Addicted to Pretty (4/7)

Dustin was back again, flopping onto the couch a little too eager as he powered on the console. “Ready for another rematch?” he asked, his eyes flicking for a second toward Ember’s vanity before settling on the screen.

Ember rolled her eyes with a little smile, still scrolling on her phone. “Come on, Dustin,” she said lightly. “It’s not even a secret anymore. You just want me to dress you up. So do you really wanna waste another thirty minutes ‘accidentally’ falling off platforms, or should we just skip to the good part?”

He opened his mouth, stammering. “Wh—I mean, that’s not—ugh, I just—I mean—” He went beet red. “...Yes, please.”

Ember’s grin could’ve lit up the room.

Ember wasted no time. She grabbed the breast forms first—the adhesive slapped against his chest with a wet, perfect seal, and Dustin shivered as they were pressed into place. The sudden weight made him shift slightly, back straightening without thinking.

Then came the outfit. The glossy pink vinyl pants clung to his legs like a second skin, squeaking softly with every motion as Ember worked him into them, tugging hard at the waistband to get them high and tight on his waist. The matching long-sleeve bodysuit hugged his figure so well it looked like it had been made just for him. She finished the look with a pair of patent pink pumps, slipping them onto his feet one at a time.

Ember leaned in, starting on his makeup with smooth, practiced strokes. A bit of concealer here, some light contouring there. She didn’t even look up as she spoke.

“You know, Dustin doesn’t really fit anymore,” she said casually, brushing powder across his cheekbones. “I mean, look at you.”

He stayed quiet, lips parted slightly as she moved on to his eyes—soft pink shimmer, just enough to catch the light.

She tapped a glossy nail against her lip thoughtfully. “What about... Dani?”

He blinked up at her through freshly coated lashes, blushing. Then, quietly, he gave a little nod.

Ember smiled, uncapping a matte nude lipstick and leaning in again. She applied it with slow, careful strokes, shaping his lips until they looked soft, full, and undeniably feminine.

“Perfect,” she said softly. “Now come on, Dani. Time to go.”

“Go?” he echoed, eyes wide.

“To the salon, of course!” Ember chirped. “I booked an appointment for you before you even got here. Chop chop!”

Before Dani could protest, she took his hand in hers and tugged him toward the door.

They arrived at the salon, Ember leading the way inside with Dani trailing just a step behind.

“This is Dani,” she said brightly to the nearest stylist, keeping a firm grip on his hand. “She’s thinking blonde today. And she needs her nails done.”

The stylist clapped her hands together, beaming. “Ohhh, she’s gonna look so cute blonde. Come on, sweetie, let’s get you all set up.”

Dani barely had time to respond before he was guided to a chair and gently pushed down into it, wide-eyed and blushing as gloved fingers began running through his hair.

The bleach went in fast, the stylist chatting away while gloved fingers worked it through Dani’s roots—tingly, a little warm, and way too real. Before he could even process it, she was rinsing, toning, blow-drying, and smoothing it out with a round brush, humming the whole time. And just like that, his brown hair was gone—replaced by sleek, platinum strands with a soft, bouncy shape that framed his face just right.

The nails were next—bubblegum pink, high-gloss, and sharpened into perfect stiletto points. Dani stared as each fingertip was filed, shaped, and polished, his hands slowly transforming into something delicate and doll-like. By the time the top coat dried, he couldn’t stop looking at them.

Dani stared at his reflection, eyes slowly trailing from the platinum blonde waves to the sharp pink nails resting delicately in his lap. The changes weren’t temporary anymore—not really. He couldn’t just scrub this off or throw on a hoodie and become Dustin again. Not with hair this light, not with nails this long.

For a second, he waited for the panic to hit. For regret, embarrassment, something.

But instead... there was a flutter. A heat. A tiny, dizzy rush that started low in his belly and bloomed upward like a secret he wasn’t ready to say out loud.

It didn’t feel wrong. It felt... exciting.