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rafesproperty · 6 months ago

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A whole day of Rafe spoiling his precious gf... 💕

» masterlist

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

You woke up not feeling like your usual self, it's been a long time since you've done something with your hair or went to get your eyebrows done, sticking to basic skin-care for a while now.

Best bet Rafe is not gonna let your quiet "I feel like shit," slide, he asks why, baffled because to him, you're the hottest girl in the world, but gets out of bed anyway, telling you to get dressed and tell him where you want him to take you first as he's cancelling his business meeting for today.

You're chuckling as he's driving you to your favorite place to get your eyebrows waxed and get an eyelash lift (he doesn't really know what that is... but anything to make his girl happy), he sits down in the waiting room and deals with some e-mails while you follow the nice lady inside. She waxes your eyebrows and chats with you while she works on your eyelashes, complimenthing their length.

Rafe gives you a smile when you walk out and wink at him multiple times, showing off your lashes, your mood being a lot better already. He wraps his arm around your waist, squeezing you gently as he pays the lady with his black card, leaving a tip for being so nice to his precious baby.

He drops you off at your favorite hair salon, knowing damn well hair will take a lot of time and no chance in hell he's gonna sit around. "Get anything you want baby, alright?" He hands you his card and kisses you on the lips, loving to see you so giddy and excited.

You end up getting a hair cut, new layers and a new fresh color, not too drastic of a change but noticable enough to make you feel so much better. Your hair looks amazing, it always does leaving the hairdresser, so smooth and healthy, bouncy and they always give you the perfect blow-out. You already feel confident walking over to Rafes car.

"Hey there," he mumbles and hands you a cup of coffee that he got you on his way here and wraps a strand of your hair on his finger, smirking. He's so wrapping your new hair around his hand tonight... "lookin' gorgeous," he mumbles and you lean in to give him a kiss.

"Thank you, Rafey." "Mhm," he mumbles and pulls you closer, making out with you for a worth while.

He finally pulls away after a moment, his lips all puffy from how much you kissed him, and he runs his hand through your hair, not able to stop touching it. "Wanna get your nails done?" He asks, ready to provide anything you want today.

"Yeah," you blush, still a bit shy to ask for something from him. "Wanna pick the color for me?" "Mhm, sure." He taps your thigh when he starts driving, thinking about it for a moment.

"Blue?" "I knew it," you chuckle. "How?" "Guys always pick blue," you giggle again and he frowns, not happy with that. He won't be like guys, so he grunts and suggests red and white, proud of himself that he picked two colors. He loves you in red anyway. Fuck blue.

Rafe tells you to go ahead and that he'll be there before you're done.

You are treated so nicely at the salon, the guy doing your nails offers you wine, the place smells so nice, clearly luxurious, their chairs are covered in red velvet, comfy. You are almost done with your set when Rafe walks in, a little bag in his hand, walking over to you and looking at your nails over your shoulder, kissing the top of your head and wrapping his arm around your shoulders, holding you and allowing you to rest your chin on his arm as you to lean into him, clearly getting the need to show off that you're his girlfriend the second he saw the guy.

"You like them?" You look up at him and show him your free hand, Rafe kisses your knuckles gently, avoiding the fresh nail polish. "Mhm, love them baby." He whispers and you notice the man doing your nails straightening. Rafe stays there like a guard dog, his arm wrapped around your neck and shoulders the entire time.

He pays for you, holding your hand and brushing his thumb over your knuckles as you both leave.

"What'cha got there?" You giggle, leaning over him to steal a look at the bag but he shushes you and pulls you away by your waist, his grip so firm it sends shivers down your spine. "Don't be noisy," he smirks and you scoff, which earns you a squeeze on your hip.

The sun is setting when he leads you to his car again, you smile and just pull on his hand. "Rafe," you stop him for a second and he turns around, worry evident in his eyes. "Yeah? What's wrong?" His hand cups your face immediately and you just admire how pretty he looks in the golden hour.

"Nothin’, just... thank you." You smile up at him and he grins, pulling you closer. "Anytime, princess." He purrs softly and leans down to kiss you. You once again make out for a while, his hands roaming your hips and yours wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

He wanted to wait a little, but you also look stunning to him right now, looking up at him with your big eyes like he’s your entire world, so he rolls his eyes playfully and offers you the bag, kissing your forehead. “Open it.”

“For me?” You place your hand on your chest dramatically and he bites your cheek in return, eager for you to open his gift.

You pull out the small box, opening it and you stare at the silver bracelet covered in gems and heart detailing. “It’s… wow,” you breathe out, taking it into your hand and taking a proper look, some of the diamonds reflecting the sun.

Rafe smiles and gently takes it from your hand to put it around your wrist, taking a look at it in the sun himself once he does so. “Thank you, baby.” You finally say, looking up at him with watery eyes. What did you ever do to deserve him?

“I love you,” he huffs and leans in for another kiss, this one gentle, soft, slow. You kiss him back, holding his face between your hands.

“I love you too. So, so much.” And Rafe’s just happy to hear that, happy to be the provider and to be appreciated for it. It’s all he needs back from you.

You don't ask him for anything else, but you notice that he's driving in a different direction than Tannyhill. “Where are we going?" You ask as you lean into the seat.

"Gettin' you new clothes, baby," he mumbles as if that's the most obvious thing in the world and you want to refuse but he gives you this look that clearly indicates his mind is already made up and you're not doing anything about it.

You walked around the mall, trying all sorts of skirts and dresses, and Rafe followed behind you, usually dragging you into the more expensive stores 'cause you wouldn't go there yourself.

He got you some tops and skirts but you were still looking for a dress you’d like enough.

He liked you in anything, so he said you should get whatever you were currently trying on, but you just chuckled and said no. He honestly loved it, what a great idea to have a treating my favorite person in the world day, he could just sit down and stare at your body over and over again as you tried on different stuff.

"I love this," he mumbled as he got up, not resisting the urge to wrap his hands around you when you tried on a tight velvet dress with a slit at your thigh, "you look so fucking hot," he exhaled and kissed your neck gently, nibbling and brushing his teeth against your skin.

"Mhm," you arched your back, leaning into him and he let out a quiet groan. "We're gettin’ this one." He decided and you giggled, nodding, taking it off, but Rafe stepped in front of you. "Wait, lemme help," he mumbled, eager to get it off you later again. He helped you strip, grabbed the dress and another sun dress you tried on earlier that he loved as well.

You wrapped your hand around his bicep, yawning when you finally left the mall and made your way over to his car for the last time today. Rafe chuckled and placed your bags in his car before opening the door for you. "Tired from doin' nothin', baby?" He teased you and leaned over the car door to kiss you before you got in.

"Tryin’ on clothes is exhausting, you know?" You joked back and he grinned.

"Wanted to take you to dinner, but—“ "Rafe I'm really tired," you said softly, still grateful for the thought.

"I know, me too," he grabbed your hand into his. "We'll grab food on our way, yeah? What are you feelin'?”

"Dunno," you mumbled and closed your eyes, your hand playing with his fingers. "Chinese?" "Alright," he agreed and grabbed the food in a drive through and finally drove you both back to Tannyhill.

You both sat down on a couch to eat and let some random sitcom play in the background. The second you both finished your food you were on his lap, straddling him, kissing him passionately and running your new nails over his skin, feeling how he shivered under your touch.

"Thanks, Rafey," you said again, grateful that he made you feel so loved. "Anything for you, m'lady, okay?"

You chuckled at the nickname, kissing him again, running your nails over his chest and tugging at his shirt, earning a groan from him.

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reiderwriter · 8 months ago

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So obviously Spencer is iconic for his wide range of haircuts over the show, and I have this vision of a Spencer x hairdresser fic where he goes to the same hairdresser all the time because he likes the routine and it’s what he’s used to. So like they’re low-key friends bc he’s been her client so long, but then she notices he can’t come as usual and he tells her it’s because he’s always away or working late. So because they’re close she gives him private late appointments after she closes bc they’re more accessible for him, and then they’re always together late at night, and eventually they fall for each other!! And like she loves his curls and cringed when he wanted it cut short but loves it regardless AHH I JUST LOVE IT. Bonus points if Spencer gets to recommend his hairdresser girlfriend to his teammates just to brag about the fact he has a hot girlfriend lmao. I get it’s kinda long lol, if it’s too long a premise then no worries, just sharing it is nice :)

A/N: Hi! I love the idea of hair stylist reader, so I had a lot of fun writing this~♡ Thank you for your request, I hope you enjoy it!

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: implied Autistic Reid, brief mentions of sensory issues, writer does not care for the shows Canon hair continuity and does basically whatever she wants.

Masterlist

The first time you'd met Spencer Reid, you hadn't been able to cut his hair. Which was a damn shame because it really did need cutting.

Sweeping up the floors of the hair salon you worked at, you had noticed the man lingering outside, wringing his hands together and pushing them awkwardly through his hair, approaching and retreating every few seconds.

You watched him through the mirrors, and let him dance around like that for five minutes before deciding that the evening breeze would be a boon during the hot summer night that was about to set in on you.

Opening the salon door, you stepped outside and soaked in the fresh air before turning to the now frozen, slightly awkward man.

“Can I help you?” You tried to put a welcoming smile on your face, but the salon was past closing and empty beside you. You should've been heading home by now, but something in the man's posture had you dawdling.

“The barber shop down the road closed down,” he said quickly, as if the words were practised on his to guess moments before.

“Yes, that's true. It's been six months now.”

“Six months?” he squeaked out, running a hand through his hair as he turned inwards.

“Do you… need a haircut?”

“Yes. Yes, are there any other barber shops in the area?”

You rolled your eyes and walked back into the salon, picking up a robe and a shoulder cover and spinning around the closest chair to welcome him.

“Well, are you coming in?”

“But you're closed. Your sign says you're closed.”

“And I'm still here, aren't I?”

He didn't argue any further and hesitantly stepped into the salon.

You helped him out of his bag and put it away before helping him into the robe and shoulder pad.

He awkwardly stood around as you prepared your scissors and station again, switching on the mirror light so you could fully see his face and hair.

And damn was he attractive. As you smoothed his hair out of his face, you were met with warm brown eyes, open and anxious, like a deer caught in headlights. Or, more accurately, a dear caught in a hair salon.

You had to blink and look away as you remembered what you were about, standing up and leading him over to the sink.

“I'm… I'm a little bit sensitive about my hair,” he admitted quite meekly as you tested the temperature of the water.

“Okay. Is there anything specific?”

He sat himself in the chair but didn't lower his head to the bowl, so you waited.

After a minute or two, he gently lowered his head to the bowl, and you helped his progress, making sure he was comfortably settled. He didn't speak, just let his shoulders relax and closed his eyes as you turned the water on his locks.

You enjoyed the simple repetitions of your job. Everyone's hair was different, that was true, but there were really only so many ways to wash hair.

You rinsed his hair thoroughly, keeping the water away from his face and ears with a face guard before beginning to lather it up.

For a man who hadn't seen the inside of a salon in six months and likely a hairbrush in the same length of time, his hair was healthy.

De-tangling as you went, you ran your hands through the lengths of his hair, taking note of how it fell, which parts were healthy, and which had developed split ends. Then you began massaging his head, working the shampoo into his roots, making sure his scalp was free from any possible dirt or dry skin.

This was the best part of the haircut for you, and you knew your regular clients enjoyed it greatly as well. Which is why you probably shouldn't have been too surprised when the man fell asleep.

It took you a few minutes to realize that was what happened, the face guard obscuring his face from your vision. When you squeezed the water from his hair, patted it dry, and twisted it into a towel so the water wouldn't run down his back, you had no clue that he was away with the fairies.

It wasn't until you asked him to stand, and he didn't even move that you moved around the sink and lifted the face guard.

If he seemed anxious awake, it had melted away now. He looked younger asleep, more calm and confident somehow. His eyelashes were long, a fact you only noticed when you leaned in to get a better look at him.

It was your hand unconsciously tracing a hand along his jaw that woke him back up, and for a second, you just stared at each other, faces inches apart.

“I'm.. I'm so sorry, I should go. Thank you for… I should go,” he said hurriedly, pulling the robes and towels off and snatching his bag up, running out the door.

“Wait, your hair,” you called after him, but he was gone.

And he hadn't paid.

It took a week for you to collect the payment, though you couldn't care less about the money anyway.

But a week thinking about the man's delicate features, his shy smile and stutter, and you were very distracted.

Thinking about him had become your full-time job, as much as cutting hair had, and you'd had a few close encounters with the scissors when you were lost in thought.

You'd been thinking up back stories for the man ranging from the romantic to the obscure to the downright realistic. So, a week later, you found yourself behind on work and needing to stay late, just as he stepped into the shop a second time.

“Hello?” You shouted from the backroom, hearing the doorbell jingle as it opened. “We're actually closed right now, so- oh.”

He stood awkwardly in the door, his face already flushed slightly.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you said, trying to stop the grin spreading across your face. You didn't want to scare him off a second time.

“Last time, I… kinda ran away. I was… I'm not the best with-”

“With haircuts?”

“With change.” You both nodded at that, awkwardly staring at each other.

“So…?” You lead, trying to encourage him to introduce himself, hoping he would reveal something you didn't already know.

“You're closed again, but could you cut my hair?” He asked, pushing the long locks back on his head as he stood a little taller.

“It would be my pleasure…” you trailed off as a question, needing to know his name.

“Spencer. Spencer Reid. Doctor… just Spencer is fine if you'd prefer.”

“I'm Y/N. Come and take a seat.”

You slid him into the robes once again and got through a hair wash without any accidental naps this time. Though you did notice that he seemed to be enjoying it just as much.

His sighs left you feeling hot, your heart beating as you focused on his hair to draw your gaze from his lips.

When he was back I'm front of the mirror, he again looked like a scared cat that had been backed into the corner.

“So, what'll it be, Spencer?” You asked cheerily, combing your hand through his locks to detangle them.

“Hmm? Oh, a water would be nice.”

“For your hair, Spencer. What haircut do you want?”

“Oh! Oh, um, just a…just a haircut.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion as he doubled down.

“But what kind of haircut?”

“What kind?”

You pulled away from his chair for a minute and went to grab a cut reference book.

“Okay, so we've got undercuts, or trims, I can do pompadour or bowl cut or-”

You looked at Spencer's face again and saw that he looked more than confused.

“How about I just cut your hair and after you tell me if you like it or not?”

He nodded and gave you a weak smile as you grabbed your scissors.

Twenty minutes of silence later, and you felt Spencer exhale in relief as you dusted off the back of his neck and pulled the robes off of his clothes.

You'd gone for a shorter cut, but his curly hair had such a nice natural texture that you left it a bit longer on top. Without his hair in his face, his jawline was sharper, his eyes brighter, and you were somehow more infatuated.

He stood up shyly and you smiled at how good he looked.

“Okay, perfect! Let me just-” You lifted your hand and smoothed out some of his hair, picking up some strands and pushing them back and forth until it was just right.

He caught your hand just as you were about to pull away, and you suddenly realized how close he was. Or more accurately how close you had gotten. It was like you were breathing the same air.

“D-Do you like it?” You asked, voice small and high as it battled your heartbeat to be heard.

“Yeah. I like it. It looks… it looks like a haircut.”

You giggled as his grip became gentler, and your hand fell down to your side, brushing his chest gently as it descended.

“How much do I owe you?” He asked, and you led him over to the register to complete the payment.

“Thank you,” he said as he grabbed his bags to head out the door.

“Just doing my job. I'll see you in six weeks,” you said, waving him off.

“What for?” He asked, voice confused but bright. He sounded almost hopeful.

“For your next haircut, Spencer.”

He smiled and waved back as he walked back into the dark and disappeared down the street.

No one could ever accuse Spencer Reid of being forgetful, and six weeks later, he was back in your chair.

Except he didn't arrive at 11pm this time, but instead 11am.

The other customers and stylists gawked at the man as he walked in, and you thanked the gods that your seat was free as he met your eyes.

“Hi.”

“Spencer! You're back.”

He nodded shyly, head hanging a little as he ignored the many looks from the women in the room and the eruption of whispers and loud glances in his direction.

“It's been six weeks. You said that's when I'd need another haircut.”

You laughed a little as you pulled the robe around him.

“You know, I say that every time, but most people ignore me. I love a man who can follow directions.”

The eruption of red on his cheeks left you feeling suddenly tongue tied, and you carefully redirected the conversation back to the task at hand.

“Same again, Doc?” You asked, readying your spray bottle and supplies.

“Actually, could we, ah, go shorter this time?” Hesmiled sheepishly and watched as you ran your fingers through his tangled hair.

“My boss, last time, said I looked like I joined a boyband, so…”

“Your boss at the hospital?” You asked, clinging to every detail you could get from him.

“The hospital?”

“You said you were a Doctor, do you work in a lab instead or-”

“Oh. No, I work at the FBI. I'm not a medical doctor, I have a PhD. I have three, Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics.”

You whistled. “Impressive. You can't be older than 30.”

“I'm 29.” He said, smiling at you in the mirror, and you smiled back, hands still running through his hair.

“So, no boy band haircuts, okay. For what it's worth, though, you look totally hot.”

The words cut the conversation short, and you tried your best to take the words back as you went off to the sides to grab your sheers.

Half an hour later, and you could swear that half the salon had given up pretending to be doing their jobs and were just awkwardly ogling the man. If the shorter “boyband” hair was good, the undercut you'd done for him was even better.

You turned him around to get a closer look, using the excuse of making sure his hair was symmetrical enough to stare at him some more as you got closer to finishing.

“Okay,” you said with a sad sigh. “You're all finished, Spencer. Let's get you rung up.”

He nodded and followed you quickly, pulling out his wallet as he paid quietly.

“Okay. And I'll see you tomorrow,” you said, as he picked up his bags to leave.

“Tomorrow? I thought you said it was six weeks between haircuts.”

“It is. But it's also my day off tomorrow, so I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner. With me.”

He blinked at you once. Then twice, and another time before smiling and looking away.

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

He ran a hand through his hair and nearly walked into the door he was trying to walk through, but your heart still fluttered as you waved him out.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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readwritealldayallnight · 1 month ago

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Hello, I love your writing and I'm so sorry to bother you but I'd like to request... it may sound stupid and feel free to ignore this, maybe I'm just venting. Could you do a ghost comforts reader about their hair. Went to the hair salon today and the hairdresser cut off 7inches of my hair 😭. I know it's been said many times before but I literally feel like someone clipped my angel wings. Haven't stopped crying ever since. Hope you're doing good :,)

You were meant to call Simon to come pick you up after your hair appointment was finished, but after the stylist finally spun you around in the chair to face the mirror, you decided you needed the almost 30 minute walk home to be alone with your thoughts

You didn’t want to make this into a big deal when you saw him, it was just hair after all, you could practically already hear his deep Manchester accent telling you that it would grow back in no time

But another part of you was feeling slightly heartbroken, having gone in to the salon for what you hoped would only be a trim, an inch or two off the ends, and instead walked out with an entirely new haircut, wondering if the hairdresser had even been paying attention when you specified you wanted just a small cut

You haven’t had hair this short in a long, long time. Long before you knew Simon. And while you doubt he would ever have anything negative to say about, especially once he sees how bothered you are by it, small part of you can’t help but to worry about what his reaction will be

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, taking your mind off your pessimistic thoughts for a moment. Glancing at the screen, you see Simon has texted you

Si <3 : ‘Nearly done?’

You : ‘I’m almost home actually, decided to walk’

Si <3 : ‘???’

You : ‘You’ll see’

You : ‘:(‘

Turning the corner and spotting your building, you steady yourself with a deep breath, figuring it’ll be easier to just rip the bandaid off so to speak, and get this stupid reveal over with

Walking up to your front door with keys jingling in hand, you’re surprised when the door swings open before you even have a chance to find your right key, your mountain of a man evidently stood there waiting for you

“What are you doin’, walkin’ home for-” He cuts himself off when his eyes notice the change, irises darting from shoulder to shoulder, over your head again and again before landing on the sour expression on your face

“She took off so much more than I wanted.” You try not to literally whine as you squeeze past his hulking frame to slip into the flat, knowing he’ll be following right behind you. “It was only supposed to be a trim. Now I look-”

“Beautiful.” He cuts you off this time, your head whipping around to see if he’s truly making fun of you right now, but you find no trace of teasing or joking across his expression. Instead, you almost think you see the faintest tint of red creeping across his pale cheeks, his eyes constantly moving as they have trouble deciding where to land on you, taking in your new appearance in a way similar to someone admiring art work in a museum

“What?” You question, wondering if you’d misheard him. Or maybe the countless head injuries were finally catching up to him and he’d confused beautiful with horrendous

He takes a tentative step closer to you, reaching a hand out to slowly run his fingers across the newly cut ends of your hair

“You look beautiful, love. Don’t ya think?” He asks you, digits still gently playing with your locks

“I mean- not really, no. I didn’t want it this short.” You say, though your distaste for the cut is slowly diminishing as you witness just how much the man in front of you adores you

“Think it’s pretty.” He mutters, bringing his other hand up to join the exploration of your hair now. “Haven’t seen ya like this before.”

“You like it?” You ask timidly.

“Mhmm.” He hums in confirmation, stepping even closer to you now, coming around to stand behind you with his hands on your shoulders. “Makes it even easier to do this.” He adds, gently brushing your locks away from your neck before pressing a kiss as gentle as a butterfly below your ear, venturing his lips down tot he side of your neck, your collarbone, any skin his mouth can find

“I- I guess so.” You agree, slinking your own arm back to wrap around his neck, holding him closer to you. “Didn’t realize you’d like it. Was sure you were just gonna tell me ‘it’s hair, it grows back’.” He snorts at your weak attempt to mimic his voice, utterly butchering the accent. You can’t help but let out a small chuckle as well, feeling much lighter now than you did when the stylist first picked up their scissors.

“You’re a smart girl, lovey. Don’t need me tellin’ you that.” He replies, muscular arms coming to wrap around your middle, keeping you as close as he physically can. “You’ll need to show me how to write a review online though. They can’t have my girl coming home this sad and not expect consequences.”

First of all, thank you so much for the love and don’t you or anyone ever apologize for sending in requests or just ranting to me, I always love to hear from you

Second, I’m so sorry your haircut didn’t go the way you wanted :( that can be so tough, but hopefully this short lil drabble puts a smile on your face

Hope you’re doing well!

- M 🫶🏻

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fairyysoup · 11 months ago

Text

his hands

pairing(s): hairdresser!eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: How do you make getting a haircut an erotic experience? You have Eddie Munson as your hairdresser, of course.

cw: explicit, smut, unprotected piv sex, mirror sex, workplace sex, hand kink, choking, dumbification, dom!eddie, touch-starved!reader, semi-sort-of subspace happenings, referring to genitals with gendered pronouns, slight body worship, getting weirdly horny over a head massage, sexual tension, negative self talk, hair cut/style mentioned but no description of hair color/type, the aftercare is the haircut lol, implied 90s au, eddie's like 30, reader's age unspecified, eddie is employee of the month in my heart, not proofread, no beta we die like men

a/n: this is weird. and came from an interesting experience i had at the hair salon. and yes that is corpse's hand in that pic i didn't want to spend all day looking for a header pic shut up shut up shut up

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

Your hands twitch on the copy of Elle magazine in your lap. The familiar waiting area of your local salon has new furniture, which still smells a bit like the cellophane it came wrapped in, and hasn’t been worn out by patrons just yet. You’d asked for your usual stylist, Melissa. Except, you haven’t been here in so long, and apparently Melissa doesn’t work here anymore.

“We have a new stylist in her place,” the greeter at the front desk told you kindly. “I could fit you in if you’d like that same station?”

The station doesn’t matter to you; they all look the same and have the same tools. Obviously, when it comes to getting your hair cut, the stylist makes the difference. But, since you’re a couple months too late to catch up with Melissa, a new stylist is who you’ll be working with.

The PA still plays some sort of weird pop-rock fusion that mixes Nat King Cole with Billy Idol, but you just try to focus on it to keep your leg from bouncing. You always get anxious like this when you come in for an appointment, even though you always tell yourself the same thing. It’s just hair. If you don’t like it, it’ll grow back. Or, if worst comes to worst, you could always shave it.

You hear your name being called, and you look up to the person who’d just approached the waiting area around the partition that blocks off the styling area. You blink, your mind going fuzzy as you try to make sense of what you see.

“Looks like I’ll be cutting your hair today,” the man standing at the end of the row of chairs says, with a grin that puts boyish dimples on his cheeks. “I’m Eddie.”

Eddie the Hairdresser is a bit more than you can handle right now. Between his long, curly hair, and the shirt he wears that gives you a view of the tattoos crawling up his arms, you think your knees might already be made out of jelly as you try to stand. But then he sticks out his hand for you to shake, and he’s wearing big, chunky rings that glint in the light, and you think you might swoon like a Victorian damsel.

“I’m, uh–” you begin intelligently, as you fit your hand into his big one. He squeezes just the tiniest bit and smirks at you. “I– I’m trying to, uh–”

“First time?” Eddie asks you with a tilt of his head. His brown eyes crease at the edges with mirth.

“Oh, um, no,” you mutter, looking everywhere but at his dimples. He has a tattoo on his neck of a dragon. You stare at it for a moment too long. “I used to come and see Melissa, forever ago.”

“Oh! Yeah, Melissa was great. She trained me,” Eddie starts jabbering as he tilts his head and leads you around the partition. You’re met with the smell of hairspray and the sound of blow dryers getting louder. “She’s a hard act to follow, but I hope I can do well enough. Let’s get you started with a wash, hm?”

You smile as he winks at you conspiratorially. You always feel a little bit awkward as you sit in the chair for the wash sinks, but Eddie ushers you into it with a little wave of his hand and gently– more gently than you can remember even Melissa being– lifts the ends of your hair and places a soft towel around your shoulders.

“What kept you away all this time?” Eddie asks pleasantly as he tests the water temperature. “Melissa’s been gone for a while.”

“Yeah, I, uh, I was working a lot,” you stumble into an explanation, your cheeks heating up a bit. It’s hard not to feel like you need to repent for not coming in to get a trim every month. “Last time I came in, I got my hair cut really short, so it wasn’t like I needed to come in for a trim for a long time, and by the time I really needed one it was long enough that I could do it myself… so, I just kept doing that.”

“So, what are we doing today?” Eddie inquires as his fingertips brush along your temples to tuck your hair back behind your ears and into the wash basin. With gentle prompting, he tilts your head back into the bin and begins to wet the ends of your hair.

“I figured it’s time I go short again,” you tell him, more confident than you really feel about it. It was a split second decision, one that you made because the reflection in the mirror was looking back at you with such a dead expression that you decided you needed a change in a bad way. For a lighter note, you supplement, “I’m tired of brushing tangles out of my hair every morning, and the other day I had a whole bird’s nest at the back of my neck, y’know.”

“Pssh, I know all about tangles. You saw my hair,” Eddie chuckles as the lukewarm water touches your scalp. Goosebumps rise on your arms while he rambles on, “I have to comb my hair wet or else I look like I got electrocuted. I never used to care about that sort of thing before I went to school for this, but once you start learning about proper treatment it’s kind of hard to ignore. I used to wash my hair with bar soap. Dry as hell, no conditioner. I’m surprised I got it long to begin with.”

You find yourself smiling just thinking about it. “Bar soap? With those curls?”

“Don’t tell anyone, my reputation will be ruined,” Eddie leans down and whispers to you while he reaches for a bottle of shampoo. You hear a crack of a bottle cap, and then his hands are in your hair again, working the sweet smelling soap into your roots. “I’m trying to get employee of the month, but they’re never gonna give it to me if they know I used to sabotage my own hair with Irish Spring.”

“Your secret’s safe with me,” you tell him sweetly, but you’re barely paying attention to his words anymore. His fingers are pressing into areas on your head that haven’t had a proper massage in forever, and months of tension headaches are being brought to the forefront of your mind.

You never consider how oddly intimate having someone wash your hair is until you’re in the thick of it. Eddie’s thumbs massage circles into your occipitals with just a perfect amount of pressure, and the muscles down the back of your neck slowly melt and relax, moving with the swell of his fingertips. You suddenly feel very relaxed and very sleepy, and your eyelids drift closed as Eddie’s thumbs trace the line of your skull up to your hairline.

It even takes a moment for you to tune into the fact that he’s humming. Under his breath, he’s singing along to the notes of the song on the PA. He’s doing it in such a way that you’re sure he’s not even aware of it, himself, and you’d comment on it if you weren’t afraid that you’d embarrass him. His fingers are massaging circles around your temples now, and while you’re trying to focus on the sound of him harmonizing with the music, your mind is again trying to distract you with the feeling developing at the base of your spine. A ticklish, warm feeling spreads between your hips, disrupting the lull you find yourself in and forcing you to blink your eyes open.

Oh, no. We’re not doing that right now.

You can’t say you’re surprised that this is your response. His hands are all over your head and you haven’t been touched by anyone in… well, a very long time, to say the least. You’re probably a little starved for it, all things considered. But this is really the wrong time and place to be getting turned on by a guy’s touch.

You shift in your seat, trying not to be too obvious about it when Eddie pulls his hands away and begins rinsing your hair again. Crossing your legs would be a dead giveaway, but the warm feeling is turning into a subtle throb between your legs, and Eddie’s hands are back on your head, now gently combing the conditioner through the length of your hair as though he’s petting you.

After a few torturous minutes of trying to ignore the blooming arousal deep in your gut, Eddie cuts the water and wraps your hair in the towel to secure it.

“Now comes the hard part,” Eddie says, probably not meaning to make it sound so suggestive, but your mind seems to be taking its sweet time loitering in the gutter.

You stare dazedly up at the ceiling. Now is the hard part?

Eddie leads you to what used to be Melissa’s station, and swings the swivel chair around for you with a flourish. “Step into my office, sweetheart. I’ll get you all dressed up in a sexy robe and everything.”

You stifle a giggle as you slide into the seat. His “office” is one table in a row of other tables, and two feet away an older woman is getting her hair bleached by a girl with an undercut. As Eddie spins you around, the stylist shoots him a look.

“He’s a shameless flirt,” she tells you, making eye contact with you in the mirror. Eddie lays a smock across your front and buttons it at the back of your neck.

“I’ll have you know, I’ve been minding my manners very well,” Eddie huffs with feigned indignation as he unwraps your hair and tosses the towel onto the table in front of you. He still winks at you in the mirror when he leans around you to pick up a comb. “So far.”

You can’t help the way that your jaw clenches. He’s really not going to make this easy on you. You wonder if he knows where your mind has been for the last ten minutes.

Eddie moves around to the back of your chair and presses on a lever to raise it up, but nothing happens.

“Dammit,” Eddie curses under his breath, and turns to his coworker, who’s still loading tinfoil into the woman’s hair until she looks like something from Close Encounters. “I can’t believe you gave me the crap chair.”

“Early birds get the good chairs,” the stylist replies.

Eddie sighs and turns back to you, and finds you looking at him curiously in the mirror. “This is the only broken chair in the whole salon, and everyone hates it, so it tends to move around. You never know if you’ll get the crap chair.”

“That’s sabotage,” you giggle.

“I know! So I have to bend down to style you, I’m sorry.”

“I think I can handle it.” You watch him give you a look in the mirror that makes you shift in your seat again.

“So,” he begins, looking down at your head as he begins detangling your hair. “We’re going short?”

“That’s the plan,” you say with a puff of your chest. Please, god, don’t let it be horrible.

“How short?” he prompts, eyeing you in the mirror. “Shoulder length? Close cropped?”

You reach up a slightly shaky hand and pinch the length that you want between two fingers. “Here’s good.”

Eddie nods, looking somewhat pleased. “Are we doing layers?”

“Yeah, I think layers would be good for the long term.”

“Gives you more flexibility,” he agrees. He picks up a pair of scissors and begins measuring out the length that you want. “I’ll start with the length and then we’ll move to bangs, all right?”

“That… sounds good.” You’re temporarily discombobulated by Eddie taking the sides of your head and tilting your head down just the slightest bit.

“Stay just like that for me, okay?” he says quietly.

You blink down at the table in front of you, feeling your mouth go dry. “No problem.” Your hands nervously twitch beneath the cover of the smock across your body.

He goes back to humming along with the music on the PA, and you don’t have the heart to interrupt him. You’re trying to focus on anything but the nerves in your system and the way his touch keeps making you want to jump out of your seat.

After a moment, he stops humming and dusts a bit of hair off of your shoulder. “There we go. Good girl.”

You blink up at Eddie in the mirror, and then see the transformation from long hair to short on your head.

“How does it feel?” Eddie asks, leaning down to pinch the ends of the front and measure the evenness of the length. You stare at his fingers, and the tattoo of a bat just above his thumb on his left hand.

“Ten pounds lighter,” you joke. It feels like you’ve swallowed a lump of hot coal, but he doesn’t need to know that. Eddie grins, and his dimples make a glorious reappearance.

“I’m not done with you yet,” he murmurs, and again positions your head where he wants it, staring directly forward. “Honestly, even if you wanted to stop here, it would suit you. I don’t think there’s a way to make you look bad, sweetheart.”

“You’ve never seen me with a hangover,” you scoff, trying to ignore how your heart skips a beat.

Eddie smirks at you in the mirror while he starts working on giving your hair layers. “My guess is that you still look just as cute, but with a bit more of a grumpy look around here.” He gestures to your brow with one finger, and reaches over to set aside the texturizing scissors.

“So, what I’m hearing is, you think I’m cute?” you say, still trying to play up the confidence that you don’t really have. Your hand squeezes your thigh under the smock you wear, your nails digging in for purchase.

“No, I think you’re gorgeous,” Eddie says swiftly, like it’s just a matter of fact. “But, I think you’d also be cute when you’re hungover. Plus, with this hair, you’d probably look all unkempt and I love the mental image that’s creating.”

His hands fluff the layers that he’s put into your hair, ruffling them gently and carding his fingers through them to measure their length. You’re sure that he’s not aware of the moon-eyed look you’re giving him in the mirror.

Except, then he moves around you to start working on your bangs, and the smirk that comes across his face when he looks down at yours is enough to make you lose your composure. He knows everything that’s going on in your head, you’re sure of it.

Cocky bastard.

“I like your tattoos,” you murmur, just loud enough for him to hear over the music and the sounds of blow dryers all around you. He’s face to face with you, so close that you can count the freckles on his pale face.

Eddie’s eyes light up. “Yeah? What about ‘em?”

“Well,” you lick your lips, your eyes flicking down to the one on his neck, and the one peeking out of his collar. “They’re colorful, and they look like you put a lot of thought into picking out each one. They’re pretty.”

“Hmm. You flatter me,” he remarks, trying to hide his grin and failing. If you look closely, there’s just the slightest pink tint to his cheeks that wasn’t there before. He finishes trimming your bangs, and just before he stands up, he chucks you lightly under the chin. “Keep it up and you might get a freebie.”

A free what? You’re imagining he means some sort of a free hair wash or something, but you can’t keep your mind from going to unprecedented places.

“All right. Bear with me, I’m gonna blow dry you now.” He turns your chair away from the mirror to get you a bit closer to the blow dryer, and for a few minutes, there’s a lull in the conversation.

Then, all at once, the blow dryer shuts off, and Eddie leans down towards you. “Ready, sweetheart?”

“Eddie, you’re gonna make me nervous.”

“Well, we don’t want that.” You just barely turn your head to look at him; just enough that your noses barely brush. You steal a breath that comes from his mouth, and then, Eddie turns you to the mirror. “Like I said,” he murmurs, “There’s not a way to make you look bad.”

“Holy shit,” you breathe. And holy shit is right– he’s done a complete number on you. Your hair is voluminous, framing your face in a way that you haven’t seen it before.

“What do you think?” he asks, and for a moment, you think it’s a rhetorical question.

“I think you’re way better than Melissa,” you tell him, once you realize that it’s not rhetorical and he’s really asking you what you think. You’re sure that he’d make adjustments if you needed, but you don’t need him to. He’s read you like a book. He’s made you look better than you could ever have hoped for.

“I’m gonna need that in writing,” he tells you, with the most serious expression you’ve ever seen. “For employee of the month, and all.”

“Tell me where to sign.”

He jerks his head, and all at once the fog lifts. You follow him to the front desk like a lost puppy, feeling like you don’t actually want to leave. You want to sit in his chair while he cuts your hair until you have none left. You want to keep his attention on you and stare at his smile, his hair, his eyes, his tattoos, for the rest of time.

“I look forward to next time, princess,” he tells you, but you’re hyperfocused on the touch of his hand to your lower back.

You watch him telling something to the girl at the front desk, his hand wrapped around the edge of the table and distracting you for the umpteenth time. You watch his silver rings glint in the light, and you think about them weaving through your hair; you think about his fingers and how they’d feel on places besides your head.

“So, when did you want to schedule an appointment?”

You blink a few times, and in a dazed glow you come back to where you are. At the front desk. Paying for your haircut. “Sorry, what?”

“The… next appointment? For your trim?” The secretary tilts her head, smiling at you kindly. “When did you want to come in?”

“Oh,” you murmur, looking down at the keyboard that she’s typing on. Eddie has disappeared back around the partition with a sweet smile and a wave cast in your direction. You just want him to come back again. “What would you suggest? Y’know, for this kind of a cut?”

“Hmm,” the girl hums, and sizes you up. Not in a way that makes you doubt yourself, but in a way that tells you she’s taking your question seriously. “Probably about four weeks. See if the length is something you’re happy with?”

“Great. Four weeks from now. With Eddie.” You peer down at the rack of business cards on the deck, and pick up the one farthest to the right.

Eddie Munson, Stylist. Set an appointment today!

By four weeks, your hair has already reached your shoulders, and the ease of maintenance is starting to wear off. When you get a call reminding you about your appointment with Eddie, your head reels with the knowledge that you’ll see him again.

You calmly assert to yourself that this time, there will be no mooning over him. He’s just your hairdresser. You figure he just has a job to do, tips to earn, and so on. You don’t know if he’s available, you don’t know if he’s single or if he even likes you the way that you like him. You don’t know anything about him, really.

False. You know that he used to wash his hair with bar soap.

You snicker to yourself as you sit in the waiting area yet again. The only available slot for him today was 6:30; pretty close to closing time, but for a Wednesday you figured it was best for you to come late, since you’d have time to get yourself together after work.

You’ve never been in the salon so late. It’s getting dark outside, and the overhead lights cast a semi-yellow glow around the waiting area. Business is dying down now. Not as many people love the idea of getting their hair cut so late, you suppose, but it was either this or wait another week to get an appointment with Eddie, and with the rate that your hair is growing, you’d probably be going insane by then.

“Hey, you,” Eddie says, popping his head around the partition with a grin that makes you nearly melt in your seat. His curly hair hangs in a curtain out in midair, and his long neck stretches out for you to take a gander at. “Just couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You smile at him. “Well, you’re the only person I trust with my head.”

What the fuck did you just say?

Eddie smirks, glowing pink around the ears. “I’ll keep that in mind, princess. Let me clean up my station real quick and I’ll getcha goin’, all right?”

You swallow back the lump in your throat. “Yeah, sure, no worries.”

When Eddie disappears again, you slide down in your seat and clap your hand across your eyes. You’re sort of glad that nobody was in the waiting room to see that ridiculous exchange, but you still have to sit with your embarrassment while Eddie cuts your hair. Again.

There will be no pining. There will be no getting weirdly turned on by him washing your hair. Nope, not happening this time.

This time, when Eddie ushers you back behind the partition, there’s only one two other stylists who are there cleaning their stations. The PA has been turned way down, so you can barely register what it’s playing at all.

“You actually came at a good time,” Eddie tells you as you trail after him toward the wash station. “You’re the last person for the night, so I can really take my time with you.”

“O-oh.. really?” You beat back your perverted thoughts with a stick. “To do what?”

“Oh, y’know,” Eddie shrugs as he lays a towel around your shoulders again, just as gentle as he was the last time. “We could do something totally crazy. Who knows what’ll happen?”

His voice is animated, pleasantly filling the empty space where your thoughts might become too much if you let them wander.

Over the past month, after you’d recovered from your last meeting with Eddie, and as you were preparing for this one, you came up with a few things that you could ask him about– just to keep your mind from going to places you didn’t want them to. To save yourself the embarrassment and the ordeal of having to play whack-a-mole with your libido, and all.

“Did you get employee of the month?” you begin with.

Eddie laughs, and then sighs. “No, our manicurist got it. I’ll get it this time, I just gotta stay on my A-game.” His blunt nails rake your hair away from your forehead and temples, and a lukewarm stream of water hits the crown of your skull.

You nearly want to jump out of your skin at the feeling. “Was it because they gave you the crap chair too many times?”

“Probably. But I got here early today, so the good news is you don’t have to sit in the crap chair this time.”

“Aww, I kind of liked the crap chair. Kept me grounded.” You hear him huff a laugh as he starts lathering shampoo through your hair. Trying to keep your mind running so you don’t focus too hard on how good his rings feel scraping against your scalp, you ask, “How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Honestly, it’s kind of a weird story,” Eddie starts, beginning to massage his fingertips into your skull in a way that makes your toes curl in your shoes. You tighten your hands on the arms of your chair and take a deep breath. “So, it took me three tries to graduate high school, right? I was terrible at it. And, y’know, I figured I’d only end up working in a garage or something for the rest of my life. But I was cutting my mane all on my own, and eventually I started cutting my friends’ hair too, because they were all in college and it’s cheaper than going to a salon. I mean–” he chuckles, and begins rinsing your hair– “believe me. I know all about it. And it just came to me really easily, ‘cause I used to be great at drawing and crafting and stuff. And it’s kind of the same thing– once you learn the medium, it’s smooth sailing from there.”

The salon has gone eerily quiet, and by the time Eddie wraps your head and sits you up, you realize that the other stylists have gone, and you and Eddie are the last people in the building. You’d be a little nervous about it, but you got Eddie on a roll, and honestly, he makes it so easy to listen to him.

“Anyways, one day my friend Robin says to me, ‘You should totally get your credential for this,’ and I said, ‘You have to go to school for this shit?’” You blow a raspberry of a laugh, no longer feeling anxious as he sits you down on his not-crap styling chair. He drapes a smock over you, and cracks a grin at you in the mirror. “I know! So, I’ve never been great at school, and I can’t afford to pay for beauty school tuition on the pay I was making at the time, so my friends… they pooled together some money to at least pay for my first semester. And then– get this– I got on the fucking Dean’s list.”

“No way.”

“I did! Yours truly!” He does a little bow, and while you’re still giggling, he begins detangling your hair. “So, I got grants. And I finished top of my class, because as it turns out, when you don’t hate what you’re studying it’s really easy to do well. I got my certification framed and everything. Show that to my damn high school principal.” He shakes his head, but the smile is still on his face when he says, “But now I just have to get that fucking employee of the month.”

“Anything I can do to help?” you offer, admiring his face in the mirror again without even realizing you’re doing it. You love seeing him grin, showing off his dimples and the smile lines around his eyes.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugs with a cute scrunch of his nose. “Just make sure you write my boss a letter saying how fantastic and amazing I am and how there’s no other hair stylist like me and how you’ll never find anyone as cool and sexy anywhere else. Something subtle like that oughta do it.”

“Shouldn’t be difficult,” you tell him smoothly. “I already had that one drafted.”

He chuckles, his eyes sparkling when he reaches for his scissors, but you still notice the faint blush on his cheeks that he tries to hide behind his curtain of hair. “Flattery. You know what that gets you with me.”

A freebie. You hear his voice echoing in your head, and you swallow past the dryness in your throat. “Like… what? A mohawk?”

“Would you want a mohawk?” he asks you, pausing his movements to peer at you. “Because that’d be metal as hell, I’d be so down.”

You laugh. “I appreciate it, but I think… probably not today.”

Eddie hums, and returns to smoothing your hair back away from your face. “So we’re just doing the same as last time?”

“Yeah, not too flashy.”

“Gotcha. It’s a shame, though. I’m always up for a challenge.”

“Well, I think that short hair is just easier to maintain,” you tell him, at a loss for what else to say. He glances up at you in the mirror, and locks eyes with you. “And it doesn’t make my neck look as stumpy as it is.”

Eddie tilts his head with a confused pout, and then he reaches down and wraps his hands loosely around your throat. Your breath stalls in your chest, your eyes focused on the sight of his hands on you, his thumbs gently stroking the nape of your neck and his ring clad fingers pressed just below your chin. His fingers link and hold you, creating a necklace that you’ll never be able to find anywhere else.

Oh, shit. Oh, fucking hell. Everything below your waist draws up tight and hard, your thighs clamping together like that’s going to somehow will away the hold that Eddie has on you.

You lift your eyes and find his in the mirror, dark and focused in on you. You hold each others’ gaze for a prolonged moment, not saying anything, you barely even daring to breathe. You can’t imagine what the expression on your face looks like. You’re too busy staring at the one on his– like there are a million thoughts running through his head, and you’re desperate to know every single one of them.

“Nah, I think you’re perfect.” And just like that, Eddie moves on like nothing happened, picking up his scissors again. Like he didn’t just fry your brain. Like you’re not halfway to cardiac arrest.

You’re dumbstruck as he starts trimming the ends of your hair. You told yourself there would be no mooning over him. No pining. But here, you are, turned on beyond belief, and having to deal with the heartbeat pulsing between your legs, and not shift around, because you don’t want to fuck him up.

When he pinches the ends of the front to see if they’re level, you’re staring directly at him in the mirror. Not even trying to hide it, either. If you did try, you’d most certainly fail. Eddie frowns in concentration, a bit of a crease to his brow as he peers at his hands.

Eddie tuts. “I’m trying to figure out– is it–?” He grabs the back of your chair, and suddenly you’re being swiveled around to face him. “Sometimes these mirrors don’t even help a guy out at the worst goddamn times…”

Your breathing is way heavier than it needs to be. Is it hot in here? Did they crank up the heat in this place specifically to spite you? Eddie’s face is so close to yours, and you’re not sure if the fact that you aren’t in the crap chair is helping. You’re higher up now, and he doesn’t have to bend down as far to get level with you, and his eyes are the color of dark chocolate, and you–

Eddie’s hand comes up and snips the tip off the right side. “There we go. One side was all fucked.”

“Well, we don’t want anything getting fucked, do we?” you mutter under your breath. What’s left of it.

Eddie pauses and his eyes flick up to yours. His eyelashes are long and flutter as he holds your gaze again, while you try hard not to look away. There’s that unreadable expression on his face from earlier, morphing slowly into something like amusement, but that could also just be your mind playing tricks on you. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his li–

“Screw it.” Eddie tosses his scissors to the ground and his hands come up to grip your face, smoothing your hair back tenderly before he kisses you.

You open your mouth and Eddie is in it, searching, feeling. His hands hold your head firm and you feel the metal of his rings digging into your cheeks, and you’re splitting apart at the seams from the way he’s completely invading your senses. He smells like warm, spicy cologne and hairspray. He tastes like cigarettes and cherry coke. He moans into you, and the sound is like heaven.

You lift your legs and wrap them around his waist, and he grunts before he pulls away just the tiniest bit to give you breathing room.

“This is highly unprofessional, Mr. Munson,” you whisper to him, as if you don’t have him caged in with your thighs.

“I don’t… actually fucking care,” Eddie admits, his nose just nudging against yours. “Got so fuckin’ hard the minute I saw you. What am I gonna do with you, huh?”

“Dunno,” you murmur against his mouth, “I’m waiting for you to tell me.”

“C’mere.” He pulls you out of your seat, and you practically trip over the smock he clipped around your neck.

“Get me out of this thing,” you giggle, letting your forehead fall onto his shoulder. You inhale a deep breath of his cologne, feeling his chest shake with his laugh.

“Aww, but you look so cute,” Eddie coos, but his hands come up to undo the button at the back of your neck. The fabric slides to the ground, and Eddie kicks it aside as he crowds you back against the table. Your ass hits the edge of it and your hand falls onto a comb when you try to steady yourself. He pulls you flush to his body, his hands caging you in. Eddie’s tongue dances over your bottom lip and you moan, lifting your hands to tangle in the fabric of his shirt.

He ducks his head to help you pull his shirt off before he tosses it somewhere to the side. You’re distracted by his tattoos, each one of them beautiful and detailed, standing out against his pale skin.

Then, you remember something that he told you earlier, and you connect some dots that you hadn’t even realized were there. “Did you draw these?”

Eddie’s grin could blind the sun. He blushes pink down his neck and shoulders. “Yeah, I did.”

“They’re gorgeous. I meant what I said before– I really like them.”

He sucks in a deep breath, and then his lips are on you, everywhere they can manage. On your face, your neck, trying to get at your collarbone but your shirt is in the way. He fists it in his hands, making a petulant noise in the back of his throat. “Help me out here, sweetheart.”

Your shirt lands somewhere near his. You don’t see exactly where, because he’s pulling the straps of your bra down your shoulders so that he can mouth kisses across your breasts, pulling down on the cups until he can graze his teeth over your nipple. It takes you so off guard that you bite back a squeal, tugging at his hair and rubbing your thighs together to stave off the incessant throbbing between them.

When you look down at him, his eyes are so dark that they’re almost black. Your heart thuds erratically in your chest, your breath not coming even though you gasp and pull at the air with everything you have. You can’t really fathom why he has you so worked up– just that it’s been so long since anyone touched you like this, and now that you have it it’s like every little point of contact is on fire.

Eddie grazes his teeth across your breast, and your knees nearly buckle out from under you. You grab his face, guiding him back up to you.

“What were you thinking when you grabbed my throat?” you ask him, your voice hoarse in the back of your throat.

His hands are on you now, grabbing at your waist and hips, squeezing like he’ll never let go. “I can show you, if you want,” Eddie answers, and he sounds just as wrecked as you. Maybe more.

There’s absolutely no way you’re going to refuse that. Not with the way you’ve been lusting after him since meeting him. You nod. “Eddie, please–”

He kisses you hard again before mumbling against your lips, “Turn around and take off your pants.”

You do what he asks without a second’s hesitation. You watch him in the mirror as he follows your movements, undoing his own belt, and you kick your jeans and underwear off without thinking about why you’re here, without wondering about the repercussions. You figure you can probably do that later.

Right now, Eddie’s smoothing his hand up your spine, and the feeling of his fingers dancing along your skin sends shivers through your body. His fingers weave through the hair at the nape of your neck, and he pulls just slightly, until you bare your neck.

Your breath hitches in your throat. Your heart hammers as you watch him, dark eyes and hair and rosy cheeks in the mirror, his carnation colored lips twisting into a wicked grin at you. He kisses your shoulder so gently it’s like the fluttering of a feather.

“‘Stumpy neck,’” Eddie scoffs under his breath, and you tremble. “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

He bends you forward until you’re face to face with yourself in the mirror– but you’re looking at him, gazing into your eyes while he teases himself at your entrance.

“Oh my god,” you groan, dropping your head almost immediately at the feeling. Your head is spinning, your body rigid with anticipation and breaking out in a cool sweat already.

“Mm-mm,” Eddie hums condescendingly, and a hand clamps around your throat, hoisting your head up again. A gasp tears from your lips. In the mirror, his eyes are blazing. “You look at me while I fuck you. That’s the only way this is gonna happen. Got it?”

You nod. You want to shrink away from the heat in his gaze, but you want him to fuck you way more than that. You shudder as he leans forward, pressing in until his chin nearly rests on your shoulder.

“I need to hear you say it, baby.” His thumb strokes lightly along your pulse point, and you make a soft noise in the back of your throat without thinking. “Tell me you understand.”

“I understand,” you tell him, barely a whisper, but he hears it all the same.

“Good girl.”

Eddie grins, kisses the nape of your neck, and pulls back. When he does, you’re barely able to take a breath before he pushes his hard cock into you, and the noise you make is almost embarrassing in its volume.

“Ohhh, you’re absolutely soaked, baby. She’s practically dripping– is this just for me?” Eddie murmurs in your ear, grinding his hips up against your ass for emphasis. The lewd noise that it makes has your toes curling and the tips of your ears burning.

“Fuck,” you moan, ginding back against him to push him deeper. He’s so thick and you’re so sensitive that your mind is completely blanking at the feeling.

Eddie notices, and he chuckles as grabs your waist with one hand as he thrusts his hips forward. “I’ve barely gotten my cock in you, princess. Don’t go getting all dumb on me already.” His voice goes straight between your legs and your cunt pulses around him, making him hiss through his teeth. The hand on your throat tightens just slightly. “I asked you a question.”

You keen, your mind reeling as you search for words. You manage to nod, babbling out, “Yes, it’s– it’s all for you, Eddie, been wanting you so bad, s’all I can think about–”

Eddie coos, grabbing your chin to shut you up while a particularly hard thrust of his hips knocks the wind out of you. He turns his head and grazes his lips against your cheek, eyeing you in the mirror as he says, “I knew it.”

Your eyes are on him, on his hand around your neck, on his rings pressed into your skin. All that your fucked-out mind can think is that it’s hot, and you like him and his strong hands and his pretty eyes and the way his cock is reaching places inside you that make thoughts really difficult to come by.

Eddie whispers something against your skin, and you miss it because you’re hooked on the way his eyelashes flutter for just a moment while his lips are pressed against your cheek. You lift your hand, until it rests over his against your throat, his fingers just barely laced with yours.

“Again,” you say– it comes out like a command, but you mean it like a question. You don’t know what the fuck he just said.

“You’re so beautiful,” he repeats, and his voice nearly cracks with the desperation in it. His sweat slick chest is pressed against your back, his thrusts rocking your hips into the table and jostling it into the wall, but his voice is so tender. “So perfect for me.”

Your mouth falls open, your hand tightening on his. You pull, until he loosens his grip and his hand comes away with yours. You kiss his palm, then his fingertips, holding his gaze in the mirror as you slowly, gently swirl your tongue around his middle and forefinger.

Eddie’s eyes narrow coyly at you, while his thrusts make you mewl and clutch at the table with your free hand. You suck his two fingers deep into your mouth, earning a pleased groan from him in your ear– a sound which you want to hear again and again, no matter what it takes.

“Look at you, sweet little thing, gettin’ my fingers all wet like that,” he whispers to you, biting his lip as you grind back against him. “Wanna do something with ‘em?”

You moan, letting his fingers slide from your mouth with a wet pop. You guide his hand down your chest, down your stomach, until his fingers slide between your legs.

“There you go,” Eddie coos, taking over from your guidance as his fingers start rubbing small circles against your clit. “Atta girl, showin’ me what you want. Just needed me to fuck you stupid first, hm?”

Your cunt pulses, and you cum with a loud moan that echoes off of the mirror in front of you and around the empty space. Eddie cries out, and you feel his warmth fill you as he cums. He slows until he stills inside you, and then he holds you, panting against your cheek, his arm wrapped around your middle and his hand on your throat.

You haven’t moved your hand away from his, you realize, after a few moments of bliss in the aftershocks. You drop your hand to the table with a thud, earning a soft, breathless chuckle from him.

“Can I take you out to dinner?” Eddie asks you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck.

“I think you can do whatever you want with me,” you murmur dazedly, just barely shifting and making him hiss. He’s still inside you, trying to hold you steady while he calms himself down.

“Good.” There’s a kiss to your cheek, and Eddie grunts as he slowly eases out of you. “I still need to finish your goddamn haircut.”

“Eddie, we’re naked.”

“And?” His hands are moving quicker than your mind is, yanking a kleenex from the table so that he can bend down and wipe the insides of your thighs. You jump at the sudden touch, but he clamps a hand around your hip to hold you still. “The sooner I finish your hair, the sooner I close up, and the sooner we go get dinner. You like Italian?”

“I didn’t think your pillow talk would involve finishing my haircut,” you grumble, but there’s a smile worming it’s way onto your face even as you say it.

“That’s the name of the game, sweetheart,” Eddie says, tossing the tissue into the trash. He picks up your underwear, and the smock from the floor. “Now, sit your cute ass down. I’m not gonna get employee of the month by dishing out orgasms and not bangs, y’know.”

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #roses*#eddie munson x you #stranger things #stranger things fanfic

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casuallyanidiot · 3 months ago

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Yantober Day 3

Secret Collection [Yandere M. Hairdresser x Gn.Reader]

Using @ozzgin's Yantober prompt list!

Not my favorite and already way behind 😭Sorry for being gone for like, a week. I got kinda sick and then had to scramble to keep up with my new classes. I should be good for now, and I'll try to work through my asks and more of the yantober prompts for now.

Tipjar :)

Tw! Dead dove Do not Eat! MDNI! Stalking, non consensual photography, implied kidnapping, he's really weird, nsfw themes

Your hair stylist is just the best! He always knows how to keep you coming back almost every week...

1.5k words

Clover knows that what he does isn’t right.

He cuts your hair with diligent practice, every strand memorized with care and sweet tenderness. When your tresses lay by his shifting feet, it takes all within him not to cum on spot. Your scent drives him wild, and he knows that you’re the one for him after you come back a second time.

He collects your hair after he pretends to sweep it up and throw it out, rooting around the dustpan in the back of his storefront like a desperate, mangy animal. He lives just above his small, intimate salon, and he knows that if he can just get you to come up with him, that he can start getting you to fall for him.

Discount for today only! 75% off hair dyeing, lashes, and nails! Hurry in!

He typed it out and bit his lip as he stared at his screen. There wasn’t any sale going on. Nobody but you was privy to this, of course. Months ago, when Clover first met you, he jumped on the chance to have your phone number. He rambled on and on about how it was standard for most of all his customers to punch it. You could earn points! And exclusive coupons! Of course he was just lying to you. He would just send out a few messages every week or so to try and bait you into coming back.

Today, he was washing your hair, trying desperately to not whip out his dick and cum all over your sweet, vulnerable face. He ran his hands through your hair, massaging in shampoo and sneakily putting every stray strand of hair that caught on his fingers on a stray napkin. For later, he promises himself with a barely restrained smirk.

“[Name]...” He called softly, watching with affection as your face crinkled before you stared up at him. A shiver ran down his spine. Fuck. If he could have your eyes on him like that at all times, he could die a happy man. He finished up rinsing you off, humming under your attention. “I’m trying to earn my masseuse license… I’m thinking of expanding the services I offer,” He explained while he moved you to a sitting position and placed a towel at your neck. You blinked up at him curiously.

Yes. Just like that. Be lured in by what I can give you.

“More? But Clover,” You laughed, “You already have a lot of things you do here. Plus, it’s only you running this place most of the time,” Your voice was filled with playful ease. He bet that you wouldn’t know what he was doing even if he pressed his throbbing hard on to your lips right the second.

“I have employees, silly,” He teased, flicking a bit of water onto your face. You giggled and wiped it off. On days you had booked him, he would basically clear out his salon of any other customers or employees. He wanted it to just be the two of you, after all.

“Anyways, you know me. I’m always looking to expand my craft,” he hummed and led you over to the vanity chair, pumping up your seat so he was leaning over you jussst right. You couldn’t see the large tent in his pants in the mirror, but he sighed happily. Oh, your neck felt so delicate underneath his fingers. He could feel your pulse thrumming. He would give anything to be able to bottle that sensation and put it up in his little room dedicated to you.

Clover slips a thin paper strip around your neck before draping a cape around you. He’d definitely nick that for later. He has a whole stack of them that he likes to sniff from time to time. He hums a small tune, one he’d seen playing on your phone once, and pulls out his hair tools. With every strand that he collects in his comb, he wets his lips with anticipation. He starts up the blow dryer and watches your lips part and your face scrunch up in mild frustration as the loud noise cuts you off. How cute.

After a moment of him working, massaging his fingers into your scalp with an air of nonchalance, he cuts the offending machine and lets you speak while he trims away at your layers.

“I’m kind of jealous,” you admitted, and he couldn’t help but perk up. “You’re always working to get better, to do more,” your words stroked his ego, and he hoped that you wouldn’t take note of how flushed his face was in the mirror. You finished off with a shrug and a small smile. “I guess I just admire you…”

Clover’s heart jumped in his chest. Oh man… You had no idea. Him admirable? Would you think that still if you saw the room he had dedicated to you?

“Is that a yes to being my guinea pig, then?” He teased and leaned in so his breath fanned over your ear. You blinked for a moment and then relaxed a bit. He tried to not grin. Got you.

“Yeah sure, why not.”

He worked quickly, careful to not mess up your hair as he went along styling it to be just the way you liked. Braiding, blowouts, perms, whatever you requested, he could do it. He knew he was good at what he did, and he knew that with all the discounts he lured you in with couldn’t be beat. He was so excited, practically vibrating with joy. As he finished up, he placed his hands on your shoulders.

“Okay! All done! Now just give me a moment to get everything ready for you,” He said and rushed upstairs, every creak of the wood igniting fire into his heart. In his arms was the hair and some objects you had touched. He wondered if you thought on his actions the way he thought about yours.

Sometimes, he thinks, he wishes you would find out about how much he loves you. He’s not delusional, but by god does he wish he was. That way he could at least pretend that you would be okay with all of this. He quickly organizes the hair in its respective drawer, and the other in neat little rows that he has labeled. Used wax strips, the nail files he’s used on your hands and feet, old combs, were arranged like precious items among other things you left behind. A half empty tube of chap stick, some receipts that he’s analyzed hundreds of times, old, spat out gum. It was all here, but he needed more. He craved more of you.

Clover locked up that room with much effort. Oh how much he wanted you.

He lit candles, set up the table, heated stones, and brought the various oils and lotions he couldn’t wait to see your body slick with. He heard the creaking on the stairs, and he shuddered.

“Oh, you got impatient, huh?” He comments, and your footsteps stop abruptly, like you were embarrassed to be caught.

“Yeahhhh,” You said sheepishly, rubbing the back of your neck as you blushed. He bit his lip, his face hidden by the flickering light. “I just couldn’t stand waiting… you know me.”

He did. He knew you so well. He’s happy the two of you could agree.

“Okay, here’s a robe… Just go behind that curtain over there and then put this on.”

Clover watches with satisfaction while you did as he instructed. You didn’t know, couldn’t know of course, that he had put a camera in the corner. You wouldn’t blame him, right? Not if you didn’t find out. He just couldn’t pass up on the opportunity to get a rare, nude pic of you. After all, he hadn’t been able to get into your home yet.

You slunk out from behind the safety of the partition in that fluffy robe, and he smiled warmly and beckoned you forward. He could practically imagine the amount of new additions he could add to his photo wall. You hopped up onto the table, and he covered you with a sheet. He started a playlist of relaxing music before he rubbed some oil onto his palm before he began kneading the flesh of your legs through the sheet, watching your now relaxed face with an intense gaze.

Clover loved you. He loved the way you sighed in pleasure as he worked on a particularly stiff knot under your skin. He loved the way you trusted him. He would cherish the robe and the sheet that had touched your pliant form. Everything would be looked after and stored with the utmost care.

Including you.

He smiled, loving and sickeningly sweet as he grabbed a neatly folded, soaked cloth off of the table from its place nestled between decorative flowers. He hovered it over your face as he drank in the sight of your still features. Your nose scrunched, and he bit back the urge to coo. He sighed happily. He wondered if you had caught on that this was the last time you would ever trust him again, that this was the last time you would be anything more than the crowned jewel that he’d been coveting this whole time.

Your eyes fluttered open, his grin stretched wider, and he pressed the cloth down.

#yandere #my writing #yandere x reader #tw yandere #yandere male #yandere x you #x reader #fanfic writing #yantober #yandere boy #stalker yandere #yandere x darling #soft yandere #yandere hairdresser #day 3 #dead dove fic #ngl y'all I struggled with this one #he's a menace #a real freak

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jammydodger3579 · 5 months ago

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Haircut

Summary: You give your boyfriend, Logan, a haircut at home.

A/N: I probably shouldn't admit this but I'm a hairdresser and this is just self gratification smut lmao.

Masterlist || Patreon || Discord server

18+ for mature audiences only

800+ word count

Warnings: it's just straight-up smut, nothing else happens.

Imagine Logan cutting his hair in the bathroom mirror, struggling to get it to look even. You’ve just come home from a day in the salon to find your boyfriend in the bathroom, scissors in his hands as he’s cutting his hair. You gasp.

“What are you doing!?” You ask, causing him to look at you. He smiles.

“Sorry, I needed a haircut,” He says bashfully. You sigh, going to the kitchen. You return to the bathroom with a dining table chair.

“Sit” you instruct. Logan hands you the scissors. You scoff, kitchen scissors. You go to your hairdressing kit and pull out your scissors and a comb. You return to Logan, combing his hair with your fingers. “I can’t believe you didn’t ask me”

“Didn’t think you’d want to after a long day”

“I always have time to give you a haircut,” you say, sectioning his hair with the comb. You start cutting, pulling the hair up and trimming the ends. Logan watches you in the mirror, mesmerised by the concentrated look on your face. You love hairdressing, it’s your passion. You love Logan more and always want to give him a haircut. You work carefully, making sure to even out the big chunks that Logan carved into his hair. Once you’re done, you run your fingers through his hair once more, feeling if it needs to be thinned out. His breathing hitches, enjoying the intimacy of this. You smile, moving to be in front of him. “You’ll need to have a shower”

“I hope you join,” he says with a coy smile. You brush the hair off his shoulders before lifting his shirt over his head. He leans in for a kiss and you smile.

“That’s not very professional”

“I don’t care,” he says peppering more kisses across your face.

“I will cut an eyebrow off”

“Worth it” He lifts you and brings you into the shower, turning it on. You yelp at the sudden cold water hitting your back. Logan places you down in the shower, taking your shirt off you. He kisses you roughly, pushing his tongue in. You moan, fumbling with his belt buckle. You get down on your knees and pull Logan's pants down so you’re face-to-face with his shaft. You take it in your hands, stroking him up and down before taking it into your mouth. You can’t fit the whole thing in because of how large he is. He moans, putting one hand behind your head and the other on the shower wall. He moves your head with his hand, guiding you at the speed he wants to go. You have one hand at the base of his cock, the other on his hip for stability. His grip on your hair tightens, indicating he’s close to his end. You speed up, moving fast around his cock. He fills your mouth, and you swallow like the good girl you are, a little bit leaking out the side.

Logan uses his thumb to wipe it away before putting his thumb in his mouth to taste himself. You stand up and kiss him softly, your mouth still tasting like his seed. You kick your wet pants off to the side and submerge yourself under the water. You put some shampoo on your hands before running it through Logan’s hair. He moans, enjoying this. You gently massage his head, helping to release any tension in his scalp. “Do you know what you do to me, woman?” You smile. You gesture to the shower head and Logan takes the hint to wash his hair out. Once he’s done, he leans down and kisses you roughly. You smile and pull away.

“I still have to condition your hair, sir” Logan let out a moan, grabbing you by the hips and lifting you onto his cock. He pressed you against the shower wall. He wraps a hand around your throat, lightly applying pressure the way you like it. You gasp at the change as he thrusts deeply into you, hitting your walls just perfectly. You wrap your legs around his waist, your hands in his hair. He’s rough, pounding deep, fucking you against the shower wall. You can feel your walls clench around his throbbing cock, both of you close to climax. “L-Logan, I’m close” you moan out.

“I know baby girl,” he kisses you passionately, dominating your mouth with his tongue. You’re getting louder, moaning his name as you cum around him. It’s not long before Logan joins you, filling you with his seed. You tighten your legs around his waist, not wanting him to leave. Logan keeps thrusting, letting you ride out your high for as long as possible. You’re a sweaty mess, the steam from the shower not helping. Logan eventually places you down, keeping his hands on you as you get your footing. “Fucked you so good, you can’t walk, huh bub?”

“Yes sir,” you say with a coy smile, knowing it turns Logan on. “Now I’m still gonna need to finish your hair”

"Yes ma'am"

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fuctacles · 2 months ago

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<< ok fine i give up i lost track of the cat emojis. this is part 8 | 9 >>

Eddie wakes up late the next day but isn't surprised to find his uncle sitting at the kitchen table with a coffee and a crossword puzzle in front of him. Tormenting his nephew has been his favorite pastime now that he is stuck at home, so of course he would wait for him to emerge from his room.

"Didn't catch you coming back last night. Must have left Stephanie's awfully late, huh?" he asks nonchalantly, tapping his pen against the paper without looking up.

"Mhm," Eddie hums, reaching for his favorite mug.

"Did Miss Stephanie arrive late?"

"She did." He tries to focus on making coffee, and not on his uncle's prying questions.

"Did she hold you back?" the man presses, unrelenting.

"We talked for a bit," Eddie eventually admits.

"How long?"

He fills up his mug with a frown before turning towards his uncle.

"What is this? A crime interrogation?" he raises his eyebrow with annoyance.

"I don't know." Wayne shrugs, finally looking up from his crossword to study his face. "Has a crime been committed?"

"I'm not banging your neighbor," Eddie hisses at his father figure with disdain. "Stop asking about it!"

His uncle sighs but seems to accept his defeat, at least for now.

"All I ask is that you keep an open mind. I don't think she'd be against the idea," he gives his last two cents before hiding behind the newspaper like a coward. "I know you're not," he adds under his breath.

Eddie barely catches it, but it makes his skin crawl with heat. He's beyond denying it at this point but he won't admit it either. If Stephanie ever makes a move, he won't say no, but he doesn't want to presume anything. Or worse, make her uncomfortable.

"I'm going to my room," he declares, carrying his coffee away.

A couple of days later, Eddie is standing in front of a hair salon, staring at the handwritten note on the door.

We close at 4 PM today, sorry for the inconvenience!

The opening times above declare that on weekdays, the shop should be open an hour longer, and Eddie worries that he misunderstood Stephanie's words. She told him to come in around 4 PM and she'll give him a haircut. But through the glass door, he can see her swiping the floor while talking to another hairdresser, a tiny woman who's cleaning up her station. It looks like they're closing up.

Then Stephanie looks up and spots him standing there like a dumbass, and she smiles, motioning him inside. So he pushes the door, moving the tiny bell above as he walks in.

"Hi," he says, nodding to the unfamiliar woman. "Am I too late? Or too early?"

Stephanie shakes her head, quickly putting the broom away.

"You're perfectly on time," she assures him. "You can leave your jacket there and pick whichever chair you like. Do you want something to drink? Tea, coffee, water?" she asks, already halfway to what he assumes is the backroom.

"Coffee would be great," he says a little stunned, shaking his heavy leather jacket off his arms. He feels extremely out of place in a space usually frequented by gossiping ladies. In the waiting area, there's a stack of fashion magazines on top a tiny round table, and two huge colorful armchairs. He throws his things on one of them before sauntering to the station that's furthest away from the street, wary of the peering eyes.

There are some in the salon with him, though.

"So you're Steph's special guest, huh?" the other co-worker asks conversationally.

"Uh, I'm just her neighbor," he corrects, not sure what the woman has been told.

She hums, giving her station a thorough wipe.

"She wouldn't close early for just any neighbor," she counters. "Give yourself some credit." She smiles at him through the mirror and disappears into the backroom before he can react or even process her words.

"Sorry for the wait!" Stephanie joins him soon after. "I hope Joyce didn't grill you much," she says, putting a mug of coffee in front of him.

"Well," Eddie wraps his hand around the hot ceramic. "She just called me your special guest." He wants to pry much more than that, but he knows the other woman, Joyce, can be within hearing distance.

"You kind of are." Stephanie tilts her head thoughtfully, before turning his chair around, so they can only look at each other through the mirror. "All my friends get special treatment."

"Of course," Eddie nods, torn between being happy and devastated by being called a friend.

"Unless you don't want to be friends with an old lady," she pouts.

What he wants is to suck on that bottom lip.

"You're not old!"

He startles when his voice is echoed, but it's just Joyce emerging from the back. She moves the jacket and bag she's holding to free one of her hands and smacks Stephanie on the shoulder.

"Listen to the boy if you're not gonna listen to me," she says heatedly. "If you're old then I should be dead. Now come here."

With an exasperated sigh, Stephanie leans down so Joyce can press a kiss on her cheek.

"I'm leaving, you kids don't do anything unsanitary, okay?"

"Joyce!"

She moves like a hurricane of energy and despite her teasing, Eddie can't help but smile. Joyce seems like the kind of person who treats everyone like her kids.

"What are you doing?" Stephanie asks suspiciously when Joyce hesitates by the door.

"I'm just gonna..." she trails off before starting to pull down the blinds on both the door and the windows. "So nobody bothers you two," she explains with a charming smile. "Okay, bye!" the bell finally chimes as she heads out. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

"See you!"

Eddie barely lifts his hand for a wave before there's just the two of them.

Stephanie breathes out and walks up to the door to lock it. The fact that they are now alone and hidden in a public space makes him hot under the collar. She could do to him anything she wanted right now.

Like cutting his split ends and conditioning his hair, of course.

"So." A radio buzzes to life, though it gets immediately turned to a lower volume. "As the one forced to sit there and endure my treatment, you get to pick the station," Stephanie smiles at him and he instructs her to his and Wayne's favorite frequency. The soft that starts playing is very quiet, and with the closed-off space he's found himself in, he feels like he's tripping.

"Do you have anything in mind?"

So many things but nothing appropriate to say out loud.

"Didn't you have a plan for me?" he raises an eyebrow at her reflection while she's thoughtfully tugging on his hair.

"Yes, but mostly haircare. And I don't know what's popular in the metalhead hair fashion right now."

He chuckles at that.

"Just keeping them long and adding some tease now and then. Nothing as extreme as punk's liberty spikes," he assures.

"Gotcha. But if you think of anything, let me know."

"You got it," he smiles.

i feel weird tagging only one person here but: @wheneverfeasible

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #mine #stevie harrington #stevierything #transfem steve harrington #crazy cat lady stevie #cw: age gap #steddie fanfiction

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sophsbookstore · 8 months ago

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Exchanged Glances

Charles Leclerc x hairdresser!reader ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Masterlist can be found in navigation!

Read pt. 2 here

A/N: Not super edited, I wanted to get it posted before the Grand Prix!

Word count: 1,581

Normally when Charles goes back home to Monaco he has his mom cut his hair. Like clockwork he will arrive at his moms salon, say hello to the various hairdressers and then go to his moms station to get a fresh cut. Only, this time things were different.

A couple days before he was to arrive home Charles called his mom and asked what day she was free to cut his hair, with the upcoming Monaco Grand Prix it, and with it being his home race he was more available for a haircut than ever.

After their brief greetings to one another Charles’ mom told him that she would be out of town up until the day of the race. For the first time since joining formula one his mom wouldn't be able to cut his hair for him before the Monaco Grand prix.

“Don't worry Cha, I can refer you to another hairdresser at the salon.” She offered, trying to give him another solution.

“I don't know, you've always cut my hair, no one else.”

“Then this will be a perfect time for you to step out of your comfort zone. Don't worry I know the perfect person, she’s new, around your age and she's magic in the salon.” Trusting his mom this easies Charles' nerves slightly.

“Ok maman.” The driver sighs in defeat.

“Wonderful! When you go to the salon ask for Y/N.'' With that his mom bid him farewell, telling him when to be at the salon, not going into any more detail about this mysterious hairdresser.

Before he knew it the day had come, he was going to step out of his comfort zone and have a complete stranger touch his hair. He hoped his mom wasn't lying when she was hyping up Y/N and her skills, he didn't want to go to the paddock looking a mess.

Charles enters the salon, all the employees giving him waves and greeting him. He's known some of these people his whole life, whenever he stepped foot in the salon it was like he was being greeted by family.

“Hello Charles, what can I help you with today?” The lady at the front desk asked.

"Hello, yes, my mom told me to ask for Y/N?” The boy shrugged in confusion.

“Oh of course! I'll go get her.” The lady that once sat in front of him was now off searching for the mysterious magic woman that was going to cut his hair.

Charles felt like he was waiting for hours, the salon wasn't that big was it? Maybe it was all in his head. He stood to the side of the waiting area, too consumed with stress to sit down and relax. Before he knew it the front desk lady came back, the woman he assumed to be Y/N trailing behind her.

This is when he finally got to have a good look at her. She was beautiful, why didn't his mom tell him that they started hiring part time models at the salon. The two stood awkwardly, both taking in one another, waiting for someone to make the first move.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Hello Charles, I’m Y/N. just follow me back to my station and we’ll get started”

Charles was too dumbfounded to respond, instead the man stuttered silently before nodding and following Y/N to the back of her salon. During the short walk to her station, Charles thought of questions to ask the beautiful girl, desperately wanting to hear the sound of her voice again.

“Thanks for trusting me with your hair today, your mom told me that you don't really let anyone else cut your hair.” She giggled.

“Oh! Yeah, she's been cutting mine and my brothers hair since we were kids.”

“That's so sweet. I understand where you're coming from I don't let anyone cut my hair, only myself.'' This put Charles at ease. Knowing that she thinks the same way he does, even about something so simple as hair.

After some comfortable small talk Y/N led Charles further back into the salon, sitting the boy down in a chair before leaning him back and washing his hair. The driver seemed to melt in her touch as she ran her fingers through his hair.

When Y/N pulled her hands away to apply more product Charles felt incomplete, like he was missing a sense of stability and peace within himself. Just as soon as she removed her hands she placed them back, continuing to massage his scalp with the shampoo.

Y/N pats Charles’ shoulders signaling to him that the wash was done and that they had to make their way back to her station. Y/N led the way, Charles trailing behind the girl before taking his spot in front of her in the salon chair.

“Are you excited for the grand prix?” Y/N questions taking some of his hair between her fingers, beginning the cut

“Very. I have a good feeling and my son will be there, hopefully we secure P1 and P2.”

“You have a son? What's his name?” Y/N questions, his mom not mentioning anything about a grandson.

“Oh! My apologies he's not really my son. He's a driver on the grid that I've somewhat adopted for the race weekend so that he can claim the Monaco grand prix as his home race.” Charles looks at Y/N hoping she doesn't find what he said both weird and confusing.

“HA!” The hairdresser laughed out loud. “Well congrats to him, I hope he has a fun and successful home race as well. I'll be sure to congratulate your maman about her newly found grandson.”

Charles sat up a little higher in the chair, “Are you coming to the race?”

“I wish I could but I have to work, don't worry though, the salon will be playing the race so everyone can watch.” Y/N stopped cutting for a moment, looking at Charles through the mirror placed in front of them before giving him a warm smile.

Y/N picked up another section of his hair, continuing to snip away leaving Charles to examine the girl through the mirror. Y/N looked up from behind him, making a quick glance at him before the pair broke eye contact, looking separate ways.

Slowly their eyes started moving back to the mirror. The scissors snapping shut as the pair hold eye contact. Charles felt the tip of his ears getting hotter, the pair both noticing one another's subtle hints of red creeping onto their faces.

“Notice anything Mr. Leclerc?” Y/N questions, the corners of her mouth turning upward.

Charles opens his mouth to speak but words don't come out.

“Don't think I haven't noticed the subtle glances, there is either something on my face and you're trying to figure out how to tell me, or something going on in this head of yours.” She turns her attention back to his hair, the haircut almost over.

“I-” he clears his throat, “I was admiring you. You're very good at what you do.”

“I deeply appreciate Charles, truly.” Y/N made her final touches to the haircut. Unbuttoning the cloth that was draped over Charles, before dusting off his shoulders of any hair. “You're all finished, let me find a mirror so you can see the back.”

Y/N walked toward an unknown part of the salon, Charles' eyes following the girl through the mirror until she came back. This is it, if he doesn't say anything now he might never see her again.

The hairdresser came back, handing Charles a small hand held mirror for him to examine the back of his head. He admired her work, impressed with her skills. Placing the mirror down on a ledge near her station he got out of his chair and turned to her.

The two stared at one another, practically chest to chest. “Will you come to the grand prix?” He asked breathlessly.

“Nothing would delight me more but I have to work.” Y/N sighed looking away for a moment before her attention was pulled back to Charles.

“If you can't come to the race can you accompany me for dinner after?” Y/N looked at Charles, her cheeks getting ever so pinker.

“Mr. Leclerc are you asking me on a date?”

“That depends, would you like to go on a date with me?” Charles asked, not missing a beat.

“Yes Charles, I would love to.”

Charles smiled from ear to ear, desperately wanting to bounce off the walls with excitement, stopping himself before he could embarrass himself. “Then I will see you tomorrow.” He nodded in satisfaction.

“See you tomorrow Charles.” Charles walked away from the hairdresser, giving her a quick glance back before making his way back to the lady at the front desk.

“Hair looks great! What did you think of Y/N?” She asked, ringing him up so he could make his payment.

“She's fantastic, I think maman will have some competition.” The two laughed, Charles paid, giving her a quick goodbye.

As soon as he exited the salon he called his mom, updating her on his post race plans, greatly thanking her for offering Y/N to cut his hair.

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