A spicy, sexy, authoritative, stalker-ish Laxus and a cross dressing, slightly tsundere, introverted Freed? Don't mind if I fucking do.
This one is gonna be a wild ride, hang tight.
P.S. The outline for this story is completed so when I post it onto AO3, the tagging will be detailed for those of you who are interested in foreshadowing, plus any disclaimers or triggers.
Sorry for any mistakes.
It was true others (More specifically, Bickslow and Evergreen) surmised Freed was miserable in his fight between indulging in his desires or disregarding it like it was nonexistent. And although he was pleased with the way things were now, he couldn't deny he was indeed ignoring a part of himself. Freed didn't mind coddling in his fantasies alone, in the amenity of his shared apartment. Things like waiting at the door for his long-awaited package to deliver were completely fine. His roommate and best friend, however, was over it. Bickslow sat with him on their sofa, eyeing his green-haired friend with a pinch of annoyance. Here they were again at the beginning of the month where Freed would go on Amazon and order himself a woman's outfit. He never wore the outfit in public; in fact, Freed made it a point to keep them in their original packaging. He'd sit just like this, on their sofa waiting for his package, receive it, and then tuck it away into his closet, never to be seen again.
Bickslow was more annoyed with the waste of money than Freed not allowing himself to thoroughly enjoy his purchase. It did undoubtedly bothered him that Freed was so inclined to hide this part of himself that he wouldn't even enjoy it in private, but Freed didn't see it that way. It was such a monumental stepping stone for Freed to even think about purchasing woman's clothes. Years of pretending that the part of him that wanted to feel pretty never existed were over. He could live contented with himself now, finally able to accept that his desires were organic and nothing to be ashamed of.
Bickslow watched Freed frantically scurry across their hardwood floor at the chime of the doorbell. "Package for Freed Justine?" he could hear the delivery man announce.
"Yes, that is me. Thank you." Then, click, the door was closed, and Freed was back seated beside his companion.
"What did ya get this time?" Bickslow grumbled. Freed flattened his fingertips over the surface of the cardboard box and read the order tag repeatedly. This was the highlight for him, the physical evidence that he really purchased an outfit.
Bickslow could practically feel the soft vibrations of a purr off of Freed's shoulder. "It's a red corset with black strings and black trimmed lace. I also ordered some black leather pants to go with it." Bickslow hummed and crossed a leg over the other.
"And are you gonna wear it this time?"
"Nope." Of course not.
"I know I ask this every time," Bickslow started, "And knowing you, this won't be my last time asking, but why buy it if you don't wear it?"
Freed only smiled as he set his package to the side. "And my answer will always be the same," Freed raised his head towards Bickslow and looked his best friend in the eye. "I just like the thought that I can buy what I want."
Bickslow didn't like the idea of having to explain a rather simple concept to Freed again, be that as it may, Freed already knew. And yet, here he was preparing himself to go through this argument with his best friend once more. "You can buy it, and you can wear it, Freed. You know I won't judge you. No one will judge you."
"My parents would judge me."
Bickslow rolled his eyes, "Your parents aren't here. We live here, just you and me. This isn't about them." Freed didn't feel the need to assert back. It was the same thing every month. They argued a little over his choices, then they got over it per usual and watched The Big Bang Theory shoulder to shoulder on their plush living room rug.
"While I appreciate you supporting me, I'm content with the way things are now," Freed quickly clarified. " I think it would be difficult on me mentally if I started wearing the outfits. It feels good just to see them and know they're there for me one day if I so choose to wear them." Bickslow soughed, watching as the tip of his overgrown fringe floated up to his forehead. He had just awoken that morning and hadn't slicked his hair up in his typical style yet. He'd known Freed since they were in high school. Bickslow knew the reason why his friend struggled a lot with his identity. Freed's parents were authoritarian, critical and ruled over him as if he were a product than a child. Freed was seen only as a mirror of who his parents were. As a couple who valued their public image over their child's happiness, they forbid Freed to partake in anything they found humiliating or that damaged their reputation.
Bickslow saw the emotional trauma inflicted on Freed, so to remedy this, he abducted the green-haired teen and whisked them away from their hometown and respected shitty parents. He believed Freed would open up more when they relocated an hour away. But Freed only held on to the same tendencies he had learned from his damaging household. Freed was finding himself gradually, but to Bickslow, it just looked as if he was still afraid of being chastised by his parents. It was painful to watch, and he knew it had to have been painful to Freed; he couldn't imagine stifling his desires down like that.
Bickslow searched Freed's eyes, looking for some sliver of longing behind them; something in his expression that would have been begging Bickslow to help him. But Freed only gave his friend a smile and stood to his feet, package cradled into his chest. "I'm gonna go put this away. Did you want to grab something for dinner?"
Bickslow unhooked his legs and stood with him. "We can go grab something, but I still want to talk about this." Freed narrowed his eyes.
"There's nothing really else to say. I'm fine like this, and I'm going to continue buying my outfits and putting them away."
"Away for months, and probably even years at this point."
"And that's fine." Bickslow sucked in a deep breath, going to argue again, but he held himself back.
"Answer me this," Freed raised an eyebrow but waited for Bickslow to continue. "Why are you holding back? I want to help you. I want to be there for you, but I can't understand you. What can I do to help you work through this?" Freed didn't even know the answer to that question. He could admit that he wished to wear the clothes majority of the time, even if it was just around their apartment, but deep down, he knew it wasn't possible. At least not without time to let go of his past anguish.
Freed sighed, plopping back onto the couch. He supposed Bickslow wasn't going to let it go this time. "Well, I guess there isn't anything but my own subconscious holding me back. I don't suppose you could be my therapist and counsel me." Bickslow knotted his eyebrows together and scowled at his friend. Freed waved him off. "I'm joking. But it is a subconscious thing. I just have to push through myself. It's just become a habit of pushing it away."
"Would it help if you tried on an outfit just one time and see if you even like it?" Freed coiled up into a mug of distaste. If it were that easy, he would have slipped the clothes on ages ago.
"I don't know like I said I'm-" Bickslow groaned as loudly as he could, flopping over Freed's body to grab the package beside him. "W-What are you doing.?"
"We're starting something different this month. I'm sick of seeing you like this." Bickslow took his fist and punched through the many layers of tape holding the small cardboard box together. He began prying open the box when he had a small opening, much to Freed's dismay. "This month, we're going to take you out of your comfort zone. Every day we're going to open these packages one by one until every single outfit is hanging up in your closet. Then when they're all hanging up, you're going to wear one for at least thirty minutes every day." Freed's cringe deepened, and a level of discomfort began to rise in his body.
"I don't know; I think this is a bit much."
"I think this is perfect. They're small enough tasks to give you a boost of confidence. By the end of it, you'll be parading around this apartment in whatever you feel like wearing. Women's and Men's clothing." Bickslow popped the box open and fished out the two-piece outfit handing it to Freed. "I just did the first one for you. Tomorrow you do it yourself. "
Freed let the clothing items fall into his lap, staring at the vibrant red corset and silky black leather pants. There was little inhibition keeping Freed from flinging his clothes off and slipping the ensemble on his body. It felt like the need was burning in his chest, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Fears of it not looking good on him or Bickslow laughing at how awkward he looked constantly played in his head. Scenes of him getting laughed at on the streets called all sorts of names, and then images of his parents shunning him for putting them on. They all were day terrors that were frightening enough to push Freed away. But Bickslow was there beside him and patted the outfit on his lap.
"I'm serious, Freed," He said sternly, "Let's work on this together," Easier said than done.
Bickslow was very adamant about getting him to open up. Every day for two weeks, Bickslow would barge into his room, open his closet door, and force Freed to open one of his packages. When they finished opening every single one of them, Bickslow would force him to put an outfit on and look at himself in the mirror for thirty minutes. Bickslow never went in the room with Freed and never pressured him to walk around the house in his outfit. In fact, Bickslow didn't even know if Freed was wI'ming them on the other side of the door. He only trusted Freed was giving himself a shot at change, and Freed was.
Admittedly, it was hard at first for Freed. The first time he slipped the clothes on and stood in front of his standing mirror, he felt ridiculous. He knew he probably looked crazy standing there in a pastel yellow crop top and baby blue pleated skirt, but the longer he stood there, the more it felt…good. By the fourth week, Freed looking forward to putting on his outfit of the day. To stand in front of his mirror and smile at himself in whatever clothes he chose for that day. He still couldn't see himself walking out and showing Bickslow yet, but he was warming up to the idea.
Honestly, Bickslow wasn't even expecting Freed to make it this far. He was proud of him for sure, and he definitely exceeded his expectations. Still, he hadn't had a plan for when he hypothetically got past the second part of his mock therapy. That was until a thought crossed his mind.
"We need to call Elfman. Today I'm taking you to see Mirajane," Bickslow announced. Freed was sitting in front of him, his face knotted into a look of amusement.
"Who?" Bickslow gives him a pointed look, but Freed sits there motionless in confusion. He couldn't figure out why he would need help from Evergreen's boyfriend or who Mirajane was.
"Elfman's sister."
"Elfman's sister? I didn't even know he had a sister. What am I seeing her for?"
Bickslow lights up with a grin and starts for the front door. Freed quickly gets up and follows after him. "Grab some shoes. We're going into town."
"Wait, wait." Freed blinks a couple times, trying to jerk his mind into understanding Bickslow's shenanigans. Bickslow snatches his car keys off their key rack and darts over to his friend. "What is going on? Tell me."
"Mirajane is a stylist. She owns a beauty salon in town close to your job." Freed follows after Bickslow as they walk out of their apartment. They take a couple flights of stairs and land at the bottom where the parking lot was. "She does all kinds of things like personal stylizing, hair, makeup."
"-Okay…" Freed says slowly, "What does this have to do with me?"
"I'm taking you there so she can personalize a style for you, maybe even give you a small change in look." Freed pauses in his tracks just as they arrive at Bickslow's car.
"What kind of change?"
"Whatever kind of look you want."
"We'd be in public. I can't do that." Bickslow rolls his eyes and slides into the driver's seat, waiting for Freed to follow. When he does, Bickslow starts the car and looks over to the green-haired man looking uneasy beside him.
"It doesn't have to be a feminine makeover. I told you it's whatever you want it to be. It's just to give you a confidence boost."
"But you know I want a feminine makeover," Freed shot back, "You're doing this on purpose to push me into doing it." Bickslow shrugs his shoulders and pulls out of the parking lot.
"All I'm doing is driving you to the salon. I'm not pushing you to do anything. You could get a wash and cut for all I care; I just want you walking out feeling a little more confident about yourself." Freed crosses his arms in front of his chest and sighs.
"This feels like you're pushing an agenda on me." Bickslow snorts back.
"Whatever you want to call it. This is going to help you. I have no clue why you're trying to fight it so hard."
"Because I'm scared! I'm scared I'll look weird, crazy, and stupid. Is it fair that I don't want to regret something that I've always wanted to do?" Bickslow skews his face into a slight scowl, taking in what Freed said. By all means, there was nothing wrong with feeling apprehensive about change. That's the whole reason why Bickslow was pushing him in the first place. Bickslow was going to do whatever he could to make sure his friend was happy. It was ridiculous that he'd think he'd look weird or crazy.
Freed waited for Bickslow to reassure him that he was talking nonsense, but Bickslow preoccupied himself with calling Elfman and never responded. He instead only focused on driving to the salon. That only fueled Freed's doubt more. It was a dumb idea to him; he wanted to just turn around and go home.
Bickslow stayed silent until they pulled up to the salon. By that time, Freed was on the brink of tears. Bickslow sighed and cut his car off, turning to his friend. "Look, do whatever you feel comfortable. If you honestly want to turn around and go home, then tell me. I'll stop everything and go back to letting you order your outfits and shoving them in your closet. But just know, no matter what choice you make, I'll support you no matter what. No matter what you do or what you look like, I'll be here regardless." Freed sucked in a shaky breath and looked up to the brightly painted building in front of them. Every bone in his body ached to just walk in there and ask for exactly what he wanted, but he knew he didn't have the courage. It was intimidating just sitting in the parking lot. Freed really wanted to go home, but Bickslow never restarted the car. He got out and started for the salon's front door, leaving Freed behind to wallow in his thoughts. After giving himself a constant pep talk, he got out and followed Bickslow into the salon.
The inside was swimming with women. Some happily chatting away while getting their nails done. Some sit under dryers scrolling through Facebook, and others sit in salon chairs to get their hair done. Freed looked around in amazement. He'd never been to a salon before. His parents never took him to get a haircut, and if he did need anything done with his hair, his mother reluctantly took on the task herself. When he moved out and met Evergreen, she took over and started teaching him how to take care of his long locks. Before Ever came along, things like serums, deep conditioners, and heat protectant were all foreign to him. He only kept her hair long after moving out because he thought it would help him look more feminine if this day were to ever come where he did get a makeover.
A white-haired woman half skipped over to them, with a beaming smile on her face. She was sporting a pink apron over a form-fitting black dress, showing all her natural womanly curves. "Bickslow!? And Freed, maybe?" She said as she walked up to them. Bickslow threw his hand up in greeting and Freed awkwardly waved. "Welcome! Elfman told me you two would be showing up today!"
Bickslow shoved Freed forward, jerking the other man into trying to steady himself, and put his hands into his pockets. "Freed's gonna be the one you work on today. I'm leaving him to you." Freed blushed as Mirajane examined his features. They stared at one another; she immediately started coming up with styles to test on him, and he noted her beauty hanging on all her delicate facial traits.
"I'm so tickled you chose me to be your stylist! I'm so excited to work with you!" To Bickslow, she bowed quickly and then clamped a hand on Freed's wrist. "I'll take good care of him!" Bickslow chuckled as she trotted off, tugging a dubious Freed in tow behind her.
She walked him over to an empty salon chair at the end of the row. Freed felt like just about every woman in the salon was watching him, and it made him, even more subconscious about himself. When he glanced back over to Bickslow, the other man was already in a deep conversation with someone else and wasn't even looking his way.
Mirajane spun him around to look into a mirror and draped a black styling apron around his neck. When she fastened the velcro behind his neck, paying attention to not catch his hair into it, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked at him through the mirror.
"Well, then, Mr. Freed." She said with a smile. "I'm all yours. What exactly did you come in for today?" Freed fiddled with his hands underneath the apron.
"I-I'm not sure. My friend dragged me here without really confirming if I wanted to get an actual makeover done." Mirajane's face perked up at the mention of a makeover.
"Oh! You want a complete makeover? How brave!"
"Uh-well…See, that's the thing. I'm not necessarily sure if I'm ready." Mira beamed warmly at him and gave him a squeeze on his shoulders.
"A little change every once in an awhile wouldn't hurt."
"No... you're absolutely correct." Freed sighed and felt to urge to drown himself. He was so embarrassed, and he hadn't even told her what kind of look he wanted yet. Mira cocked her head to the side, not comprehending exactly what Freed was trying to tell her. "I know what kind of look I wanted… it's just that…I can't do it."
Mira frowned a little. "Why can't you? Did you need help picking out something that would look good on you, need help finding the right shade to dye your hair, what length to cut it?" Freed immediately paled.
"I am not dying nor cutting my hair."
"Okay…No hair dye, no scissors. " Freed crinkled his nose up and sighed. He'd just have to say it. Surely Mira would know what he was referring to if he hinted around to it. Anything to keep from saying it himself. He squeezed his thighs to help urge himself to spit it out, to say what he really wanted. "Perhaps," Mira finally said, "It's something more intimate." Freed blushed and squeezed his thighs harder. "I have a more private room if you wanted to talk in there. It's for when I do makeup, but I'm sure we can figure something out in there." Freed nodded his head and waited as Mira took the black plastic apron off. He followed her into the back and into a bright pink room when she finished. Mira turned back to smile as Freed marveled at the pink and blue decorations all around. The brightly lit vanity on the wall right beside the door. To the velvety rugs lining the floor, all the way to a bright pink plush loveseat facing the door. "Okay," Mira shut the door behind her, turning the lock to create more privacy. "You can tell me whatever you'd like now."
Freed's mouth twitched as he tried once more to think of what he should say. Freed was grateful that Mirajane didn't say anything but waited patiently for him to figure out if he was going to speak or not. With just that bit of comfort, Freed's thoughts came pouring out. "Something...uh, Well...the truth is, Bickslow, my friend I came with, he's helping me gain more confidence in myself." Mira's face softens.
"I see...So were you coming for an overall change of look?"
"Well, not necessarily. I like the way I look now, but…I also always wanted to..." Mira waited for Freed to finish his sentence. Freed didn't even know if he wanted to finish his sentence, but Bickslow's words orbited in his head. No matter the outcome, he had someone that would accept him. Freed knew his whole life that's all he'd really wanted, just to be accepted by someone. Given that he had Bickslow there as his best friend and great support, why should he feel so nervous about giving in to temptation? There shouldn't be anything else holding him back anymore. His parents were an hour away, and he wasn't even in contact with them much anymore. No one would have to know about this but Bickslow and now Mirajane.
Freed closed his eyes and covered his face with his hand to hide the bright blush tinting his cheeks. "I've always wanted to look more feminine," He blurted out. Mira smiled at the man and placed a hand on his knee, gaining his attention. Freed slowly dropped his hands to his lap, but his blush remained staining his cheeks.
"I would love to help you," Mira says softly. "I'm actually honored you came to me for this. This seems like a big deal for you." Freed nodded slowly. "I'll do whatever I can to make you look exactly how pictured."
Freed fumbled with his words, biting his lip a little. "I don't have a specific look in mind. I just want to look a bit feminine."
"Do you trust me?" Awkward question. Freed blinked up into Mira's suddenly stern face.
"What?"
"Will you trust me? I'll take over, and in the end, you tell me if you like it." Freed looked down and thought to himself. Could he really trust Mira? He had to; she was a professional, the sister of a friend, and above all, she was a woman. Surely he could trust her. Freed longed for this day. He wanted it more than anything. He wanted to look in the mirror and feel pretty. He wanted to feel even more beautiful. Maybe he could even show Bickslow. He just had to trust in himself and depend on Bickslow's words.
"Yes," Freed said, "I can trust you." Mira smiled and stood motioning for him to sit in the salon chair in the middle of the room.
'Well then," she said as he took a seat, "Let's get to work."
It took Mira all of three hours to work on him. All the while, Freed confided in Mira about his childhood. He told her about his parents, Bicklsow, and Evergreen. He talked about his desire to look feminine. How, he didn't necessarily want to be a girl, but just liked the idea of putting on makeup and wearing women's clothing. He told her about the four-week challenge Bickslow had given him and how putting on women's clothes made him feel. He even talked to her about his sexuality and leaned more towards being bisexual. By the time she finished, Freed had walked Mirajane throughout his whole life. Mira remained quiet as Freed talked, causing him to question if he said a bit too much about his personal life. He usually didn't overshare with people. Veritably, he preferred to keep his life private. When he was staying with his parents, the only person who knew anything about him was Bickslow. He didn't enjoy larger friend groups, and until they met Evergreen, Bickslow was the sole person he divulged his insecurities to. He preferred only having a select few people to talk to or staying to himself, and he was satisfied with that.
Mira didn't mind listening to him, though. It allowed her to understand him more and find a look that would be fitting for this first experience with a makeup transformation. She even proposed to be his personal stylist of sorts to help him through this journey, and Freed (although he now had two people to push him out of his shell) quite liked that idea.
When she finished, she turned his chair around, so Freed could ultimately face his new look. When Freed gazed at his reflection, he was purely shocked. His hair was curled slightly in thick, soft waves. His eyelashes were more noticeably longer and fuller now. His skin looked flawlessly painted, his cheeks flushed a light pink, and his eyebrows were shaped and plucked. He looked, dare he say it…girly. He looked pretty.
He felt…odd.
Mira gasped at his reflection dramatically as if she wasn't the one who styled him. "You look amazing, Freed!" She gushed, "You look so good!"
Freed stared at himself, really taking in every detail. To his contoured face, to his manicured nails, to his fuller and pastel pink lips, he couldn't get over the whimsical-isk feeling that wafted around the room. He couldn't believe it was himself sitting in the salon chair.
Mira undid the apron around his neck and allowed him to stand. "How do you feel?" She asked gently. Freed turned from his reflection and then looked Mira in the eyes.
"I feel awkward." He admitted.
"Well," Mira said, "This is something new. It's going to take some time to get used to. I wasn't expecting you to be accepting of it so quickly." Freed glanced back to his reflection and couldn't help but feel like he didn't fit this image.
"I don't know," freed responded, "It looks off. Maybe my facial features are too masculine to pull the look off." Mira pursed her lips into a pout at the sound of Freed's unease. She quickly shook her silver-covered head.
"That's not true, Freed! You look amazing. From your hair to your makeup, you look wonderful." Mira stepped beside him and connected their lines of vision within the mirror. "This is the Freed that had been on the inside all along, waiting to come out. This Freed is just bashful, fearful, and it's cowering at their own beauty. All this time, you harbored this part of you, and now that they're free, it's difficult for you to accept that." Freed tautened his hand into a fist, but Mira took her own and unwound his grip. "Freed, you don't have to hold yourself back any longer. You are an adult, you're on your own now, you're free from your parent's grasp. You can be whoever and whatever you want to be now. Please promise me you're giving this part of yourself a chance to grow and flourish." Freed tugged a lip into his mouth, holding in anything prematurely said before he thoroughly thought it through.
Right then, there was a quick rap at the door beside them. Freed's body tensed as Mira let him go and started for it. "Wait!" he quickly said, shuffling over to her. "Don't open it." Mira titled her head to the side in confusion as another knock came to the door.
"Maybe it's Bickslow." Mira said, "We have been in here for a while. Maybe he was just checking on you." Freed opened his mouth to retort but was cut off by the sound of a voice barking from the other side of the door.
"I know you're in there, Mira. Lisanna told me you were in here with a client. I'm just dropping your food off." A wide smirk slithered across Mira's face as at the discovery of who was behind the door.
"Wh-who is that?" Freed whispered frantically at her. Mira grinned as she turned the door's lock and placed her hand on the doorknob.
"Someone who would be more than accepting of your new look." She cooed, swinging the door open to reveal just about the most gorgeous man Freed had ever seen.
