin', you look gorgeous," Bucky was speechless as you reach the bottom of the stairs and twirl for him.

"Why, thank you kind sir," you say jokingly as you gave him a little curtesy. Giving him your best british accent while he bites back a smile.

"Was this my surprise?" Bucky asks as he pulls you in close by your waist and presses a sweet kiss on your lips. You pull away to quickly for his liking, eliciting a small whine leaving his lips.

"Let's just say it's one out of many surprises," you say, giving him a quick peck on the lips. "But that's for tomorrow."

"Oh c'mon, why not tell me now?" He whines slightly while you fix your hair in the hallway mirror.

"Bucky it's not a surprise if I tell you what it is," you huffed as you turn around to face the pouty man.

You take the hat off for a second to comb through his freshly trimmed hair with your fingers and styled it properly. His hair was messy due to stress so you had asked him to go to the Barbers the day before.

"But I'll be leaving tomorrow," he muttered, his voice wavering slightly.

During the whole process, you feel Bucky's eyes studying your face. Making you feel nervous despite being in such close proximity pretty much all the time. This time, however, his eyes held a look of longing that melted your heart.

"I know, but I promise it's worth it. So don't get too upset ok?" You whisper in a hushed tone as you place his hat back on. "Besides Sarge, we have a whole night to spend together."

Bucky bends down and nudges his nose against yours. Causing your breath to hitch as he pulls you by your waist into a firm yet loving kiss.

"Fine doll, I'm takin' your word for it."

He peers down at you with heavy lidded eyes and flashed you his signature smirk that always sets off butterflies in your stomach.

You wanted to tell him about the surprise but sadly, he'd have to wait until you both got back from Starks expo.

The two of you go to pick up Steve and his date and then head inside the building where Starks expo was being held.

Stark was a mastermind when it came to inventions, so you were super excited to see what he had in store for the future. The place was vibrant and futuristic that you had no idea where to look!

A group of girls gave you a dirty look as they walked past when they noticed Bucky's arm linked with yours. You give them a deviously sweet smile while you lean against his shoulder.

"Hm possessive aren't we?" Bucky snickers as he nudges you with his shoulder.

"I can't let all the ladies have you now can I?" You answered jokingly. Steve briefly looks over towards you both and had on a proud smile. Bucky sure seems to be happy with you and he thinks that maybe you're the right person for him.

Hearing the sound of trumpets playing and people cheering you turn your head towards a stage in the far corner of the room.

"Oh my God it's starting!" you jump in excitement and pull Bucky with you towards the crowd, while Steve and his date Maggie trail behind.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Its Howard Stark!" One of the show ladies announce, at least 3 of them were wearing oddly suggestive clothing. But you brushed it off as a marketing strategy.

You cringe as the lady then got pulled into a bold kiss by Howard.

At the corner of your eye you spot Steve handing some popcorn to Maggie but she refused with an uninterested look on her face.

"Hey Steve I'll have some."

Steve's eyes lit up as he hands you the bag of popcorn, you take a handful and give it back to him.

"Thank you," you smiled back at him, giving him a friendly peck on the cheek. He smiles back shyly in response while you turn your attention back to the stage and hand some popcorn to Bucky. Which he happily accepts.

"Can I have a volunteer come up?" Howard shouts into the mic as he scans the room. You stick your hand up while biting your lip in anticipation.

"You there, the lovely lady standing next to James," Bucky's eyes follow you in disbelief as he watches you walk nervously onto the stage. To be honest you didn't even know you'd get picked but tried to stay calm.

Howard kisses the back your hand while you roll your eyes at him playfully. You knew he was a womaniser so you didn't thinking much of it except for him being a gentleman.

"So what do I need to do?" You breathe out while you try not to look at the crowd. Knowing that Bucky is probably fuming right about now. Also you felt slightly uneasy with the crowd watching you.

"Ofcourse ma'am! You just need to press a few buttons for me on this panel," he states as he steps aside for you to stand behind the panel.

Meanwhile Bucky had his arms folded with an annoyed look on his face. Who the hell does he think he is? But his eyes soften when it met yours. You give him a small smile before pressing the buttons in the order Howard told you to do.

Amazingly enough, Starks car that had no wheels on began to hover off of the ground. Eliciting gasps of wonder and cheers in the crowd until it collapsed. Your shoulders slump in disappointment as you raise an eyebrow at the inventor.

"I did say it'll take a few years didn't I?" He sighs while turning back to face the crowd. You excuse yourself as he helps you off the stage.

Bucky found it a little ridiculous that he was jealous of Howard, but he had no right to flirt with you knowing that you were Bucky's date. Suddenly he had the intent on making you realise that you was all you needed.

Steve had wondered off while Maggie was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Buck where's Steve and Maggie?" Before you could inquire further. Bucky pulls you into a kiss, his hands firms against your cheeks. He glances back to the stage while Howard shifts uncomfortably under his intense gaze.

You felt Bucky smirk against your lips as you try to push him away since you were still in the crowd. You hear whispers around you while Bucky continues to abuse your lips. Head tilting the side, his hot breath mingling with yours as he sucks lightly on your bottom lip. Causing you to moan into his mouth.

Eventually he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours while you both breath heavily from the short makeout session.

"Let me guess...is this about Howard?" You ask cautiously with one hand caressing his cheek, the light stubble tickling slightly against your skin. He hesitates before giving you a small nod.

"Bucky you have charm too you know. Why do you think so many women want to go out with you?"

Bucky listens carefully while you fix his now messy collar.

"Besides, Howard doesn't own my heart. You do."

"So I own your heart huh?" He asks sarcastically while he sees how your cheeks flush. You scoff then hit his chest lightly for being silly while he coaxes you to carry on.

"You're also smart," you pause to play with his collar. "And not to mention super silly."

By now his usual lopsided smile returned, giving you a sense of satisfaction for making him feel better.

"Hmm that's not what girls usually think of first," as he gave you a suggestive look.

"Buck! Seriously??" you smack him lightly on his head, making his hat tilt forward into his face. You're not sure what he was insinuating but you knew it was something inappropriate.

At this point you felt like you should just tell him what the surprise was since you couldn't really be asked to keep it to yourself any longer.

You pull out a folded letter from your back pocket and handed it to Bucky.

He raised a brow at you but you urged him to hurry up and open it. His face turning from confusion to one of pure joy.

"You got a job in England?! Why didn't you tell me?" he yells while you could only laugh with him as he picked you up and spun you around. "And it's in my division too!"

"I wanted it to be a surprise! Besides even I didn't know whether I'd get picked or not. I only just got the acceptance letter a few days ago." You manage to say whilst he placed your feet back onto the ground.

"Thank God that you did. I don't know if I could have ever survived without you," he retorts sarcastically. Making you roll your eyes at his comment and then gave him a playful punch on the arm.

"Well it looks like I'll be joining you at work, Sargent Barnes," giving him a proud salute, which almost caused him to choke as he let out a small laugh.

"It's good to have you ma'am," he answers back with the same enthusiasm, giving you a tip of his hat.

Despite Bucky being genuinely happy, you noticed tears forming in his eyes. A pang of guilt hit you as you held his face in your hands. Almost getting upset yourself while you swipe your thumbs across his cheeks to get rid of stray tears.

"Hey, pretty boys aren't supposed to cry ok?" your voice barely coming out as a whisper. You didn't want to cry too so you composed yourself for his sake.

He nods his head rather quickly at your words and a small yet fond smile appeared across his lips. You then proceeded to pepper his face with kisses which leads him to giggle in response.

After a while, he calmed down in your arms. He looks around the room briefly while his chin sat atop your shoulder before getting a curious idea.

Without a second thought he leaves your arms before being pulled through the crowd into a dark corner of the room with no people.

Bucky takes off his hat and places it on your head. It was pretty big so it falls awkwardly to the side. He almost bursts out laughing at how ridiculous yet cute you looked.

"Take care of this for me would you doll?" Giving you a wink before capturing your lips into a passionate kiss which caught you by surprise.

You wasted no time reaching to the back of his neck and slipped your fingers into his dark hair pulling him in impossibly closer. Soft moans escaped your mouth in-between each kiss while Bucky soaked in every one, pushing him to kiss you deeper.

"Hon' what're you doing?" You hiss while his lips leaves yours briefly.

"Hmm just need you" he hums against your supple skin.

A hot trail of open mouthed kisses trailed down from the side of your lips towards your neck. Bucky groaned in satisfaction when he finally found your sweet spot as you squirm underneath his touch. Leaving dark hickeys all across your neck and collarbone.

"Bucky we're going to get caught," you squeeked while you frantically look around. After feeling satisfied with his work, he leaves your skin with a pop.

"You're insufferable you know that right?" You manage to catch your breath, feeling slightly lightheaded.

"Yeah but you still love me." You shake your head in disbelief before pulling him in by his tie for one last kiss.

"You have no idea," you sighed in content as Bucky looks down at you lovingly.

"Love you too doll."

You two decide to head back in despite the obscene amount of marks left on your neck. Bucky suggested that you show them off but you thought otherwise. Using your jacket collar to help cover them to much avail.

Luck was in Bucky's favour as Howard sees you both coming.

He almost chokes on his drink when he catches you with Buckys hat on and spots the dark marks on your skin. Your cheeks flush in embarrassment while a now happy and proud Bucky stood by your side.

He then leads you away from the shocked man and headed towards Steve, his date now absent. He gave him a wave to get his attention.

Bucky leans over, as you shiver from the way he whispers into your ear, "By the way we're not finished yet. I still have to reward you when we get back to my place."

p.s - I hope you enjoyed this! It seems a little rushed but I want the next part to be longer that's why xd

[spencerinsecret]

Physical attraction

Schlatt’s reader

Warnings: none ,, this is just fluff

My requests are open ^^

Schlatt wasn’t one to go to a salon instead of a barber shop to get his hair done.Yet there he was, sitting in your styling chair while you grabbed all the tools you needed to cut his hair.Schlatt had booked an appointment with you instead of his regular barber because he was out of town for a while.

While you were getting everything ready you felt eyes burning holes in the back of your head.You knew it was Schlatt staring at you, it wasn’t like he was being creepy, you didn’t think that, you thought he was probably looking around since it is his first time in a salon.

When you started to walk back towards him he turned his head around to look in the mirror.You walked over to the chair he was sitting in and started to pump up the chair with your foot. “So what do you wanna do to your hair today?” You asked while messing around with his hair. “Just a bit off the sides,” Schlatt replied with a soft tone in his voice.You widened your eyes a bit and then quickly wiped that look off your face and nodded.

You grabbed a spray bottle from the table beside you and started to lightly damp his hair. “I’m just gonna wet your hair a bit so it’s easier to cut.” You warned and Schlatt nodded in response.You put the spray bottle down and grabbed your scissors and started to cut the ends.You put them down and grabbed an electric razor to cut the sides of his hair.

While you were cutting his hair Schlatt noticed how pretty you were.He started to watch your face in the mirror that was infront of him.Studying your face, hand movements, and body language.Eventually you noticed him looking at you.The silence between the two of you was killing you. “So what’s a guy like you doing in a salon?” You asked attempting to break the silence.Schlatt stopped thinking to himself and snapped back to reality and looked at you. “My regular barber was out of town.Didn’t have anywhere else to go.” He said as his eyes drifted to look at something else. “Oh yeah? Well that’s nice, you from New York?” You asked secretly hoping he was from here. Schlatt smiled, “Yeah , yeah I just moved back actually.I lived in New York and then I moved to Texas for a bit.Came back here cause I didn’t wanna live in Los Angeles.” Schlatt rambled on about where he used to be at and all you could do was smile at him.The accent he had, the facial hair, his body. Everything about him was so perfect to you. Like he was your dream guy.

“So what about you?” He asked.You snapped out of your trance and looked back at him. “Oh, uh I was born in the south.Moved here cause my papa lives here.” Schlatt hummed in response.He looked back in the mirror, studying the decoration behind him.

After a while you finished his hair and lead him to the area where he could pay at.Schlatt got his wallet to pay for the services.While he was paying the only thing he could think about was you.Your hair, your eyes, your voice, and most importantly your smile.You were beautiful to him.

Once he was done paying he paused for a second. “Hey- is it okay if I get your number? You seem really cool and I wanna take you out on a date.. if it’s okay with you?” He asked while looking at you nervously.You gushed to him about how you wanted to get his number as well.You both exchanged numbers , he gave you a really big tip, and he walked out the door.

A few hours later when you were cleaning your salon to close for the night your cellphone buzzed in your back pocket.You stopped cleaning and took it out to see who had texted you.It was a number that wasn’t saved in your phone and it said, ‘Hey this is the guy you exchanged numbers with.I just realized I never told you my name, my name is Schlatt.Text me when you can and we’ll arrange the date :)’ Your face lit up and you texted him back, ‘Kk! I’m closing up for work, text you later!!’ You shut your phone off and stuffed it in your back pocket and continued to clean with a smile on your face.

Part two ??

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#395

“Hey Bobby, I’m glad you came.  C’mon in.  Yeah, my wood shop is grown over a bit.  I was hoping you would help me bring it back.  Watch your step….  Let me get the door behind you….

“…Well, this is a bit awkward.  I guess I will go ahead.  When I saw you open the door to the stall next to me, I was just as shocked as you were.  I never expected the mouth on the other side of that glory hole that throated my fat dick with expertise to be you. 

“I’ve known you since your mom brought you home from the hospital.  Your dad and I used to go fishing together.  I never would have guessed.

“But then, ever since Beth passed away 9 years ago, I really haven’t done anything with anybody.  You are what 16?...  19 really?  Well, at least you’re not jailbait anymore.  I’ve seen you in town a few times throughout the years, but you have grown into a man….  And you are a damned good cocksucker too.

“Where did you learn to suck dick like that?...  From that glory hole?  Seriously?  That glory hole on the interstate is only a year old.  …Two years? 

“…Wait, you’re the one who put it in?  Well damn boy, where did you get the idea?  …From the internet?  Damn! 

“When I first saw it, I stuck my cock through to see if I would fit.  I did.  It was freshly done, as it still had jagged edges to it.  No one was on the other side.  So instead of just waiting, I went to my truck and got some sandpaper.  I was sitting on the one side for an hour before a mouth finally came in.  My dick slid through that hole so nicely.

“I don’t go there that often.  Most faggots don’t know what to do with a fat cock like mine.  But you do.  I let you go for fifteen or twenty minutes.  It felt good.  Real good.  I haven’t had a talented mouth on it in a long time. 

“When I finished, I waited to see who it was.  I was thinking that if it was local, I wanted to get something going on the side, something kinda convenient with a local fag.  Imagine my surprise when the faggot turned out to be you.

“…That’s not right.  I shouldn’t call you a faggot; it’s not nice….

“…Wait a minute.  But that’s what you are.  Nothing wrong with that in my eyes.  I had a faggot in the city I used to use regularly until he moved out east.  He was a reseller of my woodwork.  I used him every time I made a delivery on Sundays.  I would deliver on Sundays when he was the only one in his warehouse, and he would greet me naked.  All the time I was there, he waited on me.  And whenever I was horny, he was there to take me in his holes.

“How would you like to suck my dick?  I’m horny now.  And your mouth looks inviting.

“Good.  I want you to strip naked.  Don’t worry.  You are the first person in here in five or six years.  Nobody is going to come by.  I assume your parents don’t know.  They probably would have thrown you out if they had. 

“You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone.  I don’t intend on ruining a good thing.

“How often do you go to the glory hole?...  You certainly are a horn dog.  I like that.  I would like my cock to be taken care of just as often. 

“Remember this dick?  It definitely remembers your mouth.

“…Well aren’t you a pretty one.  No need to cover up.  I’m not interested in your pecker at all. 

“Get on your knees, open your mouth, stick out your tongue, and look up at me.  Now that’s the look of a hungry faggot. 

“No. No.  I said I’m not interested in your pecker.  Leave it alone.  You can jerk off when you get home.  When you are here naked in my shop, you have to realize that there is only one cock here that matters, and it sure as hell ain’t yours.  You understand that faggot?

“…Good!  Now suck!  There you go!  There’s that tongue….  Ahhh.  This is why, when I went to your dad’s barber shop for a trim the other day, I told him that I was looking for someone to help me fix this place up.  He suggested you, like I knew he was going to.

“And here you are.  Fuck.  Your fucking mouth is mine.  The best part of not being at the glory hole is that I can hold your head like this.  Take it!  Take it all the way down.  I’m gonna look forward to using this throat every day.

“Yeah, you got the job faggot.  Don’t worry you’ll be paid well, and I’m not just saying in cum.  Everybody will think that Bobby Reynolds is my new apprentice.  But every morning when you walk in that door naked you are my faggot to use, however I want.

“You understand that faggot?  Nod or shake your head.  Atta boy.

“Right to the root.  Try to breathe around it.  Oh fuck! This is better than the glory hole.  I can control the blowjob.  I can feel your throat struggling to throat my dick.  I have a faggot on his knees, bare-assed ready to do whatever I tell him. 

“Speaking of that ass.  Take a moment there to catch your breath while I look at your pussy.  Stand up and come over to the shop table.  You get fucked at the glory hole as well?

“No.  I guess the situation doesn’t lend to it.  When was the last time you had a cock in here?...  Never?  You mean you are still virgin back there?

“Fuck yeah.  Wasn’t expecting to pop a cherry today, but damn, it’s turning out to be a great day.  Hop up on the table.

“No. No.  This IS happening.  I’m going to cunt you.  On the table son.

“Throughout the day, in between you doing actual work, my cock is going inside your holes whenever I want.  Both holes.  I’m not going to even ask you first.  I’ll push you to your knees or bend you over.  This is what I did to the shop owner in the city, and I liked it. 

“On your back.  Let me lower the table…. Legs up!  Rest them on my shoulders.  It’s a good thing you put a lot of throat slime on my dick.  If you relax your hole and push out a little bit there will be less pain.

“Look up at me.  I want to see the pain in your eyes, and your struggle across your face.

“Oh! That’s my head.  Relax your whole body….  I’m halfway in.  Relax.  I’m going to be in here for some time.  I can go for hours if I want to.  Just go with it. 

“There you go!  Surrendering this hole to me is going to be your number one job responsibility around here. 

“Look at me.  You’re doing fine.  It’s going to get more intense.  I need to turn this into a cunt.  I need to get you to the point that your hole can take me at any moment. 

“If you want, you can unbutton my shirt and run your hands over my hairy chest.  Don’t ignore my nipples.  Be gentle with them.

“You ready faggot?  Yesterday you were the son of good neighbors down the road, but after today, you will be my cunt.  You ready to become that?

“Faggot here we go.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Price to Pay

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, power dynamics, violence, blood, death, grief and trauma, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: a robbery changes your entire life.

Characters: Andy Barber

Note: This is for @stargazingfangirl18 Siri's Birthday Bone-nanza! Happy Birthday. Enjoy. I've cooked you up some Mob AU+Andy Barber.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The flashing lights fade away with the squall of the siren. The smell of iron tinges the air and stains your every breath. You shudder as you stare through the tight squares between the bars across the windows.

That grating did little to deter the robber. No, he made you do it. You had no choice. 

You look down at your hands. Will the shaking ever stop? There’s blood crusted around your nails despite the frantic scrubbing in the bathroom. Once the officers took their evidence, you couldn’t stop trying to wash away the taint. 

The floor shows the crimson imprint of where the men fell. Where you went to hold him in the throes of death. The fate you fired into his chest. It was you or him. That’s what you told yourself. It’s what the police said too as they wrote out the report. Come down tomorrow and sign your statement, ma’am. 

Stan couldn’t be bothered to come down to the corner shop. He owns the place but is doesn’t mean he gives a shit. The officers waited for him to show but resigned themselves to following up later. 

He had a gun. You couldn’t do anything else but open the drawer and scoop out the bills. You weren’t going to do anything but hand over the money but then he fumbled and you did too. The scramble for the pistol under the counter slowed time. The pull of the trigger put it into overdrive. 

You can feel the recoil in your forearm. The rest of you is just as stiff. You can’t untie the tension left by the night’s deadly end. You killed that man. He's rolled him out under a sheet.

He bled out in your arms, even as you desperately tried to stem the flow with the dirty rag. Why did you shoot him? Over fifty bucks worth of change? 

Adrenaline. That’s what the cops told you. Stupidity is what you believe. This job isn’t worth all that. 

And you still have to finish your shift. You look away from the faded stain on the floor. He was so young. He just made a stupid decision and you took everything from him. He’s dead. You killed him. 

🚨

You stand outside the convenience store. Strange how it seems just the same as it was. The dingy moniker flaps at one corner as a tear rents the fabric.

Customers come and go as you stand on the curb. You’ve been standing there for an hour now, trying to make yourself go inside. You have to work. If you want to stay in the hell-hole you call a home, you need the stingy paycheck. 

You check the time. You’re not late yet. You only came early because you couldn’t stand to be alone in your apartment. Now that you’re here, you just want to go back. 

A bang jars you and you cry out, spinning to search for the source. A rusty old Chrysler chuffs out black smoke and rumbles loudly. Just a backfire. You knot your shaking hands together and search the block. 

“Heard something about a robbery,” a voice draws your attention towards another car. The model is too nice for a neighbourhood like this. A man leans against it, his hands in his pockets. “Young kid. They took him down to the morgue.” 

You squint at the man in confusion. His suit is finely tailored and his beard trimmed to a tee. He stands out among the sagging jeans and worn leather. You shake your head. 

“I heard...” you croak.  

“Sad. Stupid kid, huh? Stupid decision. All for a couple bucks.” He tuts and shakes his head. 

“Yeah, um, tragic. I...” you look over your shoulder. “I gotta work.” 

You turn away and march across the pavement. Something about the man’s cool demeanour sets you on edge. Or maybe it’s the reminder of the night before. Not that you could forget. 

You enter with the chirp of the bell and greet Mauricio as he plays solitaire on the counter top. Your sneakers squeak to a halt before you can step on the cracked tile with the red splotches. You stare down at the festering memory. 

“Tough night,” Mauricio says. “I never shot one, ya know? Always shoot past ‘em. Give ‘em a scare.” 

You tuck your chin down and step over the tile. Mauricio lets you in through the door and you sidle behind the counter. You put your purse in the cupboard by the cigarettes and sniff. You wring your hands and lean on the shelf as you wait for your shift to start. 

Mauricio shuffles the cards and packs them away. 

“You okay? Police were here earlier.” 

“They were?” You gulp. 

“Might be back. Think they just wanted some Coke,” he snickers and tosses the cards under the till. The gun is still gone, probably down in some evidence locker. “Stan is pissed about the pistol, ya know?” 

“Mm, I didn’t... didn’t mean to.” 

He sniffs as he pats his back pocket, making sure he has his wallet. “Sorry, senorita. It can’t be easy, wish I had some way to help but Stan isn’t gonna pay me nothin’ to stay and I got that gig down at Jethro’s.” 

“I’m fine.” The lie is less than convincing. 

“Told him, shouldn’t have you on nights.” He shakes his head as you move to let him past. 

“It’s work.” 

“Eh, it’s somethin’,” he scoffs and hands over the keys. “Whole thing was plastered in the paper and all over the internet. Should keep the bad ones away for a while. Place is hot now. No one wants to get their ass blown off over pocket change.” 

“Sure.” 

You clip the keys on your belt. You back up and cross our arms. You lean again as you wait for him to go. You can’t say what’s worse, being alone or talking about it. 

As Mauricio goes, a customer enters. She wants a pack of menthol and some scratchers. You ring her through as she snaps her gum between her teeth. The bell chimes with her exit and stutters as another enters. 

It’s the man in the nice suit. He stops at the newspaper rack and grabs an issue. He struts up to the counter and throws it down.  

“Just the paper?” You ask. 

He steps closer and opens the newsprint. The crinkle is deafening in the drone of the local radio station buzzing from the speaker above you. He taps the page. 

“Kid was eighteen.” 

You bite down and stare back at him. You don’t know what to say or do. Is he some sort of detective? His suit might suggest as much but he hasn’t flashed a badge. 

“It was a BB gun. Looked pretty real, didn’t it?” He spits. 

You wince and shrug. You trace your knuckles nervous as you look down at the paper. Your nose tingles, your eyes too. 

He backs up and heaves out a sigh. He glances around and strides up to the stained tile. He looks down at it emphatically. 

“Blood don’t come out easy. No matter how much you scrub or bleach. It’s like that Edgar Allan Poe story...” he raises his chin and closes his eyes, taking another deep. “Do you hear it? His heartbeat? Racing as the life drains out of him?” 

Your lip quivers and you shake your head. You flick away tears before they can fall, “I didn’t mean to.” 

His cheek twitches and he snorts. He turns to your stiffly. He comes back to the counter and you tense as he reaches under his jacket. You shudder and peek at the empty shelf beneath the till where the pistol should be. He slips out a photo and lays it down, his thumb lingering on the frame.  

You gasp. It’s that boy. He’s young and smiling. He doesn’t look scary like the night before. 

“You didn’t mean to kill my son? Over a bunch of piss-stained bills? You couldn’t tell the gun was a fucking toy?!” 

You cower and your eyes well. You rub them with your sleeves. 

“I’m sorry.” 

“You fucking will be, sweetheart. Do you know who I am?” 

You stare and your mouth falls open. 

“His name was Jacob. Jacob Barber.” He swipes up the photo and snarls. “Any bells ringing?” 

You gape at him in horror. Barber. Yes, you’ve heard of him. He’s no detective. That suit is just a disguise. His business is deadly. His business is his ego. The personal is professional and you just stepped over the line. 

You brace yourself and drop your arms straight. You watch him, waiting. He looks back at you, agitation rippling above his brow. 

“Nothing else to say?” He sneers. 

“I deserve it.” 

He arches a brow, “deserve what?” 

“To die. So do it, please.” 

He laughs sardonically. “Oh, sweetheart, that’s cute.” He puts his hands on the counter and leans in. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m gonna do a lot fucking worse.” His eyes flick up and down and he pushes off. “You owe me and I always get what’s mine.” 

He twists on his heel and marches out. You gulp, frozen in fear, and watch after him. You don’t move until the next customer enters. Even then, you can hardly make your body listen to your fractured mind. 

🚨

There is no coming back. Thing’s don’t get better. You don’t calm down. You don’t sleep. You barely eat.  

All you can think about is the blood gushing from that boy’s chest. When you manage to close your eyes, you feel the hot stream flowing through your fingers. You smell it in the air. Beneath it all, you hear his father’s threat. 

‘You owe me...’ 

How can you repay that sort of debt? You killed his child. You didn’t have to. You could have handed over the money and told Stan the kid had a gun pointed right at you. Why did you do it? That question is as torturous as the memory. 

A week goes by. Ragged nights followed by desolate days. You stand behind that counter and stand at the reddened tile, or sit at home and rot. You wait for him to come back. Maybe then he’ll just end it. 

Another week of purgatory and your dissociation gives way to paranoia. Every time the shop door opens, you expect to see him. Barber and his tailored-jacket, a gun in his hand, ready to claim what’s owed. Every stranger on the street is just him in disguise, every shadow in your apartment is him haunting you. 

When he does appear, a month to the day, you’re almost relieved. There he is at your apartment door, stood as he was the first time you saw him. Arms crossed, leaning, looming. You stop and stare at him.  

He looks you in the eye and nods at the door. You unlock it and let him in. He isn’t in a suit this time. He’s dressed down, a hoodie and jeans. He doesn’t seem the type for denim. He struts inside and you close the door behind him. 

The air is static as he examines the bachelor suite. Your whole life in a single room. He is unimpressed as he stops by the table. Stan lets you take the old papers. You’ve brought home every single issue with a mention of the boy; Jacob. You don’t know why. 

His blue eyes are darkened in the gloom of your apartment. His beard is thick across his cheeks and defines his square jaw. His features are stony in determination. 

He pushes them to the floor and huffs. He stalks around the space as you stand by the door. You imagine him spinning to you, pulling a gun from under his sweater and firing. You could smile at the thought of it ending. 

He stops at the foot of your bed. The lumpy mattress sits on a metal frame. Beige sheets are pulled to the corners, a plaid comforter strewn carelessly below a single pillow. A used double you got from the thrift shop with your first pay. It smells like cigarettes. 

You stare at his broad shoulders as he runs his hand up his front. His zipper slices through the silence as he pulls it down. He shrugs off the hoodie and spins on his heel. He slings it over the only chair, right beside the table. He looks up at you, eyes blazing. 

“Strip.” 

His demand shakes you. It’s the first you’ve felt anything but horrible grief and self-pity. You’re afraid. You weren’t before. Just anxious. 

“Don’t say a fucking word,” he snarls as he tugs at his long-sleeved tee. 

You untie your sneakers and leave them by the door. You cross the room, staying far from him as you take in every inch. The apartment feels even smaller now.  

You unzip your jacket and fold it over the side of the plastic hamper in the corner. You pull of your socks and drop them into the depth of unwashed clothes. You undo your fly, your hands clumsy and shaking. The rustle behind you adds to the speckle of ember under your skin. 

You push your jeans down and step out of them. You throw them into the basket and peek over your shoulder. He stands at the foot of the bed once more. His hands are on his hips as he glares at the mattress. He wears only a pair of dark briefs. 

His intent isn’t hard to fathom. It’s not about the act itself, it’s the power, the humiliation. You ruined his life; he’ll do the same. 

“Hurry the fuck up,” he barks. 

You pull your shirt off and fumble with the back of your bra. You can barely get a grip as you quake. You push down your underwear and hang your head. You turn and march forward. He shoves down the elastic of his briefs at your approach. 

He’s a big man. Tall, muscular, stronger than you, without a doubt. Even if he wasn’t, he has all the power to keep you in line. 

“I don’t want to see your fucking face. Get on your stomach.” He commands as he peels off his last layer. 

You put your hands on the mattress and crawl over it. You cry out as he strikes you across your ass and sends you flat. You brace yourself on your elbows and whimper. He grabs your ankles and drags you down the bed.  

He hauls your legs over the edge so your feet are on the floor. He growls and scratches up the back of your thigh. You whine and he swats the back of your head. 

“Quiet,” he warns. 

He leans over you and plants his hands on either side of you. You stare up at the pillow, focusing on it as you desperately search for the numbness of those last weeks. It’s all gone now. You feel everything. The sting of flesh, the futility, the horror. 

He lifts a hand, the bed shifting with him, and traces along your spine. He dips along your ass and kicks your legs wider. He feels between your thighs and jams his fingers against your folds. He’s impatient and cruel. He rams two fingers into you and you squeak, spine arching as you grasp the linen comforter. 

He hushes you as he pushes deep. His knuckles press against you and he draws back. He jerks his hand gruffly, fucking your dry cunt raw. You hold your breath as he plumes out around you. Each intrusion is dull and achy. 

He tears free of your cunt and angles over you. He guides his tip along the swell of your ass and presses to your entrance. There is no time to be ready for him. 

You cry out and throw your head up. It’s like a red-hot iron inside of you, burning from inside out. He snarls and hooks his arm around you, smothering your mouth in his hand. You smell yourself on his fingers as the press against your nose. 

He snaps his hips and buries himself in you. You kick the floor and slap the mattress. Your muscles tighten and your bones thrum. He pushes his nose into your hair and ruts again. You squeal into his palm as your eyes bead with tears. 

He’s methodical. He pumps into you. Long, slow strokes so you feel every inch. He’s taunting you. He’s punishing you. His hot breath wraps around your scalp as he puffs. 

He bends his other arm, elbow digging into the limp mattress, and stretches his fingers around your throat.  He collapses onto you, crushing you beneath him as he squeezes your neck and jaw. He has you trapped in his grip. 

His pace quickens with his breath. He grunts and growls against your temple as the bed frame whines with his rhythm. His flesh slaps between the squeaky tempo and your pathetic mewling stays cupped behind his rough hand. 

He pounds you into the mattress, each dip of his hips heavier than the last. Every ounce of emotion; anger, grief, resent, hatred, is hammered into your helpless body. 

He puts his teeth around the brim of your ear and pinches. He growls and you feel the rumble roll through him. His thrusts turn snappy, punctuated by the bite of your flesh. Harder, harder, harder. He spasms but doesn’t let up. 

He untangles his arms from under you and pins your shoulders. He fucks his cum into you as he lifts himself up. His weight threatens to pop your bones out of joint. He pushes his thighs against yours, splaying you as far as he can. 

His furious onslaught doesn’t let up until your thighs and cunt are painted in him. Until your breathless and babbling, head lolling, defeated as he leaves you smeared across the blankets. He burrows in as deep as he can before he pulls out. 

He pushes off the bed, jarring the world around you, and his shadow hangs over you. He inhales and lets it out slowly. 

“My son. My only child,” he grits out. He bends and feels along your cunt, spreading the slimy mess leaking from your cunt. “You owe me and I will get exactly what you took from me.” 

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

I like his new haircut. If I imagine it’s Carmy’s hair, my mind goes straight to Syd cutting it.

I get this crazy idea about how they´re “just friends” but she’s the kind of friend who would cut your hair. You know? And so, Carmy probably hates to go to the barber shop because it reminds him of Michael. You´ll see, they used to go together.

I imagine that when they grew apart, Carmy started cutting his own hair in the bathroom. It´s not like he had the time to go get a haircut, anyway. He had a good pulse, trained in the kitchen with stainless steel knives that did as he pleased. He figured he could handle a pair of scissors and do a decent enough job. Sure! Why not? He wasn´t wrong, although his self-service hair cut days were few and far between since he got back to Chicago. He was just too burned out. Too far gone.

It seems to me that the last time he cut his own hair was right before The Bear´s opening, not the friends and family fiasco, the real thing. It was quick, not too short; he wanted to comb it Dandy-style and put gel in it, just like he did in New York. He wanted to emulate his old self. He wanted to get the call and make sure his unruly curls weren´t going to react in the process. He even thought about that that day, in front of the bathroom mirror cabinet. The call, the haircut he was gonna sport that day, the everything. I´m sure he wanted it all to be perfect, and that included his hair. That was not negotiable for someone like Carmen. I dare to think his mind was set on not letting her down again, regardless of how this turned out.

So I keep wallowing in my machinations about his hair and his haircuts, and of course, Syd keeps popping up in my head. I´m positive that she walked in on Carmy trimming his own curls in the restaurant's bathroom, very early in the morning, when they were still the only ones there. This was after Carmy pulled an all-nighter cookout, he was the only one invited to, trying new ingredients, naturally. When she saw the dark circles under his eyes and his determination to correctly style that hair swirl on the back of his head he was clearly fixating on, Sydney offered to help him. He refused. She insisted. Syd won.

She told him she used to cut her dad´s hair growing up when it was raining, and he didn´t let her go outside to play. Syd walked him through her childhood stories as her expert hands ruled his cowlick. She elaborated on how Emmanuel offered himself as a customer of her Salon, and so she cut his hair, gave him mani-pedis, put colorful hairclips on him, all sorts of stickers, and even glitter sometimes. Carmy succumbed to her storytelling, and before he knew it, his hair was a done deal. Perfect. But he surely couldn´t care less about his hair by the time Syd was done with him. He was hung upon her hands in his hair. Her touch. Her.

This must have happened at least a dozen times after that first random hand she gave him.

They were friends. After all, what´s so wrong about a friend cutting another´s friend's hair, right? Innocent. Nothing to it. It was just hair.

Oh, but it wasn´t.

I figure it probably was such an intimate moment they shared now and then. They both enjoyed it, anticipated it, loved it.

I bet Syd couldn´t get enough of how right it felt for her to softly run her slender fingers through the sides of his head when she was done, and tug it carefully to make sure it was even.

In my musings, Carmy surely closed his eyes to her touch and let her do. He relaxed. He let go. For just a few moments, he just let go. He was putty in her hands. He tried to hide how deep his breathing got; sometimes he couldn´t, and she could tell. I´m categorically certain Syd noticed.

And then he was back. She put the scissors away. It was all over.

They went back to normal.

And waited for his hair to grow back.

And repeat.

[bald-tales]

Casey Wyatt had it all. Youth, popularity and looks. At 22 he had everything going for him – except for one thing; he was a miser! As cheap as they come…..but that was all about to change….thanks to his miserly streak. Casey loved the fact that people always looked twice at him. Standing at 6ft 2 inches his muscular frame stood out. So did his handsome, squared jawed face – framed beautifully by pure, blonde hair which just hit his shoulders. Now along with his cheap approach to life, Casey was extremely homophobic. He couldn’t understand why guy’s dug other guy’s though he understood why anyone would want to have some of his arse! Just don’t try it. He was that vain. Now Casey was passing a Barbershop he hadn’t noticed before called ‘Cut Price Barbers’. He had been meaning to get his hair trimmed, but resented paying so much at the ritzy salon he would normally use. ‘How hard could it be to trim the ends,’ thought Casey to himself. He opened the shop door and immediately was transported back in time to a shop he use to visit as a kid. There was no one waiting or in the chair, just some old balding guy in a barbers tunic. “Good Day young man. Step right up to my chair, no waiting today.” Said the Barber brightly. “How much for just a trim?” asked Casey, a little hesitantly. “With your hair, I’d have to charge $10.” Replied the Barber. “I only want the ends cut. $10 is a bit steep isn’t it? Casey responded.” What do you normally charge for a trim? “6 dollars son,” answered the Barber now starting to get annoyed at this young upstart. “Then $6 it is,” Casey said stepping up into the chair. “Well, right you are. It’s been a bit quiet today,” the barber gave in. “Uncle! Phone for you – say’s it’s urgent!” came a deep, man’s voice from a doorway at the back of the shop. “Excuse me for a moment young man, I wont be long.” Said the barber as he went to take the call. ‘Well he better not take too long, ‘said Casey to himself. He started to fidget under the cape while he waited. He could feel the outline of his 10 inch cock through the fabric of his shorts. Yes! Casey was indeed blessed. “What was taking the old guy so bloody long!” Casey said, half out loud. I haven’t got all day. He looked at his watch a few times then back at himself in the mirror in front. “Sorry son! Family emergency,” the barber muttered as he came back into the shop. “I’ll have to get my nephew, Brian to attend to you.” He was already putting on his coat and heading for the door. “What sort of business are you running here, Pops? I haven’t got all day!” Casey started to say with a rising anger in his voice, “ This nephew of yours better hurry up!” The Barber was gone, the door slamming behind him. “Hey! How long am I going to have to wait around here.” Casey started up again. “Sorry there Sir.!” Came a deep voice behind him. Casey looked up and saw a younger, bigger version of the Barber that had left the shop coming towards him wearing a white barbers tunic. He probably was only a few years older than Casey, but he was much bigger, power lifter bigger, with a trimmed, blonde goatee and the same male pattern baldness as his uncle, except for the close cropped horseshoe of hair around the sides was a dark blonde. “Now I’m only paying 6 bucks, alright dude?” Casey said looking at the big barber who he guessed by the way he was looking at Casey, was probably a leather fag. “My uncle already told me you refused to pay the 10 dollars, so a 6 dollar haircut it is! By the way my name is Adrian.” The barber offered his hand, but Casey refused to take it. Even a fag name, Casey thought to himself. “Look, I don’t have much time for small talk, Aa-drian.” Casey replied, exaggerating the name. “Just a great haircut will be fine. And nothing with clippers.” Casey added looking at the barbers close clipped head. “Sure! One of my best coming up.” Adrian smiled. Picking up some scissiors he began to snip at the ends of the long luscious man hair. What Casey didn’t know was that Adrian had the ability to read minds. He’d known just what was on the young guy’s mind. As the haircut progressed, Casey took a longer look at his Barber. How lucky he was to have no history of baldness in his family, and if he did, he’d just go ahead and shave it all off. Why leave an old mans ring of hair around the sides. “You sure do have great hair!” Adrian said at last, running a hand through the long locks. You must look after it. I couldn’t be bothered personally, that’s why I got rid of all mine.” Adrian said, pretending to run a set of imaginary clippers over the head. “Yeah, but you were loosing yours anyway.” Casey almost spat. “No, unlike my uncle, I’ve always had a full head of hair. I’ve just always liked the look of mpb.” “What’s mpb?” “Male pattern baldness.” “What?” Casey asked. “You asked for that cut?” “Sure did. In fact, it made a few of my customers want the same thing.” “That’s weird. I’d never do that myself.” Casey went on to say to himself,’ but then again you fags are into all sorts of weird shit’! “Weird shit, eh?” mumbled Adrian. “Yeah, dude.” Then Casey stopped suddenly, “What did you say?” “Oh, I was just looking at the top of your scalp, it seems to have signs of thinning. I thought it weird because the rest of your hair seems so thick.” “What?” Casey almost fell out of the chair. “No way! There’s no bald dudes in my family.” But Casey still had a worried look on his face. “It’s not always genetics, or it can skip a couple of generations, but it’s definitely thinning, here take a look.” Adrian held a hand mirror over the top of Casey’s head. Casey looked closely, leaning forward towards the mirror in front. He started to run a hand through the hair. He couldn’t see anything – well there was nothing to see, but once you plant something like this on a vain guys mind! Well, it was working. “Shit Adrian! How can this be. I’m too young to go bald – I’ll look like a freak!” Casey didn’t even worry about his comments being spoken out loud. “Hey, man! Calm down. I’ve got just the thing to help. I think we’ve got it in time.” Adrian had left the shop to let Casey stew. He returned after a few minutes with a bottle marked ‘Rogaine – hair restorer’. “Have you seen this before?” Adrian asked showing the worried Casey the bottle. “Yeah! But I thought it didn’t work. If it did why don’t you use it.” Casey started to laugh. “It only works on growing hair.” Adrian ignored the remark. “How much are you going to charge me for that! I bet it’s expensive!” Casey sneered, knowing this stuff cost heaps. “For you I can let you have it for free, that way you may come back to me so I can keep an eye on your progress.” Adrian smiled. “That’s generous man.” “Well, I’d like to build up my customer base, as I’m new here.” Adrian added. “How do I use it?” a more relaxed Casey asked? “Just rub a small amount on the crown area, twice a day.” “That’s all?” “Yes sir!” Adrian kept this peculiar, almost sinister look on his face. “Sounds easy. Sold!” Casey added. “Let me finish up your haircut and I’ll put some in your hair now.” Adrian finished off the haircut and it seemed that the spoilt Casey was satisfied. “Yeah! Not bad for a Barber. Now are you going to use some of that Rogaine like you said?” asked Casey, moving his head around so he could catch a look at all sides of his new haircut. “Sure thing, sir!” and Adrian begun to pour a few drops through the hair on top of Casey’s head. “Now make sure you don’t apply too much…..a little goes a long way.” Adrian knew that the kids vanity would have him adding way too much. Casey paid his 6 dollars and of course didn’t leave any tip. He was pleased this barber discovered his hair loss in time. As Casey left with barely a thank you, Adrian knew he’d be back. Part Two Adrian was spot on – Casey was back, looking for a free bottle of Rogaine. Adrian’s uncle, Bob Kennedy had had to hand the reigns of running the store over to Adrian. His long-time companion, Terry, had been very ill in hospital. Bob had been meaning to retire soon but now his only concern was the speedy recovery of Terry. Yes! Adrian’s uncle was also gay. He and Terry had practically raised Adrian after his parents had thrown him out of home. It was Bob that encouraged Adrian’s interest in haircutting. So when Casey first came to the shop four weeks ago, ranting about cheap haircuts and not giving a crap about Uncle Bob’s predicament, Adrian knew the punk had to be taught some manners. As the bell on the front door rung, Adrian looked up from his paper, “Oh hello! Casey, isn’t it?” “Yeah – was wondering if I could get a haircut?” said Casey as he came up to the chair where Adrian was sitting. “Sure thing. How’d you go with the Rogaine I gave you; notice any results?” “Well I can’t say I have, that’s why I wanted you to have a look – being a professional and all!” Casey nervously added. “Well, take a seat and I’ll take a look.” Smiled Adrian. As Casey climbed onto the chair he thought it seemed different to last time – larger or more chrome showing. Adrian started to peel through the top hair and indeed it still looked as thick as ever. Because Casey wasn’t loosing his hair, that was an idea Adrian feed the vain youth. “It does take sometime to work, you may have to keep the applications up for some time.” Added Adrian. He next took a comb that was a thinning comb – one with a blade within the prongs. He lightly and carefully combed the hair and of course a few strands of hair started to appear in the comb. “Oh no!” said Adrian convincingly, “It’s worse than I thought!” he bent forward to show Casey the hair stranded in the comb. “What the fuck?” Why isn’t that Rogaine treatment working?” exclaimed a shocked Casey. “It won’t always work on everyone,” said Adrian, “and I thought we got it early enough for you.” “What can you do about it? There must be something?” Casey stammered with tears welling up in his eyes. “It may take years to progress to male pattern baldness, besides it quite often makes a guy more mature looking.” Added Adrian . “No fucking way man! I’m too young to have an old guys bald head, the chicks are always commenting about my long locks.” Again, the tactless Casey forgot the hairstyle Adrian wore. “Well – there is something, it’s experimental, but it’s proving 99 percent reliable in initial tests. Although it is pretty expensive.” “How expensive?” Casey asked. “200 dollars a bottle!” replied Adrian. “What? I can never afford that, surely you can do something better than that!” “Well I could let you have a sample that a pharmaceutical company let a friend of mine have.” Of course all this was a lie, but Adrian loved stringing along this guy. “Of course, I never needed it, in the end.” Adrian smiled as he ran a hand over the head. Casey ignored the statement still annoyed he had to put so much trust in this fag. “Please, man! Help me out, will you?” asked Casey, thinking if he was nice this guy would give him whatever he wanted. “Okay – but you mustn’t tell anyone about this. As I said, it’s experimental and not on the market yet.” “Sure! No problem,” cooed Casey. Adrian went out the back of the shop and came back with a small bottle. Adrian had been working on this formulae especially for Casey’s return. This particular ‘medicine’ did nothing for the hair, but it stimulated appetite and increased sexual libido via added testosterone and steroids. Offering the bottle to Casey, he began to explain it’s dose, “Now you have to take 2 tablespoons of this mornings and nights.” “You mean I drink this ?” questioned Casey. “You sure do – it goes into the bloodstream, builds up the testosterone in the body – which of course grows hair!” replied Adrian. “Okay! What have I got to loose.” And with that Casey got up to leave the shop, and as he went, turned to ask, “Now this stuff is safe?” “Sure is!” replied Adrian, and as he went to add something, Casey was gone, the door slamming behind him. Adrian was going to add – ‘ not to exceed the doses he advised’. Within a week, Casey had used the contents of the bottle up completely. He returned to Adrian’s Barbershop which he noticed had had a name change to, ‘Hair Designs by Adrian’. He was hoping he could influence the barber to give him some more of his special hair growth formulae. As he went into the shop, Casey was shocked to see the shop seemed changed- pictures on the wall showed various ‘extreme’ haircuts, some much like Adrian’s. The lights seemed brighter, the waiting chairs replaced by couches and the window now furnished with dark timber shutters. Adrian had a customer in the chair and they seemed to be having friendly banter, “probably another gay!” Casey said to himself, the neighborhood was full of them! “Hi there Casey – back so soon? I’ll be right with you, take a seat!” Adrian said as Casey entered the shop. Casey sat down in the couch noting how comfortable it was. He picked up one of the magazines on the table in front of him and pretended to look at it. He watched while Adrian finished up the customer ahead of him. The guy was around 40 and seemed to be carrying a lot of extra weight. Adrian must have cut a lot of hair off as the floor around the chair was littered with clumps of dark hair. Just as Casey thought the customer was finished with, Adrian went to a machine on the counter and pumped what looked to be warm lather onto his hands. He then proceeded to rub this around the guys sides and back. Producing a straight razor he then began slowly clearing the white foamy solution creating a scratching sound as it removed the stubble. Casey couldn’t believe it. He’d never seen this type of haircut before – it was like the style he’d seen marines wearing; short on top with only a horseshoe of hair – with shaved sides. Casey noticed how smooth the skin was looking after the razor ran over it. Adrian also put some lather on top of the head. Surely he wasn’t shaving him bald! Sure enough, Adrian proceeded to run the sharp blade over the top of the fat geezers head. After a few minutes the only hair remaining on the guys head was the front and a narrow upright fringe extending along the top of the head, finishing before the crown. Casey was amazed at the cut. It was strange but for some reason he found it interesting – kind of masculine. He’d never worn his hair much shorter than it was now, however, he wondered if he’d ever be able to pull off that sort of cut. Not that extreme of course, the guy was obviously into whatever Adrian was into – he put on a black leather jacket as he left. It was only then that he noticed Adrian was wearing a pair of tight, black leather pants, the white barbers tunic only covering the top belt loops. Casey had to admit this guy had a great body – but then he knew homos liked to hang out at the gym – their were way too many at his! “Okay Casey – your turn!” Adrian called out brushing the hair off the chair. As Casey got up he was suddenly aware his cock was at full mast. He tried to hide it as he climbed into the chair, but Adrian suddenly said; “Don’t worry about that man, happens to a lot of guy’s after watching one of my shaving sessions.” Casey’s face was bright red. He couldn’t believe he was getting off on a haircut, but he didn’t realize that the extra testosterone and growth steroids in his system were responsible for his increased sexual desires. In fact the last few days he had be wanking off just about every waking moment…..but he hadn’t thought about it for too long. “So what brings you back in so soon?” Adrian spoke as he fastened a cape around Casey. “Oh, I’m not here for a haircut. I actually came here for some more of that experimental stuff – I think it’s really working!” replied Casey nervously as he saw Adrian staring at his crotch. “You can’t be out of it already, that should have lasted you for weeks!” Adrian said sounding a little alarmed. “Listen man, this stuff really works, I need some more of those samples.” Casey sounded almost apologetic. “Truth is, I don’t have any more. I can get you the retail quantity but I’ll have to charge you for that.” “Maybe I don’t need anymore,” Casey tried to sound hopeful. “You can’t stop once you’ve started, otherwise the reverse happens – you start to loose your hair quicker and the body hair grows in as the head hair falls out.” Adrian tried to explain. “Okay!” Casey returned, “order some in, I’ll find the money somewhere.” “If you say so. Now what are you going to do with all this hair.” “Ah! I wasn’t here for a cut”, Casey stammered noticing Adrian had started running a comb through his long hair. “Well you’ve got enough here for a day of haircuts. Certainly more than the guy before you.” “What sort of haircut was that…I mean was he in the military?” Casey asked trying not to sound too interested. “No – he actually runs a bar near here. He’s a friend of mine.” Adrian smiled, taking a pair of scissors. “It was pretty radical, especially with that shaved bit on top.” Casey answered. “Oh that! That’s called a landing strip.” “Too short for my liking,” said Casey. “Maybe, but you should consider taking some of this length off, it only makes your hair look thinner on top.” Adrian lied. “I…I don’t know. I’ve had long hair for so long now.” Casey said moving his head from side to side so he could see it in the mirror. “Tell you what,” Adrian began, “let me try a few hairstyles on you and take photographs for my shop, that way I can take your hair shorter in stages and you can see which you like as well as it not being quite a shock when done in stages." I don’t know.” Answered Casey. “Let’s say it would be full payment for a bottle of that formula your after.” Adrian smiled knowing that would do the trick. Casey couldn’t believe his luck, free haircuts and saving himself 200 bucks on the hair restorer. “Sure! That sounds fair,” Casey sounded more positive, “but I tell you when to stop.” “Of course Casey – the customer is always right.” Adrian said. “No time like the present.” And with that Adrian snipped off a big chunk of hair. Casey’s eyes widened when he saw the hair fall to the floor. Adrian knew this could be the start of a beautiful relationship. ( or should that be - friendship!). Part Three Casey’s mouth was still wide open as Adrian took his fourth cut with the scissors – removing all the length that Casey had. His thick, blonde hair no longer fell onto his broad shoulders. “Now doesn’t that feel better already? Cooler for a start!” asked Adrian. Casey couldn’t answer at first. He was shocked. He was about to tell Adrian to stop, when Adrian added, “how about a beer? It’s certainly warm enough for one.” And without waiting for a reply, Adrian went out to the back of the shop. Casey kept turning his head left and right. Why was he letting this man take so much hair off. He had to admit, he thought he still looked good, maybe even more masculine. And he could feel the coolness at the back of his neck. Maybe he should let this barber give him a shorter hairstyle. No! He loved his hair too much. He knew the girls were attracted to his blonde locks. “There you go sport! A nice frosty beer.” Adrian handed Casey a pitcher sized glass of frothy beer. “Drink up.” Adrian said as he took a large gulp of beer. Casey was thirsty and as he took a long sip he barely noticed the slight bitter taste. Adrian went to pick up a large set of clippers, Casey hadn’t noticed, he was too busy enjoying the beer – in fact, he had nearly finished it. “Hey! What gives?” suddenly yelled Casey as he felt the cold, vibrations of the clipper teeth on the back of his neck. “I’m just tidying up the back a little, nothing to be worried about son.” Replied Adrian sounding very cheery. Suddenly Casey was aware of his cock growing increasingly hard. “Shit!” he thought to himself, “what caused that?” As the clippers went up the back of his head, he felt more and more turned on. He hoped Adrian hadn’t noticed. ”Looks like someone’s enjoying themselves.” Adrian said, looking at the growing tent in the cape over Casey. “Don’t freak out about it man, a lot of guys get turned on by the clippers. Look, I’ll close up the shop, if it worries you. Then you can feel free to have a good wank.” Casey was ready to tell this fag off when he suddenly thought, ‘why not enjoy myself, the barber wasn’t going to object now was he. In fact he was encouraging it. After locking up, Adrian whipped off the cape exposing Casey’s huge cock. He’d already unzipped his jeans, and was tugging on his meat for all he was worth. Adrian was impressed, Casey’s cock had to be a good 10inches. “Enjoy that while you can?” Adrian said, switching the clippers back on. “What?” asked Casey feeling very relaxed. “Oh, I just mean, while I have no customers.” “Ahhh! Yeah man. That feels great.” Casey cooed, forgetting he didn’t want any clippers used . He didn’t notice Adrian stop and change attachments. He seemed to be going over the same areas he’d just shaved. Casey couldn’t care now. He was about to spew cum all down the front of the chair. Adrian smiled as he worked the clippers over and around the ears. It seemed the beer was working. Soon this boy would be sound asleep in his chair. Adrian knew his boy would be out for awhile – he’d given him a powerful stimulant. Taking a small needle attached to a machine he began to apply it to some individual hair shafts on Casey’s crown. It was an electrolysis needle – the same he had used on himself to create his present male-pattern baldness. As he removed each long hair he noticed the small white root-ball on the end of each hair. He worked quickly, soon- Casey’s crown looked like it was thinning, but you had to look closely. As Adrian intended to leave most of the length on top, Casey would never notice at first. He sprayed the scalp with a special gel, which would mask the stinging on his crown. Adrian finished up the haircut, applying lather to the sides and neck, cleaning up the stubble around the edges. “Come on buddy, wake up?” Adrian started to shake his ‘patient’. “Wh… Where… Oh!” “Must have been the beer!” grinned Adrian as he dusted the fallen hair off Casey’s shoulders. “Yeah! Sorry about that.” Casey then looked down at himself. His cock was still exposed. He quickly went to tuck it back in his jeans, feeling embarrassed. “Thanks for the show too!” Adrian laughed, slapping him on the shoulder. Casey felt very odd. How had he got so turned on, and why had he jerked off in front of this guy? Suddenly he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He had to admit it was hot! The top of his head still was thick with hair, giving a slight flattop look with the short sides. Adrian produced a mirror to show the back. It started as bristles before gradually increasing in thickness. Adrian rubbed a pomade through the locks. It kept the hair in place. “What do you think?”asked Adrian. As he ran his hand up the shaved back of his head. he couldn’t help think this was to short for him, but as he felt the blonde stubble at his neck then felt smooth skin where Adrian had shaved, he couldn’t help but think he looked cool. Part Four (Conclusion) Casey rushed in the door of Adrian’s Barbershop, all out of breath. “Adrian! Quick you’ve got to help me.” It was only three days since Casey had his new haircut, Adrian had been expecting him. “I’ve got to get some more of that ‘hair growth formula’, right away.” “Sure Casey, I’ve got a few bottles in- just arrived this morning. Why so excited?” Adrian tried to sound surprised. “Look at the top of my head, man!” shouted Casey. “I can see scalp!” Adrian noticed Casey didn’t have any gel or wax in his hair so the top was looking thinner, and hanging down the shaved sides. “Get up on the chair and I’ll have a look.” Responded a cheerful Adrian. As Casey climbed into the chair he was too excited to notice Adrian putting the cape around him. “I seem to be even thinner on top man! How come it’s so noticeable all of a sudden?” asked Casey, with his voice starting to take on an angry sound. “Well. It must have been because of the formula. Once you stopped using it the scalp began to go back to it’s hair loss.” Said Adrian, noticing the slight swelling of a potential belly under Casey’s sports shirt. “Okay man! You’ve got to give me all you’ve got!” spat Casey, believing every word the barber said. Adrian had already started to comb the kid’s thick hair, pretending to study the scalp. “We may have caught it in time”, smiled Adrian, “but I think we should fix it up a little, so it wont be so noticeable.” “What have you got in mind?” asked Casey, a little nervously. “Maybe a little more off the top so your hair appears thicker, not too much!” “I don’t want to go too short you know,” stated Casey but the thought of hearing those clippers against his skin started to gnaw at him. Indeed the steroids and growth hormones he’d been fed were working, what he didn’t know was the formula he’d been taking had increased his sexual appetite. That’s why he’d been working his cock over so frequently. “We wont use the clippers son, just the scissors,” replied Adrian. He could see the disappointed look on the kid’s face. “But maybe you’d like me to try the clippers again?” “If you think it’s best,” said Casey trying to sound disinterested. He didn’t want this fag finding out how horny he was getting. Suddenly the sound of heavy duty clippers filled the air, giving no time for Casey to change his mind. Taking his comb, he drew the thick, blonde locks upwards, shearing off the top 2 inches. Casey knew he was loosing a lot of hair – he could see it falling onto his shoulders. Cleverly, Adrian had made sure Casey was turned away from the mirror in front of him. He noticed the commotion happening under the cape and realized Casey was getting off on this whole haircutting. “Not too much man, I don’t want to end up bald!” Casey suddenly spoke up, not caring the barber could see him stroking his cock. ‘Shit!’ he suddenly thought to himself, ‘why not let this guy suck him off when his finished, It’s not like anyone will know.’ So Casey stopped stroking and thought he’d have some pleasure courtesy of this barber. It wasn’t long before Adrian had finished, putting down his clippers, he went to turn Casey towards the mirror. “What do you think?” “It’s kinda short, the shortest it’s ever been.” Said Casey moving his head from side to side. It did give him a definite edginess. Adrian had taken the hair down to a few inches so that it would stand up nice and spiky when wax was applied. “Yeah, but you can hardly notice the thinning now.” Added Adrian. Adrian started to rub some wax through the hair, making it stand up. He had to agree, his hair looked a lot thicker now. Adrian went to remove the cape from around Casey, and found himself looking at Casey’s huge rod, now unencumbered by his jeans. “Would you like a little help with that?” grinned the barber. “If you insist”, returned Casey hardly believing he was letting this guy suck him off. Adrian hungrily sucked on Casey’s 10inch cock, savoring every inch of it – it had been a long time since he’d had any cock himself, orally or anally. Casey couldn’t believe how horny he was feeling – he spewed his cum in no time, Adrian swallowing every last drop. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Casey asked for the formula. “I have to go, you’ve got that stuff for me?” “Sure thing!” Adrian went to get the bottles of the special hair lotion. Casey was getting use to his new shorter hairstyle. It had been a couple of weeks since his visit to the barber – who had kindly given him this hair formula – free of charge. Well he did get a suck of my dick out of it, Casey had conceitedly thought to himself. He’d been using it twice a day, swallowing two tablespoons each time as Adrian had instructed him. He had noticed he was putting on some extra flab but for some reason he didn’t seem too concerned. He just put it down to not going to the gym lately, for some reason he couldn’t get motivated. He kept telling himself he’d get back into it real soon. He consoled himself with masturbating every moment he got. Again he wondered about the increased sex drive but then shrugged it off. His appetite had also increased, four-fold, but again he put this down to his lethargy and concern about his hair loss. It wasn’t until he noticed the hair on his chest he started to get concerned. It was definitely thicker and darker than he remembered. Was it a side-effect of the formula? He decided he’d better call in on Adrian. The next day, Casey was once again in the barbers chair. “Look at all this hair, Adrian! This can’t be normal” protested Casey as he unbuttoned his shirt to expose his chest. Adrian noticed the decreased muscle in Adrian specs, but hardly noticeable due to the thick wiry hair growing all over them. “Well the formula is still in it’s experimental stages – I was told that an increase in all hair growth not just head – was possible.” Said Adrian, trying to appear concerned. “I could get rid of it for you if you like, so it wont grow back.” “What do you mean? Shaving my body hair off?” “I could get rid of it permanently if you like.” Adrian started to sound a little sinister. “Shit man! I’m not into the freaky shit like you.” Casey shot back. “Well you could get a lot hairier, I’m just not sure.” “I like the hair. Makes me look older.” Casey said stroking the hair on his chest. “No problem. Now let’s take a look at your crown. Hmm! Looks like we’ve stopped the loss, I’ll just put some of this ‘hair thickener’ on it. It attaches itself to the hair shaft and plumps it up”. Adrian took a mysterious unlabelled jar from a high shelf on the cupboard. “I used this myself when I started to go bald.” Indeed, Adrian had used it himself, but remember – he wanted to go thin on top. Of course Casey had forgotten about all that. “Can I have some of that stuff?” Casey cheekily asked. “Sure thing – but use it sparingly!” Adrian knew Casey would use way too much. ONE WEEK LATER Casey still hadn’t been near the gym. In fact he didn’t think about it much. For some reason, he thought he was looking better with a little extra weight. However, he was alarmed at how his body hair was increasing. Although it made him look very virile, it seemed to be spreading all over his body. It was also black hair! His body hair had always been blonde. Now it was black – on his legs, arms chest and pubes. He just kept telling himself it was worth it if it meant his head hair would grow. The following morning he went to have his shower and shave, finally putting the ‘hair thickener’ through the hair on top. As he ran his brush through it, he was alarmed to see a lot of blonde hair in the brush. Taking a hand mirror, he looked at the crown area. Sure enough, white scalp was showing through. “How is this possible? You said I had nothing to worry about, that this ‘wonder formula’ would help grow my hair!” ranted Casey as he sat, once again, in Adrian’s barber chair. He’d rushed over as soon as he saw the growing bald spot on his head – even though it was barely noticeable. “Well it is growing hair for you, just not on your head.” Responded Adrian as he pretended to look at Casey’s crown. “Oh yeah! You’re a real comedian. What are you going to do about this? Your responsible! You gave me that experimental shit!” Casey spat back. “Calm down Casey, I’m not sure it was the formula. It could have been the combination of using the thickener. Remember, the hair wasn’t falling out while you were taking the formula. I think if anything, you need to increase the dose.” “What?” Casey’s mouth opened wide. Adrian tried to sound convincing, “start taking the stuff four times a day, that should help stop whatever caused the reaction with the hair thickener. Look, I was just about to have a coffee – how about I make that two?” “Ah, yeah! I did rush out the door this morning – thanks.” Replied Casey, starting to calm down, “ so you really think I’ll get the right results with increasing the dose?” Adrian was already out back getting the coffee - yelling back, “ Oh yes Casey, I can guarantee it.” When he returned with the coffees he was careful to give Casey the right cup. Before finishing the coffee, Casey was out like a light. Adrian went to work immediately. He went to take Casey’s wallet out of his pocket, finding his driver’s license, he copied down the address. Next he placed a set of headphones over his ears connected to a CD player. Switching it on he started the disc, which would play subliminal messages suggestions that Casey’s real sexual appetite could only be satisfied by the same sex. He was more interested in man sex than female! After one hour, Adrian brought Casey back round with the aid of some smelling salts. Obviously, the recording had worked as Casey was sporting a full erection. Before Casey could say anything, Adrian was quick to say something first; “You should try and get more sleep you know – all this hair loss worry is obviously causing sleepless nights!” “Wh? Oh! Casey started to say. “Looks like something else is wide awake,” Adrian added, pointing to Casey’s huge rod. Although he felt groggy, he couldn’t believe how horny he felt – going straight for the zip and letting his dripping cock out of its cage. Starting to stroke it he seemed to be oblivious to Adrian. “Why don’t I take care of that for you,” Adrian smiled and before Casey could answer, had taken the cock fully in his mouth – sucking deep – up and down. Casey moaned, closing his eyes and then taking Adrian’s head in his hands and guiding it up and down increasing the rhythm. Why was he getting so turned on? Then he remembered none of his girlfriends had serviced him like this before. Gay guys sure know what turns guys on – why had he been so reluctant to try this he thought to himself? Suddenly, he felt the top of Adrian’s head – feeling the smoothness of the scalp. It made him even hornier, noting the difference between the horseshoe of buzzed hair, then bare skin. He started to rub his hands all over Adrian’s scalp. Adrian realized the drugs he had been feeding the kid were working better than he ever thought possible. THE FOLLOWING WEEK As it neared 7.30 pm Adrian arrived at Casey’s apartment. When Casey answered the door, Adrian realized the kid had listened to him and increased his daily dose of the ‘special hair growth formula’. He had a very advanced five o’clock shadow, contrasting with his blonde hair. He seemed bulkier too – as he was wearing a loose t-shirt and track pants. Suddenly, Casey was looking at a big guy dressed in leathers. He had a balaclava over his face, but Casey felt there was something familiar about the figure before him. Before he could react, he felt something spray him in the face. That was the last he remembered. Adrian took the slumped figure to his bedroom. Then, laying him on his bed he produced a set of headphones and a portable CD player. Pressing play, Casey wanted to enforce the subliminal messages he had given Casey the previous week. He then went to work – getting his electrolysis needle from out of his duffle bag. Turning it on he started on the crown area, removing the growing hair strand by strand. He worked on an area only about 3 inch in diameter – no need to overdo it yet. Once finished, he was amazed at the whiteness of Casey’s newly created bald patch. He sprayed an analgesic on the area that would mask the soreness of the needle. Next he took some special bonding glue and set about fixing some of the hair strands back on the bald patch. The procedure took about 2 hours, but soon most of the bald patch was hidden by hair – newly glued into place. Adrian left the remaining hairs he hadn’t used, on Casey’s pillow. Turning the CD off which had been continually playing, Adrian went to bring his captive round. As the boys eyes opened his gaze fell upon a shiny object moving in front of his eyes, a familiar voice could be heard but he couldn’t place it. “Casey! Look at the crystal, how shiny and bright it is. It’s making you feel so relaxed, your eyes feel heavy, you need to close them………..” Adrian continued to fully hypnotize Casey. This was something he’d picked up on one of his journeys to the orient. A mystic had picked up on Adrian’s ‘special abilities’ like his mind-reading and suggested he expand on these. Hypnosis was one of the things he learnt through the mysterious Chinese man he met. “You are going to come to Adrian’s Barbershop, tomorrow. You will trust his advice and let him cut your hair, the way he sees fit. When he says ‘Your body hair has gotten way too long,’ you will reply ‘I know but what can I do about it?’ He will reply,’ I can get rid of that nasty old hair.’ As soon as you hear these words you will be under his control, unable to move but feeling totally relaxed, totally trusting of the barber. He is your master from that moment on – do you understand, Casey?” “Yes,” came a sheepish response. “When you hear the words, ‘there, doesn’t that look better slave!’ you will be totally yourself again, unaware the barber has been controlling your mind. But you will want to do as your master instructs, no matter how much you disagree. Now I want you to stop shaving as well – you hate having to shave, you only enjoy it when the barber shaves you, it makes you very horny, you can’t get enough of the blade going over your skin, clearing all the white, creamy lather. Do you understand my instructions?” Adrian added softly, but directly. “Yes.” Adrian was now ready to bring the kid around. “You will awake feeling very relaxed unable to remember what happened tonight, you will gradually feel sleepy again and will sleep until morning. As I count to 3 your eyes will start to open, you will feel fine but still very tired. Adrian packed up his things and went to the door. “1…starting to wake now.” He closed the door slowly behind him, “2…you are nearly awake, unaware of my presence. 3…your eyes are fully opened now.” Adrian softly closed the bedroom door behind him. Casey’s eyes met the ceiling. He remembered some funny dream he’d been having but realized he was still very tired. Rolling over to his side he went back to sleep, unaware as Adrian left the apartment. Casey awoke in the morning feeling very refreshed, but soon cried out as he saw the blonde hair strands on his pillow. He ran to the bathroom to look in the mirror – and to his horror, his bald patch seemed more noticeable than ever. When he arrived at Adrian’s shop he was relieved to find there were no customers waiting. Even though he was angry with Adrian and his ‘magic tonic’ for some reason he seemed to trust him, “What am I going to do? It really looks like I’m going to go bald, at this rate.” Casey moaned as he sat in the chair, once again. Fixing the cape around him, Adrian added, “Maybe you should let me take it a little shorter on top? The thinning will be less obvious.” Even though he wasn’t sure about loosing anymore of his hair, he felt he should agree. It wasn’t long before the clippers were fired up and working their way up the back of Casey’s hair. Adrian noticed the immediate effect it had on the kids cock. “Feel free to enjoy yourself Casey.” He added, no reducing the sides to stubble. “Do you want me to keep using the clippers some more?” “Yeah – please!” Casey said dreamily, unable to understand why he was getting off on this haircut. Adrian changed guards and went back over the areas he’d shaved. “Here, let me get rid of this.” And with that he whipped off the cape, exposing Casey’s oversized genitals. Adrian realized that the growth steroids and added testosterone were giving this boy a great set of cock and balls. ‘Amazing’, he thought to himself. Turning the clippers off, he took a pair of scissors and started to trim the hair on the top. “Have you finished with the clippers already?” Casey suddenly asked, letting go of his penis. “Sure have, unless you want to go shorter?” Adrian grinned continuing on with the cutting. Casey realized he had practically no hair left on the sides – no he didn’t want to go this short , but the barber was trying to help his hair loss. Besides, he was missing the clipper action. Of course, while Adrian had been using the scissors and comb, the hair he’d glued back onto the scalp the previous night was coming out. More and more scalp was showing. He didn’t show this to Casey. Finally, he finished the trimming of the top hairs and produced a mirror. “Man! That’s worse Adrian. I can’t believe how much scalp is showing!” Adrian put down the mirror, “It must have been the thickness of your hair, it hid the extent of the male pattern baldness. Well, I have got an idea, but it’s pretty radical, it means some shaving with the blade. It’s a style they call high’n’tight – very popular in the military.” Casey’s eyes widened, as he remembered the customer Adrian had been working on the previous week. As he had watched that guy get his high’n’tight cut he had become very turned on. In fact, he now noticed his cock dripping precum. “That short!” he said after a moment. “Well, with that sort of cut, no one can tell whether your loosing your hair or not. It is a very masculine cut and certainly wont make you look as old as someone loosing their hair. And if you don’t like it you can always grow it back.” Said Adrian starting up the lather machine without waiting. “I don’t know, man. I’ve never worn my hair that short.” Casey said getting more aroused by the moment. “Trust me, Casey.” “Oh! Sure Adrian.” He replied not knowing why he felt so guided by this man. “You wont be sorry.” And with that, Casey suddenly heard a high pitched sound of edging trimmers. Bringing them up over the thinning crown, Casey was amazed to see them removing the remaining hair on his crown. Adrian brought them up over the top finishing a few inches from the front hairline, creating a very large ‘landing strip’ on top. He left a classic horseshoe of hair finishing just near the crown, only standing an inch high. When Adrian went to smooth the warm lather over the sides and landing strip, Casey was having trouble preventing himself from coming. He knew he had to wait for the ‘straight razor, that was the part he was looking forward to. Slowly the blade glided over the short stubble, leaving smooth white skin in it’s wake. When the blade started on the top of his scalp, Casey couldn’t stop himself from cumming. He shot his load straight onto the top of the counter. Emptying himself fully, he said, “sorry about that, but I couldn’t help myself. That was a amazing.” “I thought you might like that!” replied Adrian. Finishing up, Casey couldn’t get over the ‘new, look. He had to admit it looked hot! And even though he was practically bald – he didn’t look like he had male pattern baldness anymore. He rubbed his hand over the newly shaved skin. “Yeah! Maybe I could get use to this .The skin’s pretty white though.” “Oh! I have just the thing.” Exclaimed Adrian, opening a drawer and producing a small tube. “It’s a Tanning accelerator, works real quick.” He began to rub some of the cream over the newly exposed scalp. “Now, you’ll probably need to come back soon if you decide you want to stick with this cut.” Casey started to wipe himself up with a damp towel that Adrian had offered, “Yeah! I think this style is growing on me.” TWO WEEKS LATER Casey had liked his new haircut, he noticed the extra look from a lot of the guys he passed. But he missed his thick blonde locks, so he had decided to let his hair grow again. The only problem was as the hair grew back in on the top, he could see his ‘bald patch’ again. He was now wearing a very thick, full beard. He liked the hair on his face, although he was surprised how quickly he had grown it. And hadn’t it been blonde? No matter, he liked the look – now what to do about his hair? He felt Adrian would be able to tell him. “Wow! That beards coming along well. I hardly recognize you Casey.” Said Adrian, looking up from his paper as Casey walked into the barbershop. “Wish the hair on my head would match,” replied a slightly dejected Casey. “So, how did you like the ‘high’n’tight? Ready to go there again?” Adrian said cheerfully, offering him the barbers chair. “I liked it for a change, but I think it’s too high maintenance. I think something a little more conservative would be more me.” Casey replied. Do you have any suggestions?” “Well, I could trim your beard for you, firstly and then maybe look at letting you keep a little more hair on your head.” “Yeah! Just nothing too radical, okay?” said Casey starting to feel more at ease. “Sure son.” Adrian assured him. Then he pointed at the top of Casey’s open neck shirt. “Your body hair has gotten way too long.” Casey felt this a strange statement but felt compelled to say, “I know but what can I do about it?” Adrian replied in stronger tone, “I can get rid of that nasty old hair.” Casey’s eyes glazed over, softly he replied “Yes master!” Adrian knew he had Casey in his complete control. It had been a few hours but Adrian had enjoyed every moment, working on his ‘new slave’. “There! Doesn’t that look better slave?” He said surveying the naked boy before him. Though now, Casey didn’t look much like a boy. Casey started to blink, then trying to focus, he saw what appeared to be Adrian in front. As he focused, his mind started to race. What had happened? Shit! That was him in front. Where was his clothing, he looked so fat, how had he let himself get this way. Hang on, he was suddenly aware he was missing all the thick dark body hair he’d gotten use too. The smooth skin magnified how huge his belly had become. As Casey looked towards his face, he hardly recognized himself. His beard had been reduced to a well trimmed goatee, still thick but now jet black. It seemed darker because his face seemed to be more tanned than he remembered, older! His eyebrows were thicker then he remembered but well trimmed. His hair was the same jet black, but the horseshoe of hair had been buzzed down matching the hair that had re-grown on the sides. “What in the hell have you down!” he almost screamed as he found his mouth. “Shut up slave, your ready for phase two. I want you to be fully awake for this part.” Adrian said as he got a leather strap and fastened it around Casey’s smooth chest. Casey tried to struggle but realized his arms and legs were already restrained. Suddenly an unfamiliar sound was heard, a buzzing. Before he could say anything a huge rubber gag of some type was shoved into his protesting mouth. “This is more permanent than the cream I used on your body, but I think your ready for the haircut I feel best suited to your hair loss. A real full on case of male pattern baldness. Known as a number 7 on the Norwood Scale. We’re going to look like twins when I’ve finished with making you bald.” Tears started to form in Casey’s eyes as he felt the needle on the top of his head. “This will teach you to be so full of your self son. The fact is, your not going bald at all. I’ve created all that has happened to you. Since you gave me such a hard time about my baldness, I think it’s only fitting you get to experience real male pattern baldness. And as an added bonus, your looking even older than my 30 years. I think we can edge you up a few more years, and maybe increase that jolly belly.” Casey wished he’d never come into this barbershop, but it was all too late. Even though this barber was changing him he had a strong desire to be with him, trust him. But as the needle killed off more of his hair he felt at odds with himself. This wasn’t what he wanted, or was it. Slowly the electrolysis needle was removing the front hairline, but at the same time he was shocked to see his now hairless cock, fully erect. “Good to see your starting to enjoy this slave! Wait till you feel the smoothness of having no hair on top, and never having to worry about shaving because I know you don’t like shaving. Although I know you enjoy me shaving you with the straight razor so I’ve got that great beard to keep in order.” Adrian laughed as he widened the area of hair removal. Casey looked at the new him in the mirror. He could feel the needle at the back of his head, creating a large dip in baldness. What would he tell his friends? He didn’t know it then but he wouldn’t be seeing his friends again. “Hmm! This is a great look for you slave, I think we might let the sides grow and get you looking like a real geezer. But I think you need some piercings when I’ve finished here, so you’ll really look like my twin brother.” Adrian’s laugh was starting to sound sinister. Casey couldn’t believe his ears. He wasn’t up to anymore needles. Still the electrolysis needle kept buzzing, removing the hair, root and all, and Casey could feel every prick of the needle.

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Prettier When You're Mine

Andy Barber x Reader

Author's Note: Slowly trying to finish a few of these ongoing stories.

Summary: One year into working with a young, bright and beautiful junior prosecutor, Y/n, who bears an almost uncanny resemblance to Andy’s late wife, Laurie, he finds himself developing feelings for her. Though, when she brushes off his advances, Andy proves that he’ll do whatever it takes to recreate his family.

Disclaimer: 18+ This work contains dark themes, including stalking, dub-con, infidelity and manipulation. Read at your own discretion.

Masterlist Playlist Chapter 5

Chapter 6

A trip to Andy's house to reclaim her lost ring causes tension between Y/n and James, and unveils some dark truths. Warning: dubious consent, SMUT/NSFW, coerced/forced sex. Please do not read if you are even remotely uncomfortable with any of these warnings.

Dumping the contents of her bag on the kitchen counter, Y/n hastily sifted through it. Compact, cell phone, a couple pens, a packet of tissues, wallet, loose change and no ring. “Shit, shit, shit,” she swore under her breath, on the verge of tears. It hadn’t been anywhere that she'd looked, not in her office, her coat pocket or even in the damn coffee cup she’d checked on a whim. Calls to the doctor’s office and the bus station as well as a visit to the coffee shop and the place that she’d bought lunch had also been completely unhelpful and Y/n was beginning to fear that the ring was gone for good. 

But it couldn’t be, not James’ mother’s ring. Precious family heirloom and the first material sign that she’d been accepted into their fold. 

For the millionth time that day, Y/n found herself asking; why me? Was it because she’d almost been willing to let things go too far with Andy? Because part of her wanted them to? Or was it because she’d gotten herself in a self-pitying funk over something she was supposed to have made peace with? 

Was it a sign that she simply didn’t deserve a man like James? 

Standing in the middle of their loft’s small kitchen, she didn’t feel like she did. Because how could she be deserving of him and still spend rare, private moments fantasizing about her boss- who had proven himself to be just like any other jerk in a position of authority. 

In retrospect, she should have seen the signs; his penchant for initiating physical contact, his apparent desire to know her on a personal level, his insistence that they work together. She couldn’t believe she actually thought he just saw potential in her- no strings, no expectations. 

“Babe?” Hearing the bathroom door open, Y/n worked quickly to clumsily repack everything into her handbag. She hadn’t told James that she’d lost the ring, and had spent the entire car ride home trying to hide her left hand.

“Yeah?” Y/n’s head snapped up and her frenzied gazed noted James standing near the foot of their bed, wrapped only on a towel, with his skin still damp and his hair dripping. “What?” Then, hearing the haste in her tone, she cleared her throat and tried again, “I mean….what’s up?” 

James’ lips fell again and he stuttered before continuing, “I was just gonna ask if you wanted to get Chinese,” he padded barefoot across the wood floor, “But I think I can ask you the same question.”

“If I wanna get Chinese….?”

“What’s up?” He quoted with emphasis, “Or better way; are you okay?” 

Sneaking a cautionary glance at her hand, Y/n dropped it at her side and didn’t dare make a move towards James. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Not believing her for a second, James shook his head and made the final steps towards her, rounding the kitchen counter so he could lay his wet hands on her shoulders, “No you’re not." He searched her teary eyes, worry pooling in his, “Did something happen at the doctor's?”

Sniffling as slow tears trickled down her cheeks, “I’ve just had a really rough day,” her voice broke pitifully and James didn’t miss another beat before pulling her against his chest. One hand cradled the back of her head while the other fell to the small off her back, and as she clung to his waist, she finally let a couple sobs break through.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" He probed gently. 

How was she supposed to tell him that she was irrationally insecure about them never being able to convince? Or that Andy had come onto her in a moment of vulnerability. Or that she'd lost his mother's ring.

"No," she whimpered, "Not yet. I just wanna….I just want to forget the whole thing." Forget that she'd always secretly want something she would never have. Forget that she'd lost a very expensive and precious symbol of their union. 

Forget that she was still thinking about what would have happened if she'd been brave enough to give in when Andy had come on to her. 

Forget that she was above betraying the man she loved. 

“Alright,” James murmured, kissing the crown of her head, “Well we don’t have to until you’re ready,” he added, lips still pressed to her hair. He was so good, so patient and she loved that. 

Andy was so brooding and dangerous, she liked that. 

Hugging James tighter, Y/n squeezed her eyes shut and tried to regulate her breaths; she didn’t deserve to cry about it when she’d come so close to acting on selfish impulse. They might have stayed like that for a while, if it were for her phone ringing loudly from where it sat on the counter. Sniffling loudly, Y/n pulled away and brushed her tears away with the sides of her fingers, “I should….” Trailing off, she moved towards the phone, sluming her shoulders when she saw Andy’s name on the screen, “Its my boss,” she reported sullenly. 

Coming to stand behind her, James rested his hand on her shoulder, “Just let it go to voicemail.”

Y/n sighed, “Its not that easy.”

“You don’t owe him anything,” James reminded before letting go of a heavy breath and reluctantly adding, “But if you feel like you need to then, I can’t stop you.” 

As James retracted his hand and started walking away, Y/n looked at Andy’s name on the screen and frowned as she glanced back up at her fiancee, “Don’t be mad, please.”

“Not mad,” he said, not looking at her as he tugged one of his drawers open, pulling out a pair of sweatpants, “Just….I’m worried about you, okay? This guy keeps you at the office at these weird hours and then today you come home crying.”

“What happened today has nothing to do with, Andy,” she lied, “He…he tried to help-”

“So you told him what was wrong but you didn’t tell me?” James knitted his brows, stepping behind the bamboo privacy screen that they kept near their wardrobe to get changed. 

By then her phone had stopped ringing and the screen had faded to black, “That’s not….I didn’t tell him. I was really vague about it-”

“Yeah, well all I got was you had a rough day,” stepping out from behind the screen in low riding sweats and a t-shirt, James moved to hang his towel on a rack they kept next to the bathroom door. 

“I…its complicated,” just then, her phone started ringing again, the urgency evident in the blaring tone, “I really have to take this,” Y/n snatched her phone off the counter and swiped the green icon. “Hey, what’s up?” Y/n answered cooly, defiantly matching eyes with James, whose gaze had hardened. 

“I have something that I think belongs to you.”

Knitting her brows, Y/n stuttered, “What?”

“Three carats-”

“You have it,” Y/n gasped; she must have lost it in the haste to vacate his office, everything had been so jumbled and messy, from her feelings at the time to the physical situation. 

“Yeah. Why don’t you come by and get it?”

Turning away so her back would be to James, Y/n drew in what she hoped would be a calming breath, “You’ve had it all day and said nothing?” She hissed as quietly as possible. 

“Well, let’s not get accusatory.”

“God,” Y/n suspired, “Are you at the office?”

“Of course not,” Andy sounded amused by the whole situation, like he was baiting her, and it made Y/n’s blood boil. “You should come get it, tonight. Wouldn’t want James to think you’re trying to seem like an available woman.”

Exasperated, Y/n sighed, “Yeah, well, I don’t know where you live.”

“I’ll send you the address now,” she heard the phone moving on his end of the line and then less than a minute later, her phone pinged with an incoming text. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

There was that name again, that involuntary thrill up her spine. 

Without another word, Y/n hung up and turned to James who was looking at her expectantly. “I have to go, some stuff came up late in discovery and its a lot so we’d have to start going through tonight to finish in time for Thursday.”

She wasn’t sure if James believed her, but he did play along, “Alright, well you should take the car,” he suggested and she was grateful that he didn’t offer to drive her. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, approaching her once more, that time grabbing the keys off the coffee table and pressing it into her hands from over the counter, “Go do your job, we’ll talk when you get back.”

Leaning over, Y/n smiled tightly and reached to cup his cheek with her free hand, “I love you,” she kissed him briefly, hoping to chisel away some of the lingering tension. 

James hummed softly, “Yeah, I know, I love you too.” When they broke, she grabbed her bag and coat quickly and hurried out of the apartment, letting a slow breath vacate her lips when she pulled the door shut behind herself; caught between being excited to see Andy again and combating worry over what would happen when they did. 

Stuffing the hand with the car keys into the pocket of her camel coat, Y/n inhaled deeply before bringing her fist to Andy’s front door. His house was nice, it was one of the first thoughts she had upon pulling up at the curb; it was kind of like the one she had in her mind when she thought about the perfect place to live; big enough to comfortably raise a family with a gable roof and big windows that made you wonder what was happening inside. It looked like something out of HGTV or one of those home and garden magazines- sweet and picturesque. 

“You came,” Andy determined when the door swung open. He was still half dressed from work; sleeves of his navy shirt rolled up to his elbows, black and blue tie from earlier gone and top two buttons of his shirt open. 

“Yeah,” she squared her shoulders and straightened her back, “Well I want my ring.”

Andy smirked and Y/n ground her teeth, “Its upstairs, come in and I’ll get it for you.” Y/n couldn’t tell if it was an invitation or condition but Andy didn’t leave room for explanation, instead leaving her to follow him as he turned and delved further into the house. 

The hall light was off, making the glow emanating from the kitchen up ahead to seem dim and ominous. Their shadows seemed bigger and in even in the low lighting Y/n could make out some of the framed photographs on the wall  and she slowed down to see some of them. She recognized the people, a woman and a teenage boy, from the one personal picture that Andy had in his office- a small, family portrait taken on what she'd assumed was a taken at a beachy resort, contained in a shiny gold frame. 

Mexico, he'd explained when he'd caught her staring once. The last vacation they'd taken before Laurie and Jacob's accident. 

It must have been so hard for him to lose everything like that, especially since he had no other family. Worst yet, he was still a social pariah; the things she'd heard around the office were brutal and they seemed to follow him around like a dark cloud. It was why she'd tried to befriend him when they'd started working together, no one should be that alone. 

But Andy had crossed a line.

Though, she hadn’t been very good at drawing one in the first place. Maybe she should have told him about James sooner. Maybe she didn’t want to. 

When they finally broke off into the kitchen, Y/n stopped abruptly and folded her arms defensively. Andy didn’t head upstairs immediately, instead he poured two glasses from an open bottle on the dark veined marble counter. “I think you’ll like this one,” he offered her the glass. 

Rolling her eyes, Y/n kept her arms folded, “I want my ring.”

“Have a drink,” Andy inched closer, causing Y/n to have to tip her chin to match his gaze. Swallowing a hitch breath, she tried to not react too much. He was so much bigger than her though, it was hard to keep the thrill contained. If the past couple months had taught her anything it was that there was a darkness that resided within Andy- behind the sad blue eyes and the strong silence was something akin to a tornado strong enough to rip an entire country to shreds. 

Dangerous and violent. 

And she liked it. 

“I don’t want one,” she countered definitely, his proximity chipping her resolve away. 

“I wasn’t asking, sweetheart,” Andy offered her the glass again, “Take it.” Reluctantly, Y/n relieved him of the glass but hesitated on taking a sip. Something might stir inside her when he was around, but it wasn’t trust. “Relax, I wouldn’t do that to you,” Y/n glared and in response, Andy downed his entire glass in one go, stepping away to fill it up again- that time a little more than the last. “See?” He took a generous swing, “I’m not that kind of guy,” he got close again, that time offering his glass for a toast, “To good men.” 

She’d called him a good man, that had aged pretty badly. 

“To good men,” she retorted sarcastically, taking a large sip of the wine. He was right, she did like it. 

“Do you like it?” Y/n could have been wrong, maybe she had a little too much faith in him, but his question seemed genuine. Like he was eager to know if he’d made the right pick. 

“Its alright,” the lie must not have been a very good one because Andy smirked. “I want my-”

“I know, finish your drink,” he gritted. Then, after polishing off his second glass at an alarming rate, Andy wiped off his mouth with the back of his hand. With just the slightest stumble in his usually confident gait, he set the empty glass down with a thump and started walking towards the stairs, “I’ll go get you’re fucking ring,” he mummbled, leaving her downstairs without another word. 

Not thinking much of it, she took periodic sips of the wine. It was good, and judging by the label, it must have cost upwards of a couple hundred dollars, but it wasn't particularly strong- definitely not strong enough to get a man of his size drunk after two glasses.

That was when she put it together; the slightest scent of liquor on his breath when he’d answered the door, his outwardly aggressive behavior, the way he’d swallowed the wine like it was water- Andy was already drunk. He’d probably been that way since he’d called earlier. 

And he was obviously playing some kind of game with her. Laying a trap. Luring her to danger. 

On heavy steps, Andy returned downstairs about five minutes later, prowling towards her and prompting Y/n to absently inch backwards into the wall. “Your ring,” he held it up with a little, wicked grin. She put her hand out for it, but Andy took it instead, turning it over so her palm would be face down. Their chests were inches apart at that point and he kept his darkened eyes matched with hers, presumably in a defiant act above all else, as he slid the ring back onto her finger. “All better?”

Clenching her jaw, Y/n tried to pull her hand away but Andy tightened his grip and lunged; within the second his lips were on hers. Reacting instinctively, she kissed him back- it was completely impulsive, submission to a primal desire. She could taste the mixture of liquors on his lips and his kiss could have been as inebriating  as the poison he’d poured down his throat. She might have gotten drunk on him- she would have- But the minute she caught herself, deserting carnal yearning in favor of what was true and right, Y/n tried to use her free hand to shove him away. 

But he wouldn’t budge. 

Andy was solid, immovable. Like a gray stone wall or a bear boxing in its prey. 

She could feel a bulge pressing into her lower stomach, making it hard to focus

“Stop,” she fought against his lips, a frustrated noise escaping her lips when grabbed the wrist of the hand she as using to push against his chest. “You need to stop,” Y/n struggled against his hungry lips. It doesn't matter that she actually doesn't want him to, that she'd traded hours of sleep for fantasies that looked just like that. A moment where they'd be alone and he'd do things to her that James might be scared to.

But none of that mattered- they were fantasies and she was engaged.

When she attempted to use her legs against him- knee him in the groin or kick him in the shin- Andy reacted swiftly positioned both his legs between hers, consequently pressing his crotch against her.

“No,” he easily positioned her hands over her head, closing his fingers in around her wrists and pinning them to the wall above her head, rendering her defenseless. “You want this,” Andy snarled into her mouth, hooking his now free hand around the back of her thigh, guiding it harshly to his hip. “Say you want this.”

Wiggling against frantically, Y/n tossed her head back, hitting it on the wall, as she tried to tear her lips from his. “No, get off me,” she protested, voice rising above a harsh warning. 

Deserting her thigh, Andy brought his hand to her neck and held her like that for a moment, “We’re doing this,” he managed through gritted teeth, “I know you, you want this. All those nights we spent together, just the two of us. Everytime I asked you if you wanted to go home, what did you say?” He was squeezing her throat, applying enough pressure to limit airflow. 

“N–no,” it was getting harder to breathe and speak, and her vision was dancing  but something in the back of Y/n’s mind doubted that he genuinely wanted to hurt her, “I-I said….no.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re engaged?” He pulled her forward a little, only to slam her head into the wall again, though not hard enough to inflict any more damage than a sore spot. 

“Exactly,” Andy hissed, “You said no. We went on a fucking date and you didn’t tell me you were engaged.”

Hot tears were racing down her paling cheeks and Andy was beginning to seem more and more like a blur. “Because,” she gasped, desperately trying to suck in some air, “I…” A hitched sob punctuated her words, “I….I didn’t want you to know.”

She really didn’t. It was wrong, misguided and shamefully selfish, but at some point, Y/n had thought that bringing up her engagement would ruin the closeness that she so enjoyed with Andy. She enjoyed being the only person he opened up to, in a way, it felt like he was hers and as long as she kept her relationship with James hidden, nothing would change.

“Exactly,” he growled, seeking her lips once more, “You’ve wanted me exactly the way I’ve wanted you since that first case.”

A broken sob fell into his mouth and Y/n occasionally found herself punctuating her failing resistance with sloppily returned kisses. “I don’t wanna do this,” she cried weakly, breaths short and throat dry, “You don’t wanna do this,” halfheartedly, she kissed the corner of his lips and tried to turn her face away again, “You’re drunk, this isn’t you.” 

Pressing his forehead to hers, Andy chuckled and his grip on her neck loosened so he could flatten his hand on the top of her chest. She could feel the heat of his palm through the fabric of her dress as he dragged it slowly down her body, and as she got a clearer sense of where his hand was going, she was breathing quickly. “I promise you, sweetheart” he rasped, fingers creeping under the hem of her skirt, which had ridden up her thigh, “This is exactly me.” 

Pushing aside the crotch off her underwear, Andy slipped two of his digits into her folds and started pumping slowly. “See?” He taunted in response to the slickness that had gathered there shortly after she’d felt his member pressing into her stomach. Try as she might, it was impossible to deny the effect that Andy had on her and she hated that she did want him- a man like him, who was proving to be worse than the rumors. She hated that the only reason she was resisting was because she didn't want to be branded as a cheater. 

“You want this,” he coaxed, curling his fingers and extracting a sharp inhale, “Admit it sweetheart.”

Not because she loved her fiance- she did- but she didn’t want that love questioned. Not by Andy, not by herself. 

But love and sex, they were different. She could love James and want Andy. It wasn't wrong, it was just human.

His beard grazed her skin, and the sensation coupled with her mounting arousal made a shiver run up her spine. “Please….” Her plea was teary, and Y/n wasn’t sure what she was begging for; for him to spare her the consequence of a nasty truth or give her more. 

Biting down on her lower lip, Y/n hoped a little pain and blood on her tongue was enough to keep her mouth shut and ward off the obvious truth, but when his lips sought her jaw and he added another finger to his quickening ministrations while pressing his thumb to her nub, she succumbed. “Yes…” She heaved, sobbing, “I want you,” she cried, head bending forward and her face consequently nuzzling the side of his.

She was only human, after all.

Finally satisfied, Andy let Y/n’s wrists go and she immediately loomed her arms around his neck, holding him to her. Meanwhile, he removed his fingers from her arousal and started pushing her underwear down, letting it pool at her feet. Without thinking, she kicked it away and when Andy curled his fingers under her ass after sparing a bare moment to undo his pants and free his cock, she let him lift her off the ground and wrapped her legs around his waist. 

But when Andy slid into her with unfettered ease, girth stretching her to the point of a delicious burn, an erotic moan tumbled off her lips and her fingers curled in his nape. Immediately, he struck up a pace of pronounced but aggressive thrusts, giving off the sense that he was barely containing himself. 

She still felt guilty. Y/n still knew it was wrong. 

“Fuck….Laurie….” In the heat of the moment, her name dripped off his lips, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized that it wasn’t even about her;

'Because you remind me of someone. Someone special.'

'Keep the length, try a couple shades darker'- just like the woman in the photographs. 

“I’ve been thinking about this since we met,” he admitted, liquor stained breath hot on her face and distracting her, “God, you feel so fucking good, you take me so well.” 

He felt good too. 

Steadying her at the hip with one hand, Andy used the other to free her blouse from the waist of her skirt. Delving under the hem, he groped her breast through her bra, kneading harshly. As the rhythmic roll of his hips grew rabid, Y/n found herself demanding, “Harder,” and, “Faster,” with the occasional obscene praise peppered in between. 

Reveling in the feel of his bulging veins rubbing her sensitive walls with each purposeful, aggressive thrust and the way the curve of his member seemed to probe at the lowest part of her stomach, Y/n sunk her nails into his back, clawing at Andy through his shirt. Breathy moans and low grunts bounced off the walls as stifling heat cocooned them, hardly remedied by the air conditioning. 

With each jerk, her back hit the wall with an audible thump and as Y/n felt herself inching closer to insurmountable gratification she tightened her legs around his hips, driving the back of her feet into his thighs. “Andy,” she hitched headily when his lips met hers again, not really in a kiss but a stretch of shared breaths. “Fuck,” Y/n heaved into his mouth, “You feel so….”

Grinning wickedly, he tried to meet her lust blown eyes but their faces were so close that it was hard. “Feel so….?”

“So-uh,” a small fraction of her was readily able to recognize that there was no coming back from the words she wanted to say. Her silly admission that he was the best she’d ever had. Y/n’s mind though had fallen into some kind of sex-crazed limbo, caught between what was inherently right and what felt incomparably good. 

“Tell me,” he demanded, kissing her roughly, biting her lips before pulling away a few centimeters.

“Good,” at the back of his head, she grabbed a fistful of his hair, causing him to bite her lips when they kissed again, “So fucking good.” Pressing her face close to his, the rise and fall of her chest became erratic and her heart was galloping in behind her ribs and she became acutely aware of just how close she was to toppling over with gratification. 

“I wanna feel you,” he encouraged, quickening his pace a little, fingers digging into her waist. 

The fabric of his shirt was crumpled in her grip and eager for release, Y/n struggled to buck her hips towards his. With a gasp, Y/n’s legs stiffened and her head lolled back against the wall. Unrestrained ecstasy started in a burst at her center, spreading like an untamed wildefire to electrify her every nerve. Clenching around him, her frame quaked and she drenched their thighs in silky moisture. She didn’t think it had ever felt like that; like watching fireworks on an LSD high or speeding on the freeway after a night of tequila shots. There was a rush she’d never experienced before, one she fittingly thought could only ever be achieved with drugs. “Andy! Fuck!” Her throat hurt and her words were loud and a little hoarse.

Andy’s pace didn’t falter through the crest of her euphoria, though just as her high settled, leaving behind a pleasurable sensitivity and colours on her vision, his hips sputtered. She should have pushed him away, begged him to pull out, but much too consumed by the threads of pleasure still running through her veins, Y/n clung to him as generous ribbons of his hot product shot into her. By then, he’d shifted his feet slightly and moved both his hands to hold onto her hip, as if he were keeping her in place so she’d take every drop of him. 

Even after it was over, Andy remained sheathed between her sore walls for a handful of slow moments. They kissed, lips taking on a leisured pace that time and Y/n leaned forward so he’d be supporting most of her weight. She could have sworn that every sensation in that moment was raw and amplified; the roughness of his beard scratching the area around her lips and tickling her palms, the fullness of him still settled inside her, the heat of his touch seeping through her blouse and the rhythm of his heart matching hers. 

Suddenly, she couldn’t remember if her heartbeat had ever matched James’. 

She hated that she was comparing them. He was a good man and Andy was…..Andy. 

Gingerly, he pulled out, and simultaneously, she untangled her legs from around him, knees almost buckling as her feet finally hit the ground. Shutting her eyes as she slumped against the wall, Y/n could hear the soft clink of his belt as Andy tugged his pants up, and while she made no effort to pull her skirt down, she could feel the fabric slowly creeping back to his proper place. 

When he lazily leaned forward, braced by one arm pressed to the wall diagonally over her head, Andy  reached out to ghost the  outline of her face with his rough fingertips, thumb tracing tear stains and then the shape of her kiss-swollen lips. His breathing was just as heavy as hers and it was only after his touch hand trailed down her neck and had reached the valley of her cleavage did he disturbed the heavy silence. “Can I tell you something?” His hoarse whisper elicited a pitiful whimper and shiver from her. His large hand skimmed the contour of her curves and settled to a firm grip on her waist, “You’re prettier when you’re mine.”

Mine. 

His. 

A hitched sob escaped her throat just as her guilt doubled; how could she? That time, when she pushed him away, Andy complied. There was so much she could say to him; curse him, lie and say she hated him, blame him but it would really only be words born from her own guilt and after he’d spent the past forty minutes or so ruining her, Y/n didn’t think he deserved the satisfaction. 

Sucking in a big breath to contain her shameful tears, she shuffled away from Andy, who didn’t even put a toe towards trying to stop her; she supposed it was because he’d already gotten what he wanted. Blindly, Y/n stumbled towards the door, letting herself out without a word and not bothering to shut it as she left. Approaching the car parked on the curb, Y/n rummaged through her coat for the keys and after she got them out, she shrugged off the coat using it to lap up some of the moisture on her face and neck before getting in. 

Immediately after getting the engine going, Y/n put down the windows and turned on the air conditioning, hoping the inescapable chill would do something for her appearance. Then reaching into the glove compartment, she hastily extracted a wad of napkins and did her best to clean up before discarding them on the passenger seat  and  grabbing up her phone. 

“I’m sorry about what happened earlier.”

“Drive safe. Text me when you get there.”

“Y/n?” 

“I get it if you’re still upset but please let me know that you’re safe.”

“Ordered your favorite for dinner. Waiting till you get here. I love you.”

“Shit!” Y/n banged the wheel with the side of her fist and hot tears rained from blurry eyes. She’d been at Andy’s for just over an hour. Trying to slow the erratic rise and fall of her chest and quiet her sobs, she quickly typed a response, telling James that she’d forgotten her phone in the car and would be home within the next half hour. 

Then, as she wiped her eyes and pulled off, hoping she could bring herself to face James by the time she got home. 

[dwobbitfromtheshire]

Stuck Between a Jock and a Metalhead

Summary: Nancy, on a whim, decides to visit Steve at Scoops Ahoy, which leads to her overhearing confessions from Steve that leads her to think about the decisions she's made. A few days later, she decides to come back. She finds him being hit on by the town freak. What's a girl to do? Oh, get stuck in a freezer with the both of them.

TW for SA. Steve was violated, too. He deserves to have a voice, too. These guys need a lot of healing and love. They're going to get it.

Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Steve’s POV

It was early in the morning on Saturday, and Steve was staring at his closet, trying to decide what to wear. He was pretty sure that Eddie was joking when he called it a date. . .hadn't he? Spending time lately with Eddie Munson and Nancy has been a surprise, but he was finding it quite enjoyable. He was definitely still in love with her, but he was also starting to have feelings for Eddie. It didn't take the kiss to realize that, but it definitely helped. He and Eddie hadn't really talked about it, nor had he talked about it with Nancy. It had been a vulnerable moment for Eddie as he thought he was dying, and Steve wasn't sure how to approach the subject. He wasn't sure how to even deal with his feelings for two people, and he couldn't help but wonder if this is how Nancy felt struggling with her feelings for two people had gone. . .if Nancy had feelings for him at all. If only there was a way for him to date both of them and for them both to be okay with it.

"This is crazy," Steve muttered.

After what seemed like forever, Steve decided on a striped red and blue polo. He straightened the red collar and stared at the lip gloss sitting on his dresser. He debated with himself and finally decided on wearing it. They've seen him in Scoops Ahoy before wearing lip gloss. He puckered his lips and started putting it on, trying not to think about smearing it across Eddie's mouth with his own. Steve stood back and started doing a slow turn in front of the mirror. Were his jeans tight enough? Maybe they were too tight? Or too loose? Steve slapped his own ass. No, just loose enough. Steve winked at himself in the mirror and shot himself finger guns.

"You got this," Steve whispered, and then he deflated. "This is not a date. Stop acting like it's a date."

A loud knock on the front startled him, and he headed downstairs. He told them where to meet, right? When he opened the door, Hopper was standing on his doorstep.

"Hey, kid, I'm not interrupting anything, am I?" Hopper asked.

"No, I'm not heading out until later," Steve said and stepped aside. "Come on in. I made coffee not too long ago. Would you like a cup?"

Hopper shut the door behind him and smiled.

"That would be great. Thanks," Hopper said and followed him into the kitchen. "You got a big date later today?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it a date," Steve blushed. "I'm meeting Nancy and Eddie later to look through my grandfather's things at his old salon. Nancy wants to work on her sleuthing skills. I doubt she'll find anything newsworthy."

"Maybe not newsworthy but maybe worthy to you. What brought this on?" Hopper asked, taking a sip of the coffee Steve set in front of him.

"Well, I kind of want to go to cosmetology school to become a barber," Steve said, tapping the counter nervously.

"You would be good at that. I remember going to your grandfather's shop. He'd be the only one my dad would trust with his hair. You do remind me a lot of Otis," Hopper said.

"Really?" Steve asked.

"Yeah, he'd be proud of you," he said. "And I think he would be touched that you wanted to follow in his footsteps."

"Thanks," Steve said, swallowing thickly.

"You thinking about reopening the shop?" Hopper asked.

"Well, with the mall taking up most of the businesses, I'm not sure that would be the smartest decision," Steve shrugged.

"Well, you'd be surprised with how many people loved Otis," Hopper said. "Think they'd love to go to the salon again, knowing his grandson was running it in favor of going to the mall. People used to come in from out of town to get their hair cut by him."

"Wow," Steve said. "I didn't know that. I was really little when he had to close the store."

"Well, if you need any help setting it up, I'd be happy to help out," Hopper said.

"Thanks, Hop," Steve said, smiling.

They fell into silence for a while as Hopper finished his coffee.

"I don't know if Nancy talked to you, but. . . ," he trailed off.

"She said that you needed to talk to me about something," he said.

Hopper sighed and pulled a small object out of his pocket. He placed it on the table. It was a role of film. Steve looked at him questioningly.

"I don't exactly what happened the night Barb died, but I do know that Jonathan was looking for his brother and stumbled onto your little get-together," Hopper sighed. "I also know that he took a picture of you and Nancy getting. . .close. Particularly, of Nancy taking her shirt off. I know when you found out that you tore up the photos and broke his camera, which I have to applaud you for not decking him. Turns out he kept the film strip all this time."

"He kept it?" Steve asked softly.

"Nancy found it when she went to pick up her things," Hopper said.

"She didn't say. . .was she okay?" He asked.

"She was a little shaken up. She was probably trying to prepare herself to talk to you about it," he said. "I'm going to ask you the same thing that I asked Nancy. Do you want to press charges against Jonathan?"

"Charges?"

"For violating your privacy, harassment, stalking, and trespassing," Hopper said.

"What did Nancy say?" Steve asked.

"I'm not going to tell you until you tell me your answer," he said. "What do you want to do?"

His stomach churned as it did the same damn day he saw those photos. He remembered seeing them for the first time, and he couldn't help but hate the guy who took them. He remembered how worried he had been at the idea of Nancy seeing them. While over eager sometimes, he always made sure that his sexual partners felt safe and comfortable with him. . .to think that someone did something like what Jonathan had done. . .to make Nancy not feel safe doing that when she clearly wanted to. . . Well, it pissed him off. Jonathan had come into his backyard and took a picture of something that was supposed to be private. Not to mention that he saw Barb sitting there looking all sad and lonely, then left without asking if she was okay, but he made sure to take her photo. Both Steve and Nancy had thought she had gone home. . .Jonathan had been the last one to see her alive. He could have done anything and maybe the demogorgon. . . No, it would have taken him as well or killed him. He took Nancy's photo without her permission and Barb's photo because. . .what?. . . He thought they were saying something? He also knew that Jonathan probably still meant something to Nancy, that he definitely still meant something to Joyce and Will. He liked them both.

"No, I don't want to press charges," Steve sighed heavily.

"What do you want to do then?" Hopper asked.

"Chuck this fucking film role at his head for starters," Steve said and Hopper laughed.

"It's exactly what Nancy did," Hopper said. "It's alright if you're angry with him. You're allowed to feel all that and let it out in a healthy way. Don't learn from me. I've kept so many things bottled up until it's stormed out of me. Release a little bit of a time, and it won't break the glass. Getting angry doesn't mean you're anything like your dad. You have every right to be hurt by what Jonathan did."

"You keep saying that you don't give good advice, but that seemed pretty good to me," Steve sniffed.

"It was a rare moment, probably won't happen again," Hopper said, and Steve laughed. "Come here, kid."

He pulled Steve into a hug, and for the first time in a while, Steve realized that this was what it was supposed to feel like to have a dad. Steve pulled back from the hug, wiping his eyes.

"You need me to stick around?" Hopper asked.

"No, I just . . . Need time to myself. I need to think," Steve said softly.

"I get it," Hopper said. "You know where to find me if you need me, kid. I'm here. I'll get someone to dispose of the negatives."

Steve nearly bit his tongue to stop himself from saying 'thanks, dad', but he managed, and then Hopper was gone. He stood in the entryway for a while, just staring at the wall as his mind went blank. He slowly walked up the stairs to his room and stared at it from the doorway. He glanced at the plaid walls and the plaid curtains as well as the plaid blanket on his bed. Whenever his parents were gone, like they were now, Steve always felt much safer with them out of the house. He felt like he could breathe again. His parents didn't like clutter. They liked everything orderly, just another way of letting people know that they're better than other people, especially Steve. At the same time, it was also another way of hiding their differences like their freak of a son who wasn't allowed to have the things that mattered to him. He kept them tucked away in a box so his parents wouldn't give them away. They loved to give away stuff for 'charity' to make themselves look good. They especially loved using his stuff. So when they were gone, he would pull his things out and set them up. He felt safer when they were up, but he had yet to pull them out, and looking around the room, he suddenly felt overwhelmed. He wanted Nancy to feel safe with him that night, and it failed to happen for both of them.

Barb had died that night while they were together, and a part of him would always feel guilty about that. He also knows that him and Nancy weren't doing anything wrong. They both wanted to be with each other that night, Steve had made sure that it was what Nancy wanted as well. If he learned anything from his parents' relationship, it's what not to do. Steve wandered over to the window, the very window that Jonathan had taken a picture of, and stared down at the pool. It felt like it was taunting him. The only time he had ever really felt safe here was when his grandfather lived here for a while, then when he had become friends with Tommy, and then Nancy came into his life. When she was there, it felt like nothing could go wrong, and then shit had hit the fan. His heart got broken, and the kids came tumbling into his life as well as his house. All these people. . .they had made it a home because that's what they were. . . Not the house itself. No matter where he went, they would follow him nestled safe inside his heart, and he could turn anything into a home. . .except for this house. Suddenly, he knew that he couldn't stay here anymore. He had to find another place to live. It was the final nail in the coffin.

"Fuck you!" Steve screamed, tired of holding it all in. . .tired of trying to remain 'perfect'.

He grabbed the flimsy, shitty curtains and tore them down. He ripped them in half easily. Stupid, ugly cheap curtains. He stared at the red car poster hanging in his room, the only thing his parents let him keep, and then his eyes landed on his bat. He picked it up and swung. It hid the picture, the glass breaking as the nails pierced it. The picture clattered to the floor. He turned to the haunted window and swung again. The glass flew outward as his bat went through the window. He stared at the plaid walls and let out a yell as he hit it with his bat, careful to avoid the studs. He hit the ugly wallpaper over and over again until he accidentally hit a stud, and his bat got stuck.

He slid to the floor, tired, and stared at the destruction he had caused. He started to laugh until his laughter turned into tears, and then he was just crying as he thought about the night that led to the downfall of his relationship with Nancy. He thought about Barb and how he wished desperately that she was here, that he could get to know her. He wished that Jonathan hadn't been in those woods, that he didn't have a reason, too. He wished that the Upside Down didn't exist, and he could still have all of the important people in his life. He wished his grandparents were still alive so he could have parents who loved him. He wished his parents were different. He wished for so many things, but most importantly, he wished people could see him for who he truly is. . . The person he always tried to be.

Steve cried so hard that he knelt on the floor with his head in between in his knees as he released all of his pain, his anger, and his sadness. He released everything, including the contents of his stomach, all over the floor. He wiped his mouth and didn't bother cleaning up the room. He moved his boxes and clothes into the guest room, leaving everything in his former room just the way it was. He made sure to grab the bat, though. He changed clothes and brushed his teeth but didn't bother reapplying his lip gloss. He put on his comfort sweater and ate some toast. As he munched on his toast and drank some water to rehydrate, he wondered how Nancy had handled it. He sighed. He needed to see Nancy. He wasn't going to push her to talk, but he kind of needed at least talk to her about it.

He played soothing music as he drove to Nancy's, and he realized he hadn't called first. Shit. Oh, well. He pulled into the driveway and walked up to the front door. After he knocked, Steve was relieved to see that Nancy had answered the door first.

"Hey, I thought we weren't meeting at the Salon until later?" Nancy asked.

"Uh, something came up. I wanted to talk to you about it. Do you want to go to the quarry?" Steve asked.

"Sure, let me get my purse," Nancy said.

The drive to the quarry was silent, as was the walk down to the bottom. They sat on a small patch of earth, took off their shoes as well as their socks, and put their feet in the water.

"Hopper came to see me this morning," Steve said.

"He told you about the film strips," Nancy stated.

"Yeah," Steve said softly and paused.

"You don't have to talk about it if you're not ready," Nancy said gently.

"I don't know, I think I might have overreacted. I just stared at my room, at the window, and just started hitting everything in the room with the bat. I lost it, then I started laughing and then I cried. I cried so hard I threw up. I don't know, it was like on top of everything in that house that happened to me. . . To us. . .it was just too much. Either that, or I really am crazy," Steve said.

"Steve Harrington, you have every right to feel the way that you do," Nancy said. "You're not crazy for finally letting it all in. You've held in so much for so many years. At first, I was just mind of numb. I was in shock. I kind of let everything in that I had been ignoring and pushing away. I told myself that it wasn't that, not compared to what happened to Barb. When I got home and took a nap with Holly, it helped to know she was there. Yet later that night, I woke up in the middle of the night from yet another nightmare about Barb, and I puked my guts out. We've been holding it all in, don't you think it's time we feel it?"

"Yeah. . .it's just . . . It was you he took a picture of, Nancy. Do I even have a right to feel this way?" He asked softly.

"It was your house. . .your room. I was taking my shirt off to sleep with you. It was our intimate moment, and he violated that moment for both of us. You have every right to feel that way, just as much as I do," Nancy said.

"I can't believe he kept it," Steve said.

"He said he forgot it was there, which might be the case, but it still makes me feel weird," Nancy said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm not sure if I'm ever going to be able to like the guy, Nance," Steve admitted honestly.

"And that's okay, too. You don't have to like him just for my sake," Nancy said. "It was really sweet that you tried to."

"I really wanted that moment to be special for us, Nancy. It meant something to me that you wanted to be with me like that. I want you to know that," Steve said softly.

"It meant something to me too," Nancy said sweetly.

"Do you think I overreacted?" He asked.

"You reacted exactly the way you felt you were supposed to when something like this happens," Nancy said. "You just need to let it in. We both do. Feel it now and forgive him later. . .not for him but for us."

Nancy put her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder. Steve stared at the rippling water ahead of them. It really was beautiful out here.

"Do you think that one day we're going to think about what we did that night without thinking about what else happened then, too?" Steve asked.

"No, I think we're always going to remember, but I do think, I hope that we can finally stop being scared of the intimacy we shared that night," Nancy said softly. "It was never a mistake. . . Steve?"

"Yeah?"

"I never apologized for calling you bullshit. . .for putting the blame all on you," Nancy said. "You didn't deserve that. You weren't a shitty boyfriend either. You were the perfect first boyfriend and I fucked it all up. Don't say it was okay, either."

"It wasn't okay, but neither was what happened that night. After spending time apart, we both had time to think. I think I forgave you the moment you walked back into my life, Nancy Wheeler," Steve said.

Nancy opened her mouth to say something else but closed it again. He kissed her forehead. Steve sighed and leaned his head against hers. He felt closer to her than he ever had before. Maybe it was going to be different this time.

Chapter Seven

[muma-kitty]

alright, since some of you seem to agree with my thoughts, i think i'll elaborate a bit

sweeney todd's autism diagnosis

this might be a bit lengthy so ill spare you the scroll if youre not interested.

stiff movements (this isnt really a dancer's role)

lack of expression, tends to look either sad or angry most of the time. could just be the trauma tho

weird stilted way of speaking (hearn specific)

generally quiet and reserved outside of emotional outbursts (again, trauma)

strong sense of justice - "at the top of the hole sit the privileged few making mock of the vermin in the lower zoo"

entirely fixated on razors when reacquiring them, completely oblivious to mrs lovett talking about her massive crush on him

doesnt know what to do with his hands when not holding anything - "at last, my arm is complete again!"

[shaving contest /w pirelli and aftermath]

doesnt bother with any flash or flair, gets straight to work and gets the job done

becomes agitated and paces when expecting the beadle to arrive at his barber shop but doesnt know when (gotta have a schedule)

[epiphany]

if this isnt a textbook meltdown idk what is

mood swings (man goes through every stage of grief twice in the span of 3 minutes)

lashing out - "alright! you sir! how about a shave?"

mrs lovett trying to calm him down just upsets him even more

[a little priest]

doesnt understand what mrs lovett's hints at at first

asks what unfamiliar food is before trying it, as if hes hesitant to try new things

definitely an odd sense of humor

wordplay. so much wordplay.

more tactile stimming, this time with suspenders (hearn)

[god thats good]

upset because the package he was told would arrive by 5:45 is 15 minutes late (his SCHEDULE is RUINED)

once the chair arrives, becomes agitated when he cant get mrs lovett to stay and watch him open it (PLEASE let me share my interests!!!!)

once again calling for lovett's attention, this time to set up a system of communication. he just really wants to make sure she isnt missing his cues

[by the sea]

several minutes of sweeney being completely absorbed in his own thoughts while giving half-assed responses to at least pretend like he heard any of that nonsense

[wigmaker sequence]

time to infodump

possible echolalia? - "the madhouse? the madhouse!"

[finale]

upset that he now has to go find toby when hes expecting the judge to arrive soon (the schedule!)

doesnt seem to be aware of how threatening he sounds while calling for the kid

after killing the judge, suddenly remembers he was supposed to catch toby and runs out only to realize he didnt grab his razor (only has enough working memory for one task at a time)

im sure there are other details i missed, especially since everyone's performance is different, so feel free to add on

[jamdoughnutmagician]

A Cut Above The Rest

Mechanic!Eddie x Fem!Hairdresser!Reader

Back To Work (Part 6)

Summary:You make good on your promise of giving Steve his haircut, whilst also learning a few things from him about Eddie.

Word Count:1, 131 (sorry it's a short one this time!)

<-Previous Part Next Part ->

Masterlist Series Masterlist

You drive your way over to Steve’s home, a modest little place, an apartment on the edge of the town not from where he works in the coffee shop.

You knock at his door with your hairdresser’s kit in a bag slung over your shoulder.

“Steve! It’s me!” you shout from behind the door. 

He opens up the door, dressed in an old, well-worn t-shirt and a pair of shorter than you expected shorts. So this is what Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington wears on his day off, huh?

“Hey! How are you?” he says, welcoming you into his apartment.

“Good thanks.” you nod. “So where do you want to do this? '' you ask, gesturing to your heavy bag of haidresser’s equipment.

“Oh you can put your stuff right here, it’ll be fine.” he says, tapping his hand against the small dining table in his kitchen.

You set down your bag as he pulls out a chair from underneath the table and sits down.

“So what are we doing today, Steve?” you ask, as you swish a hair-dressing cape around his shoulders to stop the hair going all over his clothes.

“Anything you can do that doesn’t involve any kind of clippers going anywhere near my head would be deeply appreciated, thank you.”

“Don’t worry you’re in safe hands with me.” you reassure, as you rake your fingers through his tousled mess of hair. “You’re going to feel like a new man once I’m done with you, Harrington.”

You grab your water bottle and begin by spritzing his hair just enough to wet everything down, before turning to grab your comb to slick through his hair. Then you reach into your kit to pull out your scissors to start snipping away at the longer strands. You alternate between snipping the hair and combing your brush through to ensure that everything is the right length.

“I drove past a perfectly good barber’s shop on my way here, so what’s this hang-up you have over hair clippers and going to the barbers?” You ask, easily falling into the natural chatter that you used on all your clients. It was one of the skills you prided yourself on, to put people at ease 

“Well, it’s just that when I was a kid my mom would always take me to the salon with her when she went, and I would get my hair cut there too sometimes. Then, one day, my dad took me to a barber shop, said it was about time that a boy like me should be going to the same barber’s as his old man, said that my long hair made me look like a girl, then they clipped my hair so short. I cried the whole time.” he says, the hurt in voice still present even now. "I even have a little scar at the back where the guy got a bit too trigger-happy with the clippers." He huffs.

Sure enough through the layers, there it is. A small line of scarring where the base of his skull flows down to his neck, where the hair refuses to grow.

"I guess I wanted to grow my hair out as an act of rebellion?" He offers, as some semblance of explanation. 

“For what it’s worth, I think you suit longer hair in my opinion. I’m just here to tidy you up.” you reassure with a hand on his shoulder.

“Thanks. Anyway! Enough about me, a little birdy told me that you went on a date with a certain metal-head yesterday?” he asks, his voice raising slightly in a teasing tone. 

“A little birdy, huh? You mean Robin.” you poke back with a laugh. “Yeah, Eddie took me out to the Maple Bridge fall festival. It was nice.” you answer, with a slight smile playing at your lips as you begin to refine Steve’s layers.

 “Maple Bridge, huh?” he retorts with a smirk that despite the fact that you couldn’t see his face, you just knew was gracing his features. “Interesting.”

“Yeah, we picked pumpkins and had a quiet drink in the barn. I had a nice time with him. Why is that interesting?” you say, unsure what Steve was getting at with his line of questioning.

“I’ve known Eddie for a few years, and if it’s one thing I know about him is that he loves the fall, like, all of it. Halloween, Pumpkins, Pumpkin Pie, everything. The whole shebang. He goes to the Maple Bridge festival every year. Never misses it.

Steve keeps talking as you start to ruffle a texturising clay through his now freshly cut hair, listening intently as he speaks.  

“..And for the past few years he’s always gone alone. We’ve all offered to go with him, of course, but he always insists on going by himself. So, he must really like you if he’s taken you there on a first date.”

“I don’t know what to say.” you stammer at the revelation of this news. 

“Look, I’m hosting a Halloween party next week. Robin's gonna be there, you can invite Eddie, it’ll be great, I promise.”

“Alright. I’m down for a party.” you say, as you reach for your hairdryer.

“Good. Of course it’s a costume party, so I expect to see you all dressed up.” he laughs.

You cut Steve off with the loud sound of your hairdryer, completely ignoring him.

“Alright! That’s you all done.” You say as you gather your kit up.

“Thank you so much, you’ve done an awesome job of it. Better than any other haircut I've had before, that's for sure." he says with a smile ruffling his fingers through his freshly styled hair. “This is for you.” he nods, pressing the money into your hand.

"Oh thank you!" You smile, slipping your money into your back pocket.

"Seriously! I'm going to be coming to you for my haircuts from now on!" Steve praises.

"Anytime! It was a delight to work on such a glorious head of hair such as yours" You nod.

"I really do hope you come to the party, it'll be nice to have some more friendly faces there!"

"I'll see you then!" And with that, you wave him goodbye as you make your way out of his apartment. 

You burst through the door to Robin’s apartment, dropping your bag on the floor as you come in.

"Robin. I need your help." you rush out in a panicked tone.

"What’s going on?” she spluttered back, matching your alarmed nature.

"Steve invited me to his Halloween party next week and I need to find a costume."

Robin breathes a sigh of relief, you always did have a flair for the dramatics.

"Don't worry, we'll find you something, We can hit up the mall tomorrow, there's gotta be something there."

@penguinsandpotterheads @xxhellfiregirlxx @sunflowerdaydreamer @mmunson86 @avalon-wolf @ali-r3n @jesssssmaybankk

[mimisempai]

You just have to be

Summary

It's one of those days for Crowley. One of those days when he doesn't feel like doing anything. But perhaps the loving care of a certain angel will change the course of this not-so-good day.  

Notes

a bit of depressive Crowley and a caring angel....

Happy Birthday to one of the most beautiful person I know : @rins-love-winsThank you for being one of my inspiration source!

On Ao3

Rating T -  1795 words

Aziraphale had been awake for a few minutes and, seeing that Crowley showed no sign of moving, he leaned over and kissed his hair before saying softly, "Crowley, my dear, I'm getting up."

Crowley murmured into the pillow, "'kay Angel. I don't feel like leaving this bed today."

Aziraphale ran a hand through Crowley's hair and said kindly, "I understand," then leaned over and whispered in his ear, "If you need anything, I'm here."

Crowley turned his head and said, "Thank you, Angel."

Aziraphale pressed a last kiss to the demon's forehead before getting up, dressing and heading down to the shop to start his day.

*********

Seeing that Crowley still hadn't come down by early afternoon, Aziraphale decided to go up and see him, if only to make sure he didn't need anything.

When he reached the bedroom he whispered softly, "Crowley?"

Crowley rolled under the covers and sat up a little.

The angel asked gently, "Still don't feel like getting up?"

Crowley shook his head, stretched out his arms and said, "But I wouldn't mind a hug."

Aziraphale, touched beyond measure that the demon was so open about what he wanted, didn't keep him waiting and slid in beside him, wrapping his arms around him and pressing him against his chest.

Crowley immediately wrapped himself around him and buried his face in his neck.

Aziraphale let out a soft yelp, "But you're scratching, my dear!"

He pushed the demon away a little and saw something he hadn't immediately noticed in the semi-darkness of the room.

Something he'd never seen before. Crowley with a light stubble. He ran his finger over the slightly rough skin and said softly, "I think this is the first time I've seen you like this."

Crowley replied, "I wasn't feeling up to it today."

Aziraphale nodded in understanding, knowing full well it had something to do with the kind of bad day Crowley had from time to time, 

Crowley stared at him for a few seconds and continued, "It makes me realise that you once mentioned your barber. How come you need one?"

Aziraphale blushed slightly but replied, "I like being pampered. It's very nice. Well, I should put that in the past tense, because now that I have my demon at home, I don't need anyone else to pamper me."

The smile on the demon's lips was worth the slight embarrassment the angel felt after his confession.

He continued, "Like when you washed my hair or took care of my wings."

As the demon nodded, Aziraphale ran a finger across his cheek and asked softly, "Don't you want to try?"

Crowley thought for a moment and with a slight playful gleam in his eye replied, "Do you even know what you're doing? I mean, not like 1941, if you know what I mean."

"Hey, that's petty! I'll have you know, Mr Crowley, I've got a whole shaving kit and I know how to use it."

The demon laughed at the angel's outburst, and Aziraphale was secretly pleased that he had managed to lighten his mood a little.

He said softly, "You still haven't told me. Would you like me to do it for you?"

Crowley nodded gently and replied a little embarrassed, "If it's you, I'd like you to do it for me."

Aziraphale smiled softly and kissed him on the cheek before saying "With pleasure, my love".

He then got up from the bed and found a chair, which he placed in front of the window, from which he opened the curtains to let the sunlight into the room.

He returned to the bed and held out his hand to Crowley, saying "Come and sit here so I can see better".

The demon grabbed the angel's hand and stood before moving to the chair and sitting down while the angel went to get what he needed. 

Aziraphale returned a few moments later with a basin, a towel on his arm and his shaving kit under his arm.

The angel placed the basin and shaving kit on a small table beside Crowley and, taking the towel, tied it around the demon's neck.

His gaze was drawn to the strands of red hair glistening in the sunlight filtering through the window. He grabbed a small one and rolled it between his fingers, saying, "Gorgeous.” 

Confused, Crowley asked, "What? What is gorgeous?"

Aziraphale replied with a half smile on his lips, "Your hair, my dear." 

"Oh..." replied the demon, unable to hide the slight blush that the angel's words caused. 

Aziraphale unpacked the entire shaving kit, grabbed a small cloth, soaked it in warm water and dabbed it over Crowley's stubble. He then grabbed the shaving brush, moistened it with shaving cream and, humming, ran it over all the stubble.

The angel then put down the shaving brush and took the razor, he opened it and showed it to Crowley gently, he asked gently, "Do you trust me?

Crowley replied softly, "With my life. Since the beginning of time and for as long as that".

Azirphale smiled softly and murmured, "Thank you," then leaned forward and gave him a long kiss on the forehead.

He placed the razor blade against the demon's creamed cheek and ran it gently from top to bottom. Then he wiped the blade clean and did the same on another area of skin just beside it. 

Crowley had closed his eyes, looking totally at ease, and Aziraphale, though he knew the demon trusted him completely, was no less moved.

He continued, the silence broken only by the sound of the blade against skin and the angel's humming.

When he had finished, he put the blade down and took the small cloth, moistened it again and dabbed it over Crowley's face, removing the remnants of the cream here and there.

Then he reached for a bottle of cologne and put a few drops on his hands before gently rubbing them over the demon's face.

Crowley sniffed, then said in a surprised tone, "But... it's my cologne, how did you know..."

Aziraphale pressed a light kiss to his lips and replied, "You're not the only one who can smell the other... Musk, red patchouli, lilac, mahogany, lemon rind, oak moss, leather and a hint of vanilla husk."

Then he stroked his cheek gently and continued, "There. We're done."

Crowley opened his eyes and just as the angel was about to remove his hand from his face, the demon grabbed it and kissed the palm before saying, "You were right, Angel, it's very nice to be pampered. But I suppose it's even nicer because it's you."

Aziraphale sat on the edge of the bed and asked Crowley, without a trace of judgement in his voice, " Do you want to go back to bed?"

Crowley shook his head and replied, "No, but... will you go to the park with me?"

Aziraphale immediately replied, "Of course."

He stood and held out his hand to Crowley, adding, "Let's go."

**********

Some time later, after feeding the ducks, they sat hand in hand on their bench.

Having just gently mocked another pair of not-so-discreet spies, at least to them, Crowley dropped his head to the Angel's shoulder and asked quietly, "Angel?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Aren't you tired of all this?"

Aziraphale asked in a confused tone, "All of what?"

Crowley replied, "Of me, and these moments when I don't feel like doing anything, when we have everything to be happy about."

Aziraphale rested his head against Crowley's and replied quietly, "Absolutely not tired of it. I won't say I like these moments, because they mean you're not well. But I do like the fact that you don't have to go through them alone, that I can help you on days like today. That you let me see you when you're like this. And I'm happy if I can give you even a little support and comfort".

Crowley turned his head and kissed the angel's cheek lightly before saying, "Believe me, you've done much more than that today. Knowing that I don't have to hide from you anymore, that I don't have to pretend and that you just let me be in these moments is so much more than I could have hoped for."

"Always, my love," the angel replied as he squeezed his hand, then continued, "You know, Crowley, happiness isn't when things are going well. It's when we get through a day like today, the two of us, without pretence, just being who we are. One for the other, as always."

Crowley smiled softly and replied, "You know what, Angel? You're absolutely right and..."

Aziraphale interrupted, chuckling softly before saying, "I hope it didn't hurt too much to say that."

Crowley, feigning offence, stood and said, "Too bad, I was going to offer you lunch at the Ritz, but you just ruined it."

Aziraphale, in turn, stood up and said in a slightly pleading tone, "I take back what I just said. I promise I won't make fun of you again and mmph".

Crowley had just closed his mouth with a tender kiss, then stepped back, holding out his hand, "Sometimes you're too adorable for words. Come on, Angel, let's celebrate this beautiful day."

The angel took his hand and they walked to where the Bentley was parked. 

As they walked hand in hand, the demon told himself that it was indeed a beautiful day.

Not perfect.

Just beautiful.

Just like them.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Growing Love series : here (After season 2)

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here (Before season 2)

[lya-dustin]

A Comedy of Non-mathematical Errors

Chapter 2

Michael is not allowed to keep most of his clothing after mummy dearest looked over his current wardrobe.

She had looked faint when he explained the practicality of his favorite cargo pants that turned into cargo shorts thanks to the nifty zippers. Even better he’d gotten them on sale.

“We will donate all your old clothes to charity.” The blonde woman had said only letting him keep his underwear and a handful of things that passed her inspection.

He was not at all surprised to know by charity Elspeth meant the garbage can.

But she did like how clean and organized he was and told Felix that was the right way to keep one’s room.

“Should we do something about his hair, mum?” Venetia asks, looking at him as if he were her personal Ken doll. She’d picked out some of his clothes, made him get a suit that matched a dress she was going to wear ---and made him and Felix buy two matching outfits.

Now she wants to cut his hair.

“What’s wrong with my hair?” he dares to ask. If you ask him its pretty great, especially because he did it himself.

“Nothing, sweetheart.” His mother said and yet he is dragged to a high-end barber shop despite his protests. “Felix, make sure your brother gets a nice haircut that doesn’t look like a blind man with blunted shears did it.”

Ouch.

“You’ll be fine with just a trim, Mikey.” Felix says with a smile that makes Michael wince at the nickname as harmless as it is. But the trip to the barber is a relief compared to the endless shopping of yesterday with Elspeth and Venetia.

Michael is given a luxury spa treatment along with Felix who has the same preferences as him despite the difference in socioeconomic statuses.

“I invited Ollie home for the summer, felt so bad for not telling him about us being brothers and his dad dying, I told him he could come visit us.” Felix attempts to be friends were all cut short by Michael who wasn’t sure how to even go from there.

Apparently, Sir James enjoyed Countdown, Venetia wanted to pursue fashion, Elspeth had a DPhil in Art History and spent her life collecting art while Felix attempts to write a novel because if someone is going to write the Cattons in this generation it must be one of them.

Despite their vapid ways, Michael supposed not everyone who acts like an airhead may actually be an airhead. A tough thing to incorporate into your world view when you’ve spent the school year seeing Felix and Farleigh with the same copy of Harry Potter pretending to read. Once they’d even held the book upside down.

“Your mum told me about it, yeah. Does he know what happened?” Michael hopes his ditzy twin brother completely forgot.

“Fuck. I can’t remember.” Maybe Felix was a real ditz, the way they talked about the Catton heir being a genius, his parents must’ve feared leaving everything in his hands. But his stupidity makes this all easier.

“After he tossed me off to hang out with you at the pub, I told him we weren’t friends anymore.” Because he is an opportunistic bootlicking cunt.

The more he learned about Oliver Quick the more he sounded like a fucking psychopath. What’s next dressing up as his mum? Killing any girl Felix talks to?

“Oh, he’d said you had already left. I only talked to him so he could invite you to join us. I liked your shirt, have one like it, just can’t find it in the mess.” Felix sits by his open window to smoke ---Michael detests the smell--- and gave a small laugh as he mentions his pigsty of a room.

“Actually, he pretended not to see me when I came back,” Michael isn’t even surprised Poor Dear Ollie had lied about that too. “Maybe it’s better if he doesn’t know I’m here.”

Michael’s terrible at talking or persuasion, and yet, it doesn’t take much to convince Felix to make his presence here a surprise.

Saltburn is nice, a touch gaudy and weird, but other than that the place looks fine.

His room is across Felix’s with Venetia next door and a guest room for a friend on the other side of the luxury bathroom that was bigger than his old bedroom.

“Mum has a fear of ugly things, I wouldn’t wear these if I were you.” Venetia plucks his glasses off his face and Michael swats at her blindly trying to get them back. He only succeeds accidentally grabbing her nose before giving up

“See how handsome you look? You look like Uncle Micah.” The bleached blonde girl shows him his own mirror to tell him so.

“Can’t fucking see, Venetia.” He points out and squints at his own reflection trying to see if she was being honest and not flattering him out of pity.

Plenty of people loved telling him he could look great if he tried. He’s pretty sure he looks like Shaggy from Scooby-Doo right now and tells his younger sister so.

“Mum’s fine with the glasses, its piercings she doesn’t like.” Felix easily takes the glasses out of Venetia’s hands and carefully puts them back on Michael’s face. “Voila.”

“What do you think, Mike?” they ask when he gets a good look at himself.

And sure, enough he looks like someone who could get any girl or invite he desired. Michael Gavey was gone; Michael Catton had taken his place.

Oliver is going to regret dropping him for Felix.

[hearthandhallows]

Closed starter for Vincent (@ziggysarcana)

Location: Main Street Barber Shop

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Dante stepped into the barbershop, the bell over the door chiming softly as he pushed it open. He paused after stepping inside, blinking against the warm lighting. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie, his shoulders a little tense under the fabric. He’d thought about cancelling - twice, actually. Maybe three times. But every time he’d looked at his grown-out, uneven mess of hair in the mirror, he’d reminded himself that Vincent was his neighbor. And more importantly, Vincent was cool. Calm. Steady. Not the kind of person to give him a cut he’d regret or make him feel weird for not knowing how to ask for what he wanted - which, he still didn’t know what he wanted.

‎‎ ‎ ‎ ‎Still, he hovered a moment before finally stepping further in, glancing around the shop like he half-expected to get told he had walked into the wrong place. When his eyes landed on Vincent, though, some of the tension eased from his shoulders. "Aye," he said, offering a quick, sheepish smile. "Am I too early? Too late? I was up at the track last night. I... don't really remember if this was the time we settled on, sorry." He scratched the back of his neck, feeling self-conscious. "Uh, thanks again for squeezing me in. Figured it was finally time to stop pretending this shit was still growing out on purpose. No pressure, but I'm kind of counting on you to save me here."

[feitan-cl]

Storytime

I really want to talk about this

The other day i rebelled against my mom and I went to a salon/barber shop💈 in a mall (I didn't go there alone, my friends accompanied me) and got an undercut without my mom's nor my dad's permission

It was... An experience

(TW: mentioned phycological abuse and the development of a new trauma?)

It was a Wednesday, I met up with my friends at the mall and after eating ice cream and stuff I told my friends to acompany me to the entrance and they went to a supermarket nearby, I just went in the barber shop and asked how much was it gonna be (i had enough money, like 100 american dollars and the price was like 14 and my self budget was like 25 dollars) then they sat me down to wash my hair and while they were doing that I texted my mom that I was at the hairdresser but she didn't respond. A few minutes later i texted her that they wee washing my hair and she also didn't see that message.

Later they sat me down on another chair and the woman that was gonna cut my hair asked what I wanted and I showed her the picture I had saved on my phone. She was nice.

I sent another message to my mom saying that it was already too late to go back (again; she didn't see it). I chatted with the hairdresser and I told her that my mom didn't approve of me getting an undercut (bc it was mainly her) and I got to brag a bit about my academical achievements (i swear there was an r in achievements, idk what happened to it) and I told her I wouldn't tell my mom who it was that cut my hair if she asked who did it (she didn't).

When she finished the haircut she handed me a mirror so that i could see how it looked (it looked good) and then she proceded to start drying my hair. When there were like 5 min left for my hair to get fully dry thats when my mom saw the messages I sent her and she said I didn't have permission and I told her that they were already drying my hair and she said that i should talk about it with my dad and so i sent him a text (which he didn't see) and i sent a text to my mom saying that i was happy with the haircut and she asked where i was and my inner clown responded "Mmm i dunno".

When my hair was fully dry i went to the front desk and payed (in cash bc i [still] have a LOT). Then i exited the place to meet my friends outside and they said that it looked very cool on me (#winning) and then i see into the distance 3 people... My mom (which i was ready to face), my youngest sister (who was running towards me with a smile plastered on her faceand her arms open, ready to hug me) and my young sister.

When I saw her I was terrified. ("oh but Fynn, she's your young sister why would you be afraid" i haven't told anyone about this [excepting her and my mom, both took it as a joke] but she abuses me phycologically so fuck off. [cuyo si lees esto no, no lo leiste.]). I froze on the spot I turned around trying to run away but i couldn't move any further than a step so I turned around, accepting my faith.

Then my youngest sister hugged me as a way of saying hi and a few seconds later my mom and young sister catched up and I said "Mom" today my mom (obviously) and then she angrily said "Do not call me 'mom'". I almost broke down on tears, that was one of the sentences I wanted to hear the least (yk, being closeted and shit), but i sucked it up and tried to keep my eyes from watering (keyword: tried) in a successful attempt to not cry in front of my youngest sister.

Then my young sister aproached me along with my mom to take a closer look to what they'd done to my hair and both said that they messed it up and that it was obviously uneven (a blatant lie). My mom then said that my dad would get mad at her for allowing me to go on my own to the hairdresser. After trying to not get affected for all their uncalled comments they left and my mom told me to tell my dad to pick me up from the mall.

I talked to my friends for a bit and then I called my dad so he would pick me up and then my friends left in a bus leaving me to wait for my dad.

When I entered the car my dad wasn't mad or anything, he took a look at my hair and said i looked good and I told him about what my mom said (the sentence "Do not call me 'mom'" still fresh in my head, but i skipped that part to avoid crying) he apologized for my mom saying that they're not very modern so it was hard for her to get used to that kinda stuff (yk, bc an undercut requires shaving hair) and and he said he would talk with my mom, and so I told him about the sentence but not how it affected me, i just noiselessly cried a few tears and whispered an apology (whispered bc my dad always scolds me when he hears me apologize to him).

We arrived home and no one was there so I went to my room waiting for my mom and sisters to come and hoping to not hear screams when they did (and my prayers were answered thank goodness). When they arrived and my mom and dad talked for a while my mom entered my room and said that i wasn't allower to pull a stunt like this ever again while i live under this roof (a stunt like this meaning things like another bold haircut, tatoos, piercings, etc [she specified the last two]) i laughed bc i didn't plan to do so and then she made me promise it and

The fucking end

Side note 1: so yeah this experience has made me realize that my young sister is like the Illumi to my Killua and my youngest sister is like the Alluka to my Killua (but my young sister isn't the Illumi to my youngest sister's Alluka)

Side note 2: and also that if I ever come out it will be first to my youngest sister, second to my dad and thirdly my mom (my young sister isn't listed here bc she kinda outed me to herself, i almost had an anxiety attack when she theatened me to tell on me if i didn't explain to her what were the flags in my [hidden] pins)

Side note 3: heres a pic of how it looked on Thursday

It has grown a bit more since then and now it looks better (plus my camera isn't great and it looks more shaved than it actually was)

[casicroaks]

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 3

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW JERSEY, 1966

I woke up to a radio broadcast of a new draft being put into effect for soldiers to be deployed somewhere outside the US. For a moment I wondered if dad would have to go. Unlike mom, he did talk a lot about his life before marrying her, about his mother and his brothers and his father’s barber shop and his grandma’s stories of Calabria and his own stories growing up in Newark before moving to Hackensack. He had gone to war back in the day, like his brothers. He lost a couple. He ended up staying a longer while abroad than what his parents had hoped for, dad told me and Bri. When mom wasn’t around, dad told us his parents had wanted him to get to Calabria and find himself a good wife there. But he wasn’t good at speaking Italian, though, and didn’t find himself a woman who liked him enough to marry, even though he had a uniform and a medal for something. He eventually came back home. And then, he met our mother. And they married. And now, he’s just our dad. Dad always sounds disappointed when he gets to the end of these stories.

Bri had already had breakfast and was now watching TV in the living room. My mother had to renew her driving license, since dad wouldn’t be able to take us himself to Gladys Buckman’s garden party. I didn’t understand why. He said he was busy, and then mom got angry and began arguing with him, and then they were shouting about something else entirely. He left to meet with some friends, and mom stormed off the house and into the car, grumbling curses.

Anyways, it was another Sunday afternoon in which Bri and I were left alone at home. But I had a plan. I always had to find projects to entertain myself with, and this afternoon was no different. As soon as mom left the house, I rushed upstairs and into her bedroom, and opened her vanity where she kept all her makeup and jewelry. I remember being amazed by it all when I saw it. Little shiny tubes of lipstick, and elegant round boxes of eyeshadow, and cases of fake eyelashes, and pots of cream and brushes of different sizes. There had to be a way that, with all of that, I could make myself look truly pretty.

I spent the rest of the afternoon trying it all out, starting with the lipsticks. I found two that I liked the most, one that was this lovely deep red, like a ripe cherry, and one that was really dark, almost purple, which seemed to have almost no wear. Those two, surely my mother wouldn’t notice them missing.

“Tiffy, what are you doing?”

Bri startled me –I almost dropped one of the round powder compacts, it could have been a mess.

“Buzz off, weirdo,” I grumbled.

“Is that mom’s makeup?”

“I said buzz off!”

“I don’t think mom would be okay with you doing this…”

She always knew what mom would think of things. Mom wouldn’t allow this, she would want you to do that… I huffed, ignored her, and continued trying on the makeup. From watching our mom I knew that there was some powder that went on the cheeks and some that went on the eyelids, but which one was which was hard to say. Using one of the brushes I patted bright pink dust on what someday would be my cheekbones, carefully watching my reflection in the cracked vanity mirror to guess when it would be enough… Which was sort of hard to say, with the bad lighting in the bedroom and how I already was looking pretty pink. At some point I gave up on the blush and decided to go with the eyeshadow, with a blueish-purple one just like what the pop stars in the dentist office’s magazines wore. Smiling at my reflection I admired what I thought was a pretty neat job. I opened my eyes as wide as I could. There was still a strip of color below my eyebrows. I thought, it was not as difficult as it seemed. Then it was time for mascara, which was definitely the hardest, and I finished it off with the lipstick. I had always wanted to put on lipstick. I remember watching my mother pressing the waxy red bar against her lips, and doing the same with my favorite crayon. Lipsticks, though, stained a lot more a lot faster.

Barely had any time to admire my work, when Bri came back into our parents’ bedroom.

“Tiffy, I’m hungry.”

“So?”

“Mom’s not home yet.”

I looked back at the alarm clock on the bedside table. “Huh. She’s taking her time.”

“I’m so hungry…!”

Bri was already doing that thing she did with her face when she was about to throw a tantrum. It was the only moment in which she wasn’t looking cute.

“Alright,” I sighed, leaving all the things on the vanity table. “I’m pretty hungry myself.”

Mom hadn’t left any food cooking for us, so I improvised. We had some ham slices and cheese and some bread. I used what was left of butter in the fridge to warm it up in a pan and make some nice fried toast for sandwiches. Bri watched along, her eyes growing wide, bouncing and tapping the counter with her hands. She wanted to put mayonnaise and peas on hers, so I let her put as much as she wanted. And then, because she insisted we needed to have something for dessert, we raided all the kitchen cabinets in search of something we could use. We finally found some slightly stale vanilla cookies forgotten behind soup cans. They were really crumbly, so in order to make them a bit sturdier we slathered strawberry jam on them, and topped it off with a dollop of whipped cream that was left in the bottom of a bottle. It wasn’t exactly chiffon pie, but I was quite proud with the little lunch I had managed to make for the two of us.

We filled our glasses with milk and watched cartoons while gobbling down our food, the cheese having melted on the warm bread and making a gooey mess, and we laughed. Bri was an unbearable little sister, no doubt about it, but sometimes it felt like she was the only person I could laugh with. Maybe it was because we were forced to live together. We were like two jail mates who had no choice but to coexist. If she hadn’t been my sister, I knew for a fact that I would never have exchanged a word with her.

Our dishes were empty, Bri was having her second glass of milk, and the mascara was beginning to itch my eyes –when there were the familiar heeled steps on the porch signaling mom was home. I ran back into her bedroom, put the two lipsticks in my pocket, and grabbed a couple of random boxes of eyeshadow, and quickly rearranged everything so as to leave as little evidence as possible of me sticking my hands in there. Then I blew on the vanity, just to make sure there wasn’t any eyeshadow dust on there that could give me away, and I ran toward the toilet and closed the door. I kept quiet for a while, waiting for her to go to her room, waiting with bated breath for her to notice something out of place. But there was nothing. I got a glimpse of myself in the mirror. The makeup didn’t look half as nice as I had thought it did an hour ago. I washed my face and scrubbed it as best as I could to wash away all traces of the makeup, which wasn’t easy because I was definitely a beginner and didn’t know shit about how to apply it, even less how to remove it. It took a while and I ended up sopping wet, but with a clean face. Out of sight, out of mind.

Bri startled me with a loud knock on the bathroom door. “Tiffy, I need to use the toilet!”

“Leave me alone, dork!”

When I finally came out of the bathroom mom told me off for making such a mess in the kitchen, and ordered me to wash the frying pan, the dishes and the counter. All the while Bri lounged on her chair and kept watching cartoons. It was her who was hungry. I told mom this, but she said I had been the one who made the meals and therefore I had to clean it up.

“Do I need your arms around me? Do I live my life for you?” I hummed to myself as quietly as I could, under the warbling of the tap water dousing the soap off the greasy dishes, to focus on the task at hand and to keep my mind from wandering away to the TV behind me. “Do I always feel so warm each time I look in your eyes of blue?”

Mom had taken the remote control off Bri’s hands, and was now watching some soap opera while my sister played in our bedroom. I watched some of the show with mom but got bored pretty quickly. I went back to my room, singing the Ronettes song under my breath, and distracted myself by spinning one of the lipstick tubes up and down, up and down, admiring the metallic details in the fading light from our little window.

I had a plan for the next day at school. For some stupid reason, I was convinced that my best chance at making friends was to show the other girls in my class that I was actually really pretty, as pretty as they were, and if they just realized that then they would stop bothering me. And that tube of lipstick in my pocket was gonna help me do just that.

After brushing my teeth and combing my hair into the two pigtails I always wore, I made the decision to apply some of the lipstick before boarding the school bus. I had to make a good first impression from the get go. But I couldn’t go too wild too soon, or my mother would notice. There would be time for me to retouch it, like movie stars did, at the school’s bathroom. I grinned, liking the idea. All the girls gossiping in the bathroom, and then I would walk in, just to put a brighter layer of color on my lips. They would ask me where I had gotten the lipstick, and I would tell them it was a gift from my mother. They would think, wow, isn’t she grownup? I would tell them how to properly put lipstick on, and we might take turns each helping the other. And we would leave the bathroom a little bit friendlier with one another, and maybe by the end of the day the girls would say goodbye to me, for once, and call me Tiffy instead of Whiffy. I grinned, blowing my reflection a kiss. Yes, that would make for a wonderful day at school for once.

“Wait—” As I was walking out the house my mother grabbed my shoulder and pulled me back. I tried to look away from her, but she grabbed my chin and noticed what I had done with wide open eyes. “Are you wearing makeup, Tiffany!?”

“No…”

She didn’t buy it for a second. Immediately she pulled from the corner of her apron and scrubbed my mouth with it, wiping the painstakingly-applied lipstick away. “Have you gone mad!? Wearing makeup –at your age –to go to school!? What will people think of you!?”

“I just wanted to look pretty—!”

“Pretty? You look like a painted woman –like a floozy! Good God, Tiffany…” She licked her thumb and rubbed my cheeks to clean off whatever was left. “Sometimes I wonder what goes through that head of yours, child…”

“You wear makeup all the time, though…” I said, putting my palm against my cheek, feeling it hot. “I just wanted to look pretty, like you do…”

She scoffed. Compliments worked with some teachers, they used to work with mean girls like Peggy Buckman, but they had never worked with my mother. She saw right through them.

“Well, why is it wrong when I do it, then?” I insisted. “When you wear it always –aren’t you a painted woman, too?”

“How dare you say that,” she said, becoming as red as I was. “Apologize to me, Tiffany, right now.”

I kept silent, with my hand on my cheek, curling my fingers and cupping it. I had my mother’s fat face. I looked up at her. Someday I would end up looking just like her. I had just said I wanted to look pretty like she did –but she wasn’t pretty, and she hadn’t been pretty for a long time now. There was only her wedding picture as proof of it.

“Can’t you just be nice, for once, and apologize?”

I looked down. I think she thought I was covering my ear with my hand and she grabbed my wrist, hard enough I let out a little cry, and pulled my arm away from my face.

“Apologize!”

I didn’t yield. I pouted and kept staring down at my feet. There was a honking –the school bus was about to leave –and mom finally let me go. I ran away towards the street and away from her, grabbing my wrist, rubbing it and feeling the pain become softer and more constant.

Little did she know that I had managed to hide one other little tube of lipstick in my backpack, in my pencil case.

“You got a job at the circus, Whiffy?” Johnny laughed once I got out of the school bathroom. I had applied the lipstick as best as I could, and after quite some minutes of checking it and comparing it to a mental image I had of Marilyn Monroe at all times in my head I thought it was quite an improvement over my first attempt. Clearly, though, it wasn’t good enough.

Miss Collins, of course, had to have a problem with it. She ordered me to wipe it off my face this instant. I asked to go to the bathroom to wash it off, but she said I was not excused from class. I had to rub it off with the side of my arm, and by the burst of laughter when I was done I had to guess I had only made a mess of it. There were no mirrors in the classroom, obviously, but I managed to get a glimpse of myself in one of the windows. Even in the hazy reflection I could see it was a real mess.

It had to have been Bri, right? She had seen me putting makeup on the day before. Surely she had ratted me out to mom, the little bitch. I redirected the anger I felt towards Miss Collins into something more productive: a plan to take revenge on my little sister. Nothing too violent, just a good scare. Something we could laugh about in a few years’ time. Something, though, that would scare the shit out of her for now.

After Miss Collins’ class we had art class with Miss Klasky. She was soft-spoken and thin as a twig, and looked like a soft shove would snap her in half. Looking at her for too long could make you want to cry. I pitied her, her and her big bulging watery eyes, her sunken cheeks and bony fingers, but most other kids just found her funny-looking. Regardless, she was probably the teacher who we were the least afraid of, and that was close enough to mean she was the teacher we liked the most. She never sent anyone directly to the principal’s office, she never raised her voice, she just watched in horror with her big eyes open wide when something went down. Perfect for me to take advantage of the inevitable distraction Darry Cade and Bobby Farrell would make –that day it was a chalk fight, in which each one threw pieces of chalk at each other until one of them landed in the other’s eye and someone was sent to the nurse –and pocket a small jar of red paint for my revenge plan. But it seemed I wasn’t the only one with a plan. While Miss Klasky tried to stand between the two boys without having one of her own eyes poked out by a piece of chalk, and while I made sure the paint jar was closed tight enough to not spill and stain my dress, the other kids at art class opened their own paint jars.

When I looked up at the rest of the desks, I realized, too late, what was going on. And, since I was the only one without a paint jar open at the ready…

Everyone I could see, from Susie Hines and Steven Ciccone to Amy McNab and Johnny Curtis, grabbed their jars and, at Peggy Buckman’s command, they splattered the paint all over me, from my position in the middle of the room. The first splotch of yellow paint fell square on my head, like yolk from an egg, and the shock made me open my mouth –big mistake –because the next one was a green blob that landed on the right side of my face. I tried to cover myself with my arms. That didn’t stop them in the slightest. They kept throwing the contents of their paint jars on me, orange and pink and violet and red and blue, laughing louder and louder. I tried to scream but I had paint in my mouth. I tried to spit it out but there was so much of it…

“What is going on here!?” Miss Klasky exclaimed.

Only then it stopped. I realized I was sobbing, and I got furious at myself for not being able to keep it together, at least until I was alone. There was a silence now, but some kids were still giggling and chuckling behind their hands. I didn’t need a mirror to know I looked like a weird modern painting.

“Whiffy started the paint fight!” Johnny Curtis cried, pointing a finger at me. “We saw her opening a jar of red paint—”

“Yes, she was about to throw it to me!” Peggy Buckman lied shamelessly.

“I wasn’t—!”

“Miss Valentine, I’m afraid I’ll have to send you to the principal’s office,” she said in a tired sigh. “This is… Goodness, this is a mess. Why do you kids do this? What could you even gain from this?” she continued saying in her teary voice. “Why can’t you all be kind and sweet to each other? You don’t understand how difficult it is to be a teacher, to try and keep these sorts of situations under control…”

I just sighed and tried to stop crying, feeling paint dripping down my nape, under my dress, down my neck, down my arms. It was hard to blink with yellow paint over my eyes.

“Go on, Valentine!” Miss Klasky insisted, pointing at the door. “To the principal’s office!”

I huffed and left the room, fidgeting with the little red jar of paint in my pocket, but I stopped right on my heels once I was out of the art classroom. Miss Klasky wasn’t escorting me. I didn’t have to do what she said.

And, before some other teacher saw me running in the halls, I rushed out the backdoor of the school, deciding against wasting even one more second in there, even only to wash my face in the bathroom.

That ugly dark area behind the school was where students came to smoke, make out and not be seen by the teachers. I had heard stuff about fights going on there, about one kid from the eight-grade biting another kid’s ear off a year ago. It was the sort of place Bri wouldn’t set a foot in. It was not the sort of place I would have expected to find the janitor I shared my lunches with.

I stood there for a moment, watching her smoking with her back to me and sitting very still. She eventually turned around and glanced at me with one raised eyebrow.

“Don’t you have class, you?” the janitor said.

“… Don’t you have work?”

There was a silence, but then the janitor smiled, giving me a flash of her rotting teeth, and let out a throaty laugh. “Alright. Do whatever you want, sweetface.”

I looked back at the hall, where any moment now a teacher might pass by and notice me out of the classroom. I decided to sit down beside the janitor, on the concrete steps. It was better to spend that time I needed to kill with her than alone, I thought. She was in her cigarette break, it seemed, but then again it could be she was skipping work too. I didn’t ask her about it.

“Can I have a drag?” I did ask her. She shot me a glance. I smiled as innocently as I could. She sighed and handed me her cigarette.

“You kids start smoking too young.”

“At what age did you start?”

She didn’t answer me. I had started that same year, mostly because Lisa Altomare had started, too, and I thought it would give me something to talk about with her. It really didn’t.

“Do you hear a lot of student gossip, as a janitor?” I insisted.

She let out a hearty laugh. “Are you looking for something to challenge princess Peggy Buckman, Miss Valentine?”

I blushed, gritting my teeth. The janitor just gave me a strong shoulder squeeze that hurt a little.

“I can’t fault you for it,” she said. “I see what these girls do to you, what they do to the other kids. But I promise you, sweetface: nothing I can tell you is strong enough to get Buckman down a peg.”

I let out a small scoff. “Well, I would like to know regardless.”

The janitor took a long drag. “… Amanda McNab practices her crying in the bathroom every morning before anyone else arrives. Movie actress-style,” she told me quietly. “She stares at her reflection in the mirror and begins to sob, and if she doesn’t like it so far she stops and starts over again.”

“How do you know that? Does she do that while you’re still cleaning the bathroom?”

“Indeed she does,” she grinned. She had really bad teeth, yellowing with black gums. Still, I rarely ever saw the janitor smiling, so I was happy to see that. “Are you that surprised to know most people barely register me being there?”

I thought of that for a moment. Of course I wasn’t surprised, when I only had realized the janitor was even a person since I had to have lunch at the same table as her. I was even less surprised for someone like Amy McNab to be so self-centered to not realize there was someone else in the room with her. Still… Didn’t it bother the janitor? I knew I hated it when people ignored me. I was used to it, partly, yes… But that didn’t mean I was alright with it. I was just a kid, though. Nobody cared about what I had to say. The janitor was a grown woman. Shouldn’t she have a way to demand more respect?

“What about Peggy Buckman?” I asked her, scooting a bit closer to her. She smelled rather strongly of bleach. “What weird things does she do?”

“Margaret Buckman… I’m sorry, sweetface,” she sighed. “What can I tell you? Buckman keeps her secrets well hidden, well off this school’s grounds. She complains about her parents to her friends. She discusses whether or not John Curtis is cheating on her. She insults Amanda McNab and Lisa Altomare when they try to joke with her. She’s been calling little Steven Ciccone a fag lately, along with the other boys in the fourth grade. Amanda McNab has been telling her to add Susan Hines to their little clique, but Buckman seems more interested in rejecting her for the time being. But I have a feeling you already know all that.”

I did, mostly, except that last thing about Susie Hines. She was this very pretty girl with soft blue eyes and natural red hair, not like my mom’s but much softer, like copper, and who had joined the school this year. I thought that since she didn’t know anyone else yet, I could be her friend. But Peggy made sure that first thing she knew was that I was a freak and that nobody would like her if she spend any time with me. Since then, apparently, she had decided Susie was a potential enemy.

“… Were you ever bothered by girls like Peggy and Amy, back when you were in school?”

She looked at me with sad eyes, like a cow’s, leaning her head against her hand that held the cigarette. It almost seemed like the smoke was coming out of her right temple. Like she was sad, but somehow still furious, like when cartoon characters were fuming like a steam train. “Yeah, something of the sort.”

I nodded. I wouldn’t end up a janitor, but if I did, I would try to help other girls like me.

“Can’t you tell Principal Hughes about the horrible things they do?” I asked her. “They would listen to you.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “I barely talk with Hughes. None of the teachers give a single shit about what I think or what I do. As long as the bathrooms are clean and the halls are waxed, I’m like a ghost with a wage.”

“You think they would fire you, if you told them about Peggy Buckman?”

“No. If I pressed enough, they would, of course. They don’t want me being a bother. But… I really can’t do much to help you, sweetface. I’m simply this school’s janitor. That’s just a fact of life.”

The janitor gave me another of her very sad looks. I didn’t want her sympathy. I wanted her help, and I refused to believe that she was as powerless as she said she was. At the very least, she had experience. If she couldn’t do anything about my situation, she surely knew something about what I could do.

“At the end of the day, the only one you can count on is yourself,” she sighed, as she puffed a big cloud of smoke.

“How did you get through school, when you were my age?”

I wondered if I was annoying her. Most of the time I do, and grownups told me so –usually much earlier into the conversation. By this point, though, I had a feeling the janitor was alright with me asking such questions. If she was bothered by them, after all, she would probably have said something about it. She was a tough-looking woman. She was big and fat and strong. If she smacked me on the back of the head, I knew it would truly hurt. If she grabbed my arm and squeezed hard, she might manage to break it.

“First of all, you must not show fear. That’s how the bullies get off,” she said, putting out the cigarette against the cement steps. “You can’t let them know you’re afraid.”

I wasn’t afraid. I was angry. But in this case, it felt like the distinction didn’t make any difference. “That sounds a lot like what the principal says,” I huffed. “‘Just ignore them’…”

“Well then, sweetface, you go to step two,” she said, and turned to face me. She had a few warts on her face, which made me think of the cardboard witches that decorated the town during Halloween. It felt like she had some sort of ancient wisdom to her. “Make them afraid. Make them wish they never crossed you in the first place.”

I examined her face more closely. Apart from the warts, I noticed some scars on her hands and on her right cheek that I couldn’t see before, because of how she was sitting beside me. I wondered how she got them.

“… I can do that,” I said with a smile.

The janitor kept smoking in silence for a few minutes more before telling me she needed to go back in. I nodded, and told her I was going to skip school for the day. She said nothing to this. I told her I hoped to see her again next day at lunchtime. To that she smiled, and said she hoped the same. While I walked away from school, I wondered if the janitor was my only friend at school. I thought that sounded pretty pathetic, and decided I would not consider her a friend. It would be weird –like considering a teacher a friend. It was just weird.

I had to walk home, since I wasn’t gonna stay around and wait for the school bus to take me home. I knew the way back; it went back to the town center, and from there to the suburbs where most of us lived. That didn’t change the fact that it was a long walk. There was time, though, I told myself. There was no rush to get home.

I rubbed my face with the sleeve of my dress. The paint had already dried, but I still wanted to at least be more or less clear-faced. I was going to be moving across town, and even if it was a weekday, I had the feeling I would come across plenty of people who would look at me funny, with how I was looking.

I passed by the town center just as the church bells rang three in the afternoon. I had no money for an ice cream. The toy store had a sign that said ‘WILL BE BACK IN ‘5’, but I had a feeling they wouldn’t even let me in in the state I was. I wondered if I could sneak into the little cinema on the next block, that I knew was probably open at that time, without paying the ticket; but I really didn’t feel like watching a movie right then.

So, with nothing to do, I decided to hunt for spiders again. The one I had caught the other day hadn’t returned to its web. I wondered what would happen to it, if another spider would take advantage of a fully formed home and move in. That’s what I would do, if I was a spider.

A radio was turned on out of a sudden, startling me, and began playing some music. I didn’t know the song, but I recognized the voice humming along to it.

“Wild thing, you make my heart sing… You make everything groovy… Wild thing…”

It came from the auto shop nearby. My heart made a leap in my chest. Heath was there, his forehead beaded with sweat, his hands dirty with car grease. He took occasional gulps from a coke bottle he left right by the toolbox. The orange afternoon sun shone on him and made him glow. He really was the most beautiful man I had seen.

“Wild thing, I think I love you… But I wanna know for sure,” he said, echoing the words from the radio. “So come on and hold me tight… I love you.”

‘I love you’. When Heath sang it, I could almost imagine he was saying it to me, quietly and softly and sweetly, just to me and me alone.

And I was standing there, looking like a dirty paintbrush, with my sticky pigtails and my ugly dress and my face crossed by color blotches. I was so entranced by the sight of him that I didn’t even have time to run away and hide when he noticed me.

“Hey, you, kid,” he said, crouching down, looking at me with the curiosity of one who finds a weird bug in their backyard. “Are you lost?”

“No…”

“What happened to you?”

I didn’t want to say. Mostly, I didn’t want the first thing Heath knew about me to be how I had no friends at school. I just kept silent, desperately trying to think of something clever to say. He went back into the house, though, and I silently cursed myself for being such an idiot… And he came back, carrying a wet rag, which he kindly handed to me.

“Here, wash yourself up,” he said with a smile. “You went headfirst into an art project, or something?”

I smiled and nodded. “Yes, that’s what happened.”

After rubbing my face thoroughly with the rag, wiping as much dry paint off my face as I could, I just had to hope that Heath would believe that ‘art project’ story. I wondered if he liked creative girls the best.

“Thank you,” I said, handing back the rag. My face felt a lot better, even if I still felt some paint itching behind my ears and under my chin. I ran my hands through my hair with the hope that at least that way I would manage to smooth it out.

He glanced at me up and down. I stood very still, throwing my shoulders back very slowly. My mother often criticized my posture, and I didn’t want Heath to think I was a hunched-over creep. He probably already had a pretty skewed first impression of me anyway, though.

“What’s your name, doll?”

It was the first time anyone had called me doll. I grinned even wider. That probably meant he liked me already. “… Tiffany,” I replied, before realizing I should probably speak up. “Tiffany Valentine.”

Heath raised his eyebrows before letting out a little scoff. “Tiffany. Bit of a mouthful. What do your friends call you?”

After considering lying to him for a moment, I couldn’t quite decide what I would like for him to call me. If he was really going to call me at all. “… I don’t have a lot of friends,” I finally admitted. Tiffy was too childish. And I definitely wasn’t gonna tell him what my classmates called me.

“Hm. How old’re you?”

I was about to answer him, but thought it over. “… How old do you think I am?”

Heath laughed, throwing his head back and scratching his chin. God, he was so cute. “Hard to say… You kinda sound like a five-year-old.”

I touched my throat. Did I really sound that childish?

“Here,” he said, handing me the cigarette. “This’ll help you get your voice to catch up with the rest of you.”

I took the cigarette and glanced at him again, wondering what he was thinking about me. I took a drag, making sure to hold the cigarette between my index and middle finger, like I had seen it in movies, and blow the smoke up, like my mother did. When I looked back at Heath’s face he had this rather surprised expression. “I steal cigarettes from my mother,” I explained.

“Huh,” he said simply, taking the cigarette back, looking sort of disappointed. “I wouldn’t have guessed it from the look of you.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, a bit worried. “What do I look like?”

He laughed. “Hard to say. I guess…” Heath glanced at me up and down again. It didn’t feel like he was judging me, like the kids at school did. It felt like he was appreciating me. I felt so glad about it, even though I was still an awkward-looking, paint-splattered fourth-grade kid. “… I guess you don’t look like anyone I know.”

I giggled. The way he said it, it sounded like a compliment.

“You, um… You live here?” I asked him, pointing at the auto shop.

He smiled and nodded. “My very own castle.”

“You live on your own?”

“No, not yet, luck has it,” he sighed, patting the brick wall. “With the old man, he’s back there. He’s deaf, though. An old war wound. So I help him out in whatever way I can… And in return I can do whatever I want.”

“That sounds great,” I smiled.

“Yeah, guess it is,” he shrugged. “Especially for a kid like you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I see you, passing by after school,” he said, lowering his voice. “I see your angry face. You make this sort of pout, you see,” And he imitated the pout, frowning hard, puffing his cheeks. I giggled. He had noticed me! “I guess you’re pretty unhappy at school. Makes sense. I hated school.”

“You did?”

“Those who don’t are just lying to themselves.”

“But… Don’t you go to school anymore?”

“Fuck no,” he said, acting offended. “Dropped out in the ninth grade. I’m much more useful here, with my old man.”

I blinked. I knew that kids skipped school, but not that they could drop out entirely. “I want to drop out,” I declared.

“Would your parents be okay with that?”

“No…” I muttered. “But I don’t care. They’re not okay with anything I do anyway.”

“One of those families, hm?”

I didn’t know what he meant with that. It seemed like he had a pretty perfect family. He helped his father around, and his father didn’t bother him. I didn’t think his father would yell at him for forgetting to tidy his room or for not having the best grades or for not getting along with a sibling. Then again, Heath seemed to be pretty sociable. This was one of the rare times in which there wasn’t another guy his age helping him around with a car, laughing with him, sharing a smoke. Maybe those other boys had a family like mine. Maybe we all wanted to be friends with Heath, to have a moment in which we felt like he was part of our family, and that everything was alright. I knew I wish I could have stayed with him there, at the auto shop, and reinvent myself.

“I’d like to learn to drive,” I said out of a sudden.

He laughed again. “You? I don’t think you’d manage to hit the pedals, Tiffany. You still got some growing up to do.”

“Well, I gotta learn someday…”

“Surely you’ll eventually get yourself a nice guy who’ll drive you around,” he said, leaning back against the hood of the car.

“Maybe… But I’d like to know, anyway. I wanna be able to get into a car and leave… To go anywhere I want.”

Heath nodded with a sigh. “That’s the dream, isn’t it?”

So he understood. “Yes.”

“To be free.”

“Yes, exactly!”

“Where would you like to go?” he asked me.

“Um… I would love to go to Hollywood,” I admitted. “I would like to be an actress, a glamorous one, like Marilyn Monroe. Or to go to New York. I heard it’s full of big shows, and there’s ballet and music and places to go to dance…”

He handed me the soda bottle. There was still some of it left. I took a tiny sip. It was a bit warm, sickly syrupy sweet, and the bubbles tickled my nose. We didn’t have soda at home. It was an unnecessary expense, dad said, only fitting for birthdays or special occasions.

“So, you got it all figured out already, huh?” Heath said with one of his beautiful bright smiles.

Feeling emboldened by his words, I dared to take back the cigarette from his hand. “… I guess I do, sweetface,” I said, stealing the expression from the janitor, keeping my voice low, imitating something I saw on TV. In my mind I was older, and my badly-painted smile was close to seductive, and my voice was not squeaky and baby-like anymore. It was the sort of voice you could say one was using on purpose.

He laughed out loud. I laughed along. “Yeah, you certainly seem to know what you want to be,” he told me. I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but I kept the smile on my face, believing myself to be quite charming, and nodded.

I wondered once again what Heath thought of me. Did he think I was silly, for showing up to talk to a stranger almost twice my age, about family and cars and running away? Did he find it pitiable? Did he find it relatable? I had a feeling he understood me. He had shared a cigarette and a coke with me. I felt like that was the sort of thing you did with someone you considered a kindred spirit. Maybe, even with me looking like I did, Heath would start to consider me a friend.

“I’m… I’m sorry for showing up looking like this,” I blurted, making a quick vague gesture at my paint-splattered dress. “I know I’m a mess.”

“C’mon, as if I could judge you on that,” he chuckled sweetly.

I frowned, not really understanding what he meant. He smiled a bit wider, and rubbed his hand against his cheek. Only then I remembered he had black car grease all over him. I giggled.

“Now we’re matching,” he chuckled along.

I giggled some more. For a moment I couldn’t look away from his face, his perfect face, how beautiful it seemed even when covered with grease and sweat. I had been watching him ever since I came along with my father to get the car checked, something around a year or two ago. Ever since, Heath had been my image of a perfect man. When I fantasized about being swept off my feet, the prince who did the sweeping off had his features. When I dreamed about a romantic encounter like those in the movies, in which nothing could be said outright but everything was silently understood, it was with a man who looked much like Heath. I wanted him so badly, even as a bratty kid. I wanted someone like him, who understood me and loved me, so desperately. And now that I knew his name, and that I knew what my name sounded when said by him, I felt like I was so much closer to him than ever before.

Eventually I had to said goodbye and get going. However happy I was for that one good thing that had happened that day, I was so tired from walking that, by the time I arrived home, I couldn’t even try to slip in without my mother noticing. And I didn’t really need to. Before I could open the door, it swung open by itself –and my mom stood there right between the porch and the living room. I looked up at her, gathering whatever strength I had left to say hello…

But she didn’t say anything, she just turned bright red and grabbed my wrist and dragged me to the bathroom. She turned on the faucet of the bathtub, shot me one of her glares, and left –and I heard the clicking of the door being locked.

“Mom?”

I banged on the door. I couldn’t open it.

“Mom!”

I paced back and forth, using all my willpower to avoid looking at myself in the mirror. I finally took off my clothes and decided to take that bath that my mother had implied I should take. Joke was on her, I actually wanted to take a bath as soon as I got home. She just didn’t need to lock me up in there for me to do so.

When the bathtub was full, I stepped in. The dry paint peeled off of me and dissolved into the water, making colorful swirls that kept me entertained for a while. Half an hour later or so, though, the colors had all mixed together to make this sort of ugly greyish, dark brownish shade. The water was no longer warm and my fingers were all pruned. I sighed. With the water being that dirty that quick, I thought, I wasn’t gonna get any cleaner. Still, I knew I had paint on my hair, and after putting on some shampoo (we were running out, and to make the most of it dad usually watered it down before we finally threw it away and got more from the store) and washing it as thoroughly as I could, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and dipped my head under water. I loved doing that. I imagined that the sounds I heard while doing that were not too different from those from the ocean. I think what I heard was actually just the rumbling of pipes and sewage system, but in my mind, it was all much more interesting.

I got out of the bathtub, pulled out the drain plug and watched the water being sucked out. When I began being called Whiffy at school, I actually took really long baths every day, and if I hadn’t classes so early in the morning I would have probably taken baths before school too. I used to be worried that I actually did stink. Even mom noticed I ended up all red after my baths after scrubbing myself so hard. She had told me that I didn’t smell bad, that it was just something kids said to annoy me. Now I wondered if my mother smelled something rotten about me.

There was a click on the door. It opened, and mom handed me my pajamas and underwear in silence before leaving back to the kitchen. I put the dirty dress in the laundry basket, but remembered to take the little paint jar and the soda bottle out of my pocket and, before going to the kitchen for dinner, I hid them under my pillow.

“… Where’s my dinner?” I asked once I sat at the table.

Dad, Bri and mom were already halfway through the meal. I had no dish, no glass of milk, nothing. Had mom forgot?

Bri glanced up at me, playing with the peas in her plate. Dad kept on eating as if he hadn’t heard me. Mom stared at me for a moment longer, but sighed and took a sip of her glass. I felt a little nudge against my knee. There was a bread roll, being handed by a small hand across my chair. I shot Bri a little surprised look, but took the bread. Mom noticed, though, and snatched it right out of my hungry fingers, leaving me only with crumbs.

“But—!”

“How was the office today, dear?” mom said mechanically, turning to her husband.

Dad shrugged. “Same old, same old. Rob’s due for a promotion, it seems –though God knows what he has done to earn it.”

“I learnt how to spell my name today in class!” Bri exclaimed.

Dad gave Bri a little smile and continued eating his dinner. Mom kept looking directly at me.

“What about your grades, Tiffany?” she asked me.

“They’re alright,” I said, looking down at my lack of a dish. They weren’t, but I didn’t want to admit it out loud.

“You used to be so smart,” she sighed. “What happened?”

I shrugged. At some point growing up I lost whatever ability I had to keep focused on something. Sounds were all too loud for me, too loud to ignore. Every little movement called my attention. And literally everything, from a lice crawling through Mark Hawkins’s hair to a new mole on Amy McNab’s shoulder, was more interesting than whatever Miss Collins was yapping about. I knew that if I said anything about this, though, mom would say I was just being difficult. Good grades were extremely important for her. She often said a good education lasts forever. I was sure Bri was going to take that advice to heart: even as young as she was, she was already getting the best grades. Me, I was a lost case. I think everyone at my house knew that already, even if we all preferred to pretend it wasn’t an issue.

“You should get a hobby, or something along the lines,” my mother said, serving dad some more mashed potatoes. “Maybe that’s how you can make some friends.”

“Yeah, find some people who share your interests,” dad said.

“Well… I do like baking—” I said with a shrug.

“A hobby that’s not baking,” mom interrupted with a glare. “You bake for others, and if you don’t have friends for baking right away, I know you’ll…” She let out a big puff of cigarette smoke. “… You’ll just eat it all up by yourself.”

“But… There’s not much else I’m that interested in,” I said.

“So, you find something,” dad said, shoveling forkfuls of potatoes into his mouth.

“What was your hobby when you were my age, mom?”

“I didn’t have any hobbies. I had work to do.”

I frowned. “Well, there must have been something you liked to do—”

“I didn’t have time for hobbies, Tiffany.”

“What about sewing?” I asked her, lilting my voice higher, to sound more like Bri. Sweeter, nicer. “You know so much about sewing… You probably sew since you were my age, right?”

“I learnt to sew since I was your age because I needed to, Tiffany, not because I enjoyed it. I needed to make clothes for myself. I needed to earn money to help buy us a meal.”

“Besides, sewing’s probably not the sort of activity you can learn with other kids,” dad commented. “Nowadays you can just do everything with a sewing machine. Think of something like… I don’t know. What do kids do nowadays, Bri?”

“Some of my friends are joining the Girl Scouts,” she said chipperly. “It sounds pretty fun! You could join too, Tiffy.”

“I’m not joining the goddamn Girl Scouts,” I groaned, watching the warm mashed potatoes with hungry eyes. “They wear that silly uniform, and they have to work… And I’m definitely not joining if you’re joining too.”

Mom pursed her lips, but I think she gave up on trying to get me to behave. I knew now that she could just decide for me not to have dinner, though. So, whether I wanted to or not, I had to behave, at least so I could make sure I would have a plate waiting for me the next night. The rest of the dinner, while Bri told us about some dumb thing that a friend of hers did during recess, I kept absolutely silent, lost in thoughts of Heath’s smile and a shiny new car that would take me away from that place.

After dinnertime mom watched us carefully while we changed into our pajamas. I guess she wanted to make sure I didn’t lose my temper with Bri and try to shove her again. When my sister and I got into bed, she had one last drag of her cigarette, turned off the lights and went back to her own bedroom. I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep, counting silently to myself as far as I could count. Once I couldn’t hear Bri tossing and turning anymore, I decided it was time.

“Psst… Bri!” I called in a whisper. “Are you up?”

Silence.

“Bri, you little bitch, wake up!”

She still said nothing. I got out of bed and into the hallway, from where I could see my parents’ bedroom. I could hear them snoring. They were all asleep.

I took out my love altar from my closet, and the matchbox I had hidden in my sock drawer. I carefully lit the candles in my little altar and placed the soda bottle in the middle of it, touching the lip of it with the tip of my finger. It was still somewhat sticky. I thought of how Heath looked that afternoon, glowing in the sunlight like in a TV ad, drinking straight out of it, like a kiss. Like I wanted him to kiss me someday.

“Please, please, make Heath love me…” I pleaded in a whisper, my eyes tightly shut, my hands intertwined in a prayer. “Make him fall in love me… Let us be together and in love. Please, please, please…”

The flickering light of the candles made shadows dance on the face of my little Marilyn Monroe cutout doll, on the plastic skulls, shining on the sequins of my altar. It felt religious indeed. Having the sense that something was missing, I picked one of those candy hearts I had sprinkled around, closed my eyes, and laid it on the tip of my tongue, like the Eucharist wafers at church. The ceremony, then, was complete.

I didn’t have much of an opportunity to see if it had changed anything in Heath’s feelings towards me. Soon we had Gladys Buckman’s garden party, and that was the sole center of my mother’s attention (and, therefore, me and Bri’s) for the remaining week leading up to the eventful Saturday.

That morning dad had to leave to do something at work, that excuse that made mom angry but which she said nothing about. While mom finished cooking the casserole she had decided to bring along as a gift and Bri had her bath, I found the perfect moment to put my revenge plan into action. I grabbed all the baby dolls that I had to share with my sister and brought them to the garage, where dad had his tools and all the stuff for fixing his car (he didn’t know how to do it, but he had the tools to show he intended to) and for eventually fixing the lawn mower (which he hadn’t shown any interest in fixing in the last two years). I found a funnel that would work perfectly to what I had in mind. Holding each doll as still as I could, I made the little holes in their mouths just the tiniest bit bigger with a nail and a hammer. Then, I mixed the red paint I had smuggled out of school with a little water in a bucket, to make it liquid enough for it not to dry too soon. I looked around for something to make it less of a bright red, and found a bottle of something called Danish Oil that had a slightly brown color, perfect to darken my paint. I mixed it in (it had a horrible smell) and was delighted to realize that it even made the mixture a bit thicker. Perfect. Now all I had to do was mix like one would mix cake batter, and use the funnel to carefully fill the heads of the baby dolls with the resulting liquid. I couldn’t fill their heads up, of course, because then it wouldn’t be a surprise at all. It had to be just enough so that nothing would be evident while they were sitting down on the shelf –but just enough that they would puke blood when Bri tried to bring them down to play.

“Tiffany!” mom called me while I was making sure the dolls were sitting just like when I had found them. “Come here.”

I had a wave of fear wash over me, wondering if she had seen me. But, as I walked to her bedroom, I realized it was nothing of the sort. It was almost midday but the room was almost dark: she had drawn the thin orange curtains, and she seemed like a hazy silhouette among the cigarette smoke.

“Did you brush your teeth?” she asked me.

“Yes, mom.”

“Did you make sure your nails are clean?”

“Yes.”

“And behind your ears?”

“Yes, mom.”

She nodded in silence. The curlers piled up under the net in her head made her look taller. When she took the cigarette off her lips, I got a glimpse of her mouth. Mom often forgot to buy floss at the store, so she often simply plucked a hair off her head and used that to clean between her teeth. I knew when she did it because her pink gums would have little bursts of blood, like lipstick stains.

“Zip me up, Tiffany.”

I nodded. She turned around and I saw the dress she was wearing under her dress, a skin-colored thing made of elastic and stretchy fabric that, I had to assume, was worn to dissimulate the rolls that apparently popped out right after being taken her wedding picture. If she was to wear a tight dress like that which she had prepared for the occasion, it made sense for mom to want to appear as smooth as possible.

“Remember to be extra polite today, do you hear me, Tiffany?” she said while I struggled with the zipper. A drop of sweat fell down her back and under the floral fabric of her dress. “And don’t forget to smile. Remember, the face you give the world tells the world how to treat you. And don’t take more than two pieces of food from the buffet. And don’t wolf things down like you often do, eat slowly and properly. And always say please and thank you. Our behavior will be closely watched by the Buckmans. We need to make a good impression.”

There was a fat pink mole on my mother’s back, like a weirdly placed nipple, squeezed upward by the collar of her dress. I wondered if mom knew about it. Then I realized that of course she did, and that she probably had tried to hide it under the dress. What she probably did not know was that it had reared its head back out.

“Done,” I said, staring at the mole. Mom sighed and took the net off her head, and began removing the curlers. I watched her, trying to remember how she did it. Someday I would wear curlers too, and my hair wouldn’t be straight and dull anymore.

It was too late for curlers then, but still, I wondered if my mother, in her experience, had something she could do for me. “Um… Could you do my hair, please?” I asked her. Even a ponytail would be better than what I had. Two pigtails, a crooked fringe, and a forgettable face.

Mom the tried to brush my hair and make it so that it curled inwards at the end, like the pretty little girls in the fashion catalogue magazines at the dentist’s. Problem was, my hair didn’t seem to want to stay any other way but straight. So I sat on her lap while she pulled and brushed and brushed, trying to force it into shape. By the time she was done and hair-sprayed it securely in place, I had tears in my eyes and felt like I had just been scalped.

“Mom, how do I look?” Bri asked, coming into the bedroom, twirling in her new dress. Mom smiled at her, bringing her hands together.

“Lovely, dear,” she said, kneeling carefully as to not rip any seams in her tight floral dress (she had already hurriedly mended the sleeve of my pink dress that Bri had ripped before, and I assumed she didn’t want to have to do that all over again), and adjusted the waistband of Bri’s skirt. “This needs to be worn higher, though…”

She pulled it up and Bri winced. Higher and it clearly squeezed her too much. Bri was still pretty small, and she didn’t even have a semblance of a waist. The dress was meant to create an illusion of one –though it wasn’t very successful. Still, mom tried. She huffed quietly and undid the bow at the waist to tighten it. Bri groaned; mom shushed her.

“Now, that’s better. You look like a doll,” she said with a smaller smile. She didn’t seem to really think it was any better. Bri did look more like a doll, though, for what that was worth. Not like one of those beautiful Barbies, of course –more like the misshapen baby dolls I had just improved.

“What about me, mom?” I asked as I barely dared to touch the hair she had tried so hard to make pretty. “How do I look?”

Pursing her lips, she gave me a look up and down.

“You look… Acceptable.”

Bri and I sat on the bed while she redid her makeup. I thought of what she had told me, about the painted women, the floozies. I had looked up that word in the dictionary in the tiny bookshelf we had in our own bedroom. It read, ‘a vulgar or sexually promiscuous woman’; I wondered if mom really thought I was vulgar or sexually promiscuous. I wasn’t even a woman yet! Still, I didn’t understand why the way someone looked would reveal how someone behaved. Peggy Buckman, after all, was as pretty as could be, and she was easily one of the most awful people alive.

Finally, mom decided she had done the best she could, pulled at a couple of red curls to properly frame her face, and turned to us with a new cigarette between her fingers. “Are we ready, girls?”

Peggy Buckman’s house was huge, the largest in the neighborhood. The Buckmans lived in an angular piece of work that tried very hard to mesh some old style with the new modernism that was predominant. They had a big roomy lawn, though, surrounded by trees, with a little blue pool, a grill and a few lawn chairs, which seemed to have been plucked out of Better Homes and Gardens. There was a greenhouse worth of flowers all around the house, in the foyer (the house was so big it had a foyer), in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in vases adorning the few little garden tables.

“Tell your mama, girl, I can’t stay long… We got things we gotta catch up on,” sang the music on the radio. I tapped my feet, bopping my head along, just to not appear too serious or too nervous. “Mm, you know, you know what I’m sayin’… Can’t stand still while the music’s playin’…”

All the women announced themselves by clicking of heels and a big heavy cloud of strong perfume. Each varied in scent but it was mostly fresh flowers and bright citric, reminding me of that little spray of juice an orange has when peeled. At some point it all mixed together though. I sniffed myself from time to time, wondering if any of it had rubbed off on me, whether I should have stolen a spritz of my mother's before coming. For all that was worth, Peggy smelled like roses, even from a distance.

My mother’s bright red hair, so bright it seemed unnatural, were in curls so tight that it made it all look like a wig. There weren’t other red headed women at the party. There were light brunettes and blondes of different shades, maybe a strawberry blonde (what a wonderful little expression for something so mediocre) here or there, but mostly things that don’t defy belief. It was easy to spot my mom in a crowd. Maybe that was why I immediately walked away from her when she began socializing with the other parents, even though I didn’t really want to socialize with my classmates myself. Still, I looked pretty. Prettier than what I usually looked, at least, which wasn’t much; but I had my lovely pink dress on, and my hair was brushed nicely, and I had practiced my smile in front of the mirror every morning this week for the specific purpose of improving the relationship between me and the girls at school. The cigarette smoking hadn’t worked, the makeup wearing hadn’t worked either. I was running out of patience and of options. Regardless, I had to try.

“Hello,” I said, approaching the group of girls, with my rehearsed smile. They all just stared at me, at my audacity. “Um… Peggy, I want to say something to you.”

She exchanged a slightly surprised look with Amy, who just giggled nervously. Peggy turned back her attention to me. “Go ahead, Whiffy.”

I swallowed my anger, like I had done so many times before. I kept in mind what mom had said about being polite, and what Heath had said about my voice sounding like that of a younger child. For them to take me seriously, I made an attempt to lower my voice just a bit, just enough so that they could understand I was being a hundred percent honest. “I wanted to apologize for what I said to you back in school. When I called you the ugliest bitch in the world. It was mean of me to say so—”

“You don’t say.”

“And so I wanted to say that I’m truly sorry for what I did, and that I hope you can forgive me,” I finally said. I didn’t really feel sorry for what I did, but if it took me to lie about it for Peggy to forgive me and realize that maybe she didn’t need to keep calling me names and mocking me, then it would have been worth it.

Unfortunately, that it very much not what happened.

As soon as I finished talking, Peggy, Amy, Lisa and all the other girls burst out laughing.

“You, Whiffy, sorry?”

“Do you think we’re stupid?”

“You’re crazy! As if you could ever be anything other than a crazy ugly weirdo!”

“Apology not accepted,” Peggy said coldly. “I don’t even know why my mother invited you here.”

“Yeah, go away!”

“Go back to the farm where you were born!”

“Yeah, look at that dress!”

“Look at that hair!”

“She looks like an old ragdoll!”

“Is that what you think people in parties wear?”

“You never go to parties, clearly!”

“It’s like a dress from a hundred years ago!”

“You look ridiculous, Whiffy!”

“Go back to the circus, Whiffy!”

I felt my eyes becoming hot and glassy. I was about to cry. The janitor had told me, to not show fear. And I wasn’t afraid. I was angry. I was sad. But I wasn’t afraid –but I was crying, and I knew what they would think about it. I wanted to say something clever and curse them and insult them, but I knew that whatever I said they could tell their parents, and they would tell my mom, and I would end up looking like the bad girl. There was nothing I could do. There was never anything I could do: if Peggy Buckman and Amy McNab and the rest of the girls called me Whiffy, then there was nothing I could do about it, no amount of smiles and apologies and kindness that would change that.

Feeling dizzy, I tried to run away. Where, it didn’t matter –anywhere but next to the cackling crowd of girls. I tried to spot my mom in the crowd, and I saw her red curls pretty far away, inside the house, far from the yard. Some other kids were now coming closer, having heard the laughs, and were probably wanting to laugh, too. I turned around and tried to find some other direction to run towards –when I stumbled –I tripped –and next thing I knew I was hitting my shoulder against something hard and I had first my head, then my body, and lastly my feet underwater. I had fallen in the little blue pool. Too shocked to do anything, I sank to the shallow end, looking up at the sky, at the blurry faces of the kids watching me watching them. Underwater, I couldn’t hear anything but the rushing of my blood thumping in my head and the echoes of faraway voices. I wished I could stay there, hidden from the others. But I had to breathe at some point –and I pushed myself upwards –and took one big gasp of air –and suddenly I heard all the laughter, all the music, all the noise, and my own desperate sobbing and coughing.

“Hey, she got the way to move me, Cherry… She got the way to groove me…”

I dragged myself out of the pool. I was sopping wet, my hair all ruined, my pink dress clinging to me, no longer puffy and cute –though, apparently, I had been the only one who had thought it looked cute. A few hands reached out to me, pulling my hair, my dress, and I tried to swat them off. I hoped that the water streaming down my face from my fringe would hide my crying.

“God, you’re a mess, Whiffy,” Peggy laughed loudest of all. “Where are you going, now? Cry into a piece of cake?”

“Go back to the circus, Whiffy!”

“Look at the sad clown!”

“Gonna eat some cake to cheer you up, Whiffy?”

“You should leave,” Peggy said, now walking beside me while still keeping a bit of distance just so she didn’t get water on her own stylish and modern green dress. “What are you even gonna do here? Keep being laughed at?”

I said nothing. What could I possibly say?

“Grab your little sister, your ugly fat mother, and leave.”

“Yeah, Whiffy, leave!”

“Shut up, Amy,” Peggy said, giving her a shove, before turning back to me. “So? What are you gonna do?” she insisted. “You’re gonna leave, right?”

‘You fucking ugly bitch’, I thought, my hands curling into fists. Thinking it didn’t make me feel any better. I needed to scream it to her face. But I couldn’t not think of the consequences. I knew what would happen if I dared.

“Yeah –what are you gonna do?” Amy yelled.

What could I do? I was about to cry again. But what would that do? I would just keep feeling shitty. Nothing would change. Peggy and Amy and her other toadies would keep on bothering me, and I would have to see them every day of school, and every day this would all happen again, and nothing I ever did would change that. Nothing. Nothing, except…

“Hey, Whiffy!” Amy shouted. “I’m talking to you!”

And then it happened, like a sudden switch. My patience snapped.

It was like with Bri –but worse, because at least Bri was my own blood. Amy, however –oh, she just deserved a good pummeling.

I jumped towards her like a frenzied animal. I barely gave her a moment to react. Before she knew it she was with her back to the lawn and I was sitting on top of her, straddling her waist and raising my small eight-year-old fists. And, with a furious howl, I punched her directly on the nose. No slaps, no hair-pulling, no name-calling anymore. Full on blows.

There was a cracking sound. I felt a sting in my knuckles. I didn’t stop.

I continued punching her with all the strength I had. She tried to push me away like Bri had done. As soon as she got a hand on me I gave it a bite –she shrieked in pain –but another punch shut her up, now straight to the teeth. Couldn’t see anything but her oh-so-pretty face, now bloodied and bruised, her mouth half open, covered in drool, teeth crooked and one chipped, one eye half-closed and becoming red, her nose all fucked up –and kept on punching it, growing more and more ferocious, hitting faster and faster. Even as I felt the strain in my arms I didn’t feel tired at all. I just felt this burst of energy, this exhilaration. I even smiled. I was happy. Shit, I wasn’t happy –I was ecstatic. It was as if I couldn’t stop even if I tried.

I didn’t, certainly. I wanted to beat Amy McNab into a bloody pulp. I wanted to beat her within an inch of her life.

Maybe I could have been able to do it, if only the noise of the kids gathered around us, watching the show, hadn’t called the attention of the parents.

[tony-montana-shit]

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