#vintage toiletries

[nostalgia-eh52]

1972 Clairol Conditon Advertisement

[clnclm]

[vintageadsmakemehappy]

1947 Tawn Toiletries for men

[misforgotten2]

Does the fact that mistletoe is a parasite have anything to do with it's place among Christmas traditions?

The Saturday Evening Post - December 7th 1946

[monkeyssalad-blog]

1955 Cussons Apple Blossom ad by totallymystified

[pretty-little-fools]

[lovewanttimetopause]

[susoriginals]

Vintage Dante Doeskin Vinyl Shaving Kit Cosmetic Travel Toiletry Bag Only $7

[stone-cold-groove]

Ask for Sportsman brand men’s toiletries - you’ll be glad you did.

[mead-iocre]

˚　.˚　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　. ੈ

brat!reader is planning to wear this shirt to one of alexia's games. she paired it with her favourite black balloon mini skirt, coperni aged leather brown knee high boots, and her favourite vintage denim coach bag.

she double checked her bag, making sure all her essentials were in there-- sunglasses, gum, phone, and vape. check check check and check.

she was just about to walk out the door when all of a sudden she is yanked by the arm by none other than her girlfriend. alexia's eyes widen when she reads the text on her shirt.

"bebé, you cannot wear that"

an eyebrow raise. sometimes she underestimated how good alexia’s english is getting. damn. brat!reader was really hoping she could get away with it. "what do you mean I can-not wear this?"

"I mean-- people-fans might see you or the cameras might catch you--and people might think--"

"might think what? that all we do is hold hands and touch foreheads?"

alexia sighs audible, her hand instinctively coming up to massage her temple. her blood pressure is rising and the match hasn't even started yet. she starts mumbling a prayer in her mother tongue. the last thing she needs right now is a migraine before a home match against a tough opponent.

"estoy hablando en serio. just change the shirt and we can go"

brat!reader stomps one boot-covered leg down against the wooden floor, frustrated that she's being asked to change when her outfit looks so good. alexia willed herself to not pick a fight, not when she's got a match to focus.

"Vale. fine. puta madre. just wear this over it." Alexia shrugs off her own sweatshirt that she had on, hastily throwing it at her girlfriend before rushing to find something else to wear.

brat!reader could hear her cursing up a storm, muttering in broken spanish under her breath. she complies anyway because the sweatshirt is kinda cute, plus it smells like sandalwood, violet and old leather that lingers from alexia's signature perfume. she wears alexia’s sweatshirt, snapping a few pics with her new fit to post on instagram later.

she can wear the t-shirt some other time.

"ready to go, baby?" is what greets alexia when she finally manages to find another top to throw on that would suit the rest of her fit. her nicely styled hair a few minutes ago was now in slight disarray from the amount of shirts she tried on and then yanked back off. her face is stoic, eyes dark.

"cierren la boca. keep your mouth shut or else i will leave you on the side of the road." is all alexia says before she ends it with a pinch to brat!reader's ass beneath her billowy mini skirt. "do not piss me off. I mean it."

since the match will be played at home, players are free to drive to the stadium with their own cars. when they arrive at the stadium they have to split up— brat!reader to the suits and alexia with the team (obviously). by some miracle, brat!reader had somehow managed to leave alexia alone for the entire drive, far too focused on her phone, replying to instagram comments and messages. alexia was finally able to clear her mind for a short while.

“I’ll see you after” all low and monotone. alexia grabs her Louis Vuitton toiletry bag and locks the car behind her.

“still mad at me?”

“hm.” yeah. she's still mad.

“ok…kiss?”

alexia rolls her eyes and huffs, as if she just got asked to do the most tedious chore. she reaches for her jaw, cupping it with one hand, squeezing her cheeks and forcing brat!readers lips into a pout. she presses a rough kiss onto her lips before pulling away to mutter. “me estas enfadando. you get on my nerves, ya’know that?”

brat!reader just grins at her. oh how she loves to annoy her lover. she sneaks one more quick kiss and bounces away yelling “i love you too. have a good game, la reina!” behind her shoulder, waving at alexia as she walks towards the entrance to the suits. she knows alexia absolutely detests that nickname. she can picture alexia cursing her out in her head, probably saying the most obscene spanish insults she won't even be able to translate to english.

hopefully alexia channels that frustration for her into the game later on and scores a few goals. afterall, alexia plays her best games when she's angry x

˚　.˚　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　. 　

saw the shirt and had to write the quickest blurb ever. must cope the shirt one day x

[richarlotte]

Best places to shop designer?

If you love vintage, look at Japan. Especially for vintage Louis Vuitton bags & cases.

It’s affordable, it’s easy to find and fun to shop for, and it’s actually a great time sourcing pieces. I’ve never spent more than $400 on a piece, and everything I’ve bought has been high quality. I’ve bought some dream pieces of mine, and part of what makes the process so fun is taking the time to find what you want. I bought my Croissant, my Speedy 30, my Pochette, Holdall, Toiletry Bag, and Neverfull for less than $300 each, and aside from conditioning the leather, they’re in perfect condition. I’d strongly recommend looking at Japan’s vintage market if you love Louis Vuitton.

Japan is pretty much the best place to look for any designer items, and the vintage market is the best I’ve ever experienced. The yen is also weak compared to the American dollar, so you’re getting more while spending less. I’ve seen a lot of really nice Chanel and Fendi as well; the more popular bags tend to be bought quickly, but it’s easy to find them, and it’s easier to find rare items on the Japanese retail market than it is to find them on the American market. It’s also very easy to find Hermès scarves and other small items; I love buying small things, and I’m not willing to spend $700 on something I can easily find on the Japanese market for $70. It takes skill but again, the hunt is always fun.

I will say that there are brands I’d avoid and certain stores as well. All of my bags have come with receipts and certifications of authenticity that have held up to the authentication process I put them through here in America. The one thing I’d recommend against purchasing is badly made costume jewelry; it’s not worth it at all, and Chanel costume jewelry is very cheaply made and then marked up to obscene prices. I can make a post about where to shop, what’s trendy and what I’d recommend buying, customs/paying, and how I style the things that I’ve purchased so far. Just let me know, and I'll write a guide up when I have time. 

Let me know if you’d like any of my shopping recs.

[twinsimming]

Generational, But Different Bathroom Set 🚿

The bathroom set from The Sims 4: Growing Together is absolutely stunning, so of course I had to convert it! This set contains 8 converted objects, plus the subway tile wall (which I LOVE) and the herringbone tile flooring in the preview pictures. There are two versions of the wall light, one glass and one frosted, and the sink has 39 slots for all of your bathroom clutter needs.

The toothbrush holder, lotion bottle, retainer glass, light switch, and bathmat are all by bioniczombie here, here, and here, the stack of towels under the sink is by kandiraver-sims here, and the hamper is from The Sims 3: University Life.

Décor

Attention-Worthy Wall Mirror: two channels | §100 |

Here for a Reason Hand Towel: three channels | §60 |

Please Hang Your Towels Pegs: four channels | §70 |

Lighting

Vintage Sconce: three channels | §135 |

Vintage Frosted Sconce: three channels | §135 |

Plumbing

Generational, but Different Sink: three channels | §250 |

Generational, but Different Bath: three channels | §2200 |

Generational, but Different Toiletries [edited by twinsimming]: four channels | §100 |

Flooring

Haughty Herringbone Floor Tile: one channel | §4 |

Wallpaper

Half Stripe, Full Hype Tile: four channels | §2 |

| All TS4 presets included and base game compatible |

Credit: meshes by EA, The Sims 4, Sims4Studio, TSRW, Blender, Milkshape, Photoshop, and Gimp.

Download (SFS, package) | Mirror (MEGA, package)

If you like my work, please consider tipping me on Ko-fi.

Experiencing issues with my conversions? Inbox me. Enjoy! 💙

[thatsdemko]

love thy neighbor - t.wolff

masterlist

pairings: Toto Wolff x fem!reader

warnings: mentions of ideas not intended for minors + next door neighbor trope + NO age gap!(for the sake of the fic both reader and Toto are relatively close in age)

a/n: been working on this one for a hot minute! hope you enjoy xx

you never hated your neighbor. to be fair, to hate someone you have to know their name and all you know is he has a extravagant life style to afford vintage Mercedes Benz cars and have shelves full of trophies. call yourself a snooper, but the man across the way was never good at hiding his life from your window.

his lifestyle was far different than anyone in the cul de sac you live in. half of them being retired home owners, plus you two. middle aged adults with paychecks able to afford the expense of a home in Monaco.

you don’t question why he has so many trophies, and you’ll never have the time, but it doesn’t stop your morning coffee imagination at the dinning room table. you have the perfect view inside a part of his space.

yes, whoever created these two houses must’ve been complete creeps or family, because nobody ever has windows that are directly into another persons house. but you never questioned it, you just closed the blinds at night or whenever his light was on too early in the morning for you.

today was a morning he was dressed to the nines. a blazer, white dress shirt(typical fashion of his), and dress pants. he lays two ties out and you watch him decide which one to wear. you feel awfully embarrassed when his eyes catch yours, but he sends a slight wave, and you hold up a finger indicating which option was best.

you can’t hear it, but all you see is him laugh and it makes you wonder what it sounds like. is it husky? more from the belly? is it contagious?

you need sleep, these thoughts about your neighbor are certainly overpowering any senses that coffee can’t seem to help.

—

he’s gone most weekends. his vintage Mercedes sits in the driveway, top on in case of a rainstorm, but his lights in the house are off. he’s got endless amounts of packages piling up outside his doorstep that would have you eager to rip them open if they were yours.

a long day of grocery shopping and dinner at your parents in town took a lot out of you. you shove your key into the lock of your door, hearing the rumble of the infamous neighbors Mercedes speed around the cul de sac until he pulls into his driveway and cuts the engine.

your door is half open, you’re halfway in it, but it’s like you’re watching something out of a movie scene. the way he gets out of the car is like in slow motion. his rolled up white dress shirt sleeves have creases across the arms. his brief case sits on the top of his car as he slams the door shut behind him rudely awakening your little stare.

a blush forms to your cheeks as you quickly slam your door behind you once you’ve shoved yourself inside. your back rests against the door, heart beating against your chest it’s almost as loud as the knock that comes next.

you jolt away from the door, moving yourself onto your tippy toes you see him. he’s holding one of your bags of groceries you left at the door step, he’s got one hand clutching his brief case, the other gripping the plastic bag full of embarrassing items (ie: tampons and other toiletries).

if you could hate one person right now, it’s you. how could you let yourself get so immersed in him that you literally dropped what you were doing and stared like a little girl in a candy shop?

you swallow the little pride left in you and slowly open the door up a bit. you get a peek at the lines across his face, most likely due from stress, and the way his brown eyes find you. you can feel the thudding of your heart against its cavity.

“I believe you dropped these.” he extends the bag outward towards where you stand, you’re sandwiched in the little space you gave yourself. you extend your hand out, skin briefly touching before you pull away.

“I’m Toto, I don’t think we’ve properly met. and you are?”

his accent. it’s so unfamiliar to your ears. you never would’ve expected his voice to be as deep but light as it was. it was smooth like butter on toast to your ears, it made the hairs on your arm stand up, your back straighten.

“y/n.”

a sparkle shines in his eyes. it’s one you notice once you’ve said your name. he repeats it softly back to you in a question, like it’s not what he was expecting, and he likes it. he always pictured you with a unique name, or maybe one that was a bit basic, but yours fits you perfectly.

“well I better get going. it’s nice to meet you.” he waves you off before he slips into his own house and both of your doors slam in sync.

now that he had a name, there was no stopping your imagination.

—

mornings were the same. they always were.

freshly brewed coffee in front of you, as you watch Toto dance around his kitchen balance a smoothie, a laptop, and a muffin. the man was always busy once the sun shined through his blinds. you wonder if he ever truly gets sleep.

like usual, your mind shifts to him. does he drink coffee in the morning? how many of those white dress shirts does he own? what does his house smell like? does he make a good smoothie?

these questions, once again, couldn’t be drowned with a cup of caffeine, but when he glances over his shoulder and flashes you a wave, the questions silent themselves.

he’s handsome.

you knew this, your heart knew this, your mind knew this, and certainly your body knew this. the hum between your legs was never going to stop when he looked your way.

you lift your coffee cup into the air before taking a sip from the hot contents. it soothes your brains rambles down and puts the energy you need right back into you. the work day was just beginning, and Toto was just heading out the door.

what a shame, you wished he could’ve stayed. oh the things he missed when he’s gone.

—

the evenings are a bit lonely when the sun goes away and the stars crawl in, you watch the rest of Monaco get ready for lavish celebrations while you stick to a movie and a snack.

he’s just arrived home. you hear the rumble of his car in your quiet cul de sac. he kills the engine and before you know it there’s a knock at your front door. it’s rare, you never get visitors, unless for the elder neighbors begging to help you with your garden, but even then they knew to never knock and just help themselves. so this knock was awfully unusual.

unlocking the door to see Toto was a surprise. he stands there, brief case in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, with a goofy grin.

“I don’t really drink wine, did you want this?” he asks, extending the expensive bottle of red outward towards you. he’d noticed in your bag of toiletries the bottle of cheap red wine, and when he’d been gifted the rather expensive one from George for his birthday, he knew someone who might enjoy it more.

“you didn’t poison this, did you?” you take the bottle, and push open your door further to invite him inside.

“it was a gift from work, he would know better to not poison me.” he steps inside your house and allows you to close the door behind him. he gets a good look inside your place, the endless amount of candles, minimal paintings hung on the walls, and your infamous kitchen. the one he’s stolen many glances across at.

“and who is this he we should be blaming if we die?”

“George Russell.”

you chuckle at the name, “he sounds very posh.”

you quickly pull out two wine glasses while he begins to undo the cork; once opened, he pours the liquid into the glasses for the both of you.

“with the money he gets, darling he makes posh look silly.”

you feel the butterflies rumble around your stomach, a blush creep across your cheeks as you take the glass from his hands, skin once again touching for the briefest moment.

“and how much is he making exactly?” you ask leading him to your deck where two Adirondack chairs are placed looking out at the sky. you don’t tend to come out here often, as the chairs were a gift from a friend, but the stars were shining just bright enough to enjoy.

“six million euros.”

you spit out the wine in your mouth, luckily it landed back into the glass, but it wasn’t a very classy move to make. not around the man you’ve been crushing on since you’d moved in. this was the most he’d ever spoke to you, and at this rate, he might not again.

“he could buy Monaco.”

“I could buy Monaco.” he corrects you with a mischievous smile that makes your heart pick up, and your stomach do a back flip. he looks good like that.

“alright what are you mr. Forbes?”

he laughs. it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard. it answers your own question, the laugh sounds like it comes from his heart and his belly. it’s a genuine emotion.

“well I have been on Forbes, but is money really a concern to you?”

you shake your head violently at the question. you lean closer to the edge of your seat, legs crossed to try and tune out the hum in between your thighs, “no, never.”

“but I must say, you have to make a lot to afford those vintage Mercedes Benz’s that you drive.” you add to your statement. watching him nod, he takes a look up at the stars, it gives you a chance to take in his side profile. the stress creases across his forehead, the smile lines around his mouth, the dimple in his cheek. every part of him is jaw dropping.

“you don’t come out here very often, why’s that?” he turns to you, it’s his turn to take in your beauty as you stare up into the stars. they were much brighter away from the city, you always liked that the most.

“I didn’t notice you watched me that closely.” you joke, a smile forming to your lips that reaches your eyes. he’s never seen you smile much, you’re usually grumpy in the morning or lost into your thoughts while drinking your morning coffee. he enjoys this much more than the toiletry run in where you both were a bit on the edge of anxiety.

“I’m not home very often. I try to get out when I can, and you should too. I grill, I know how much you enjoy looking at me.” he says, and hesitantly places a hand against yours. his palm is warm, but nothing like clammy, just the kind that heats up your skin in the middle of winter. the skin to skin contact ignites the flame in you to burn like a warning signal, one that he notices. this man did many things to your brain.

“I’ve never seen you in anything but this shirt.” you remove your hand from underneath his and reach over across your chair to the plastic buttons holding the dress shirt together.

your fingers carefully undo the second button, the top one had already been undone since he doesn’t like to wear it that neat anyway. you can feel his breath hitch, his heart beat is pounding against your knuckles that gently glide against his skin.

“do you wear this all the time?” you pull away, resting back against the chair and watch him fix himself.

“it’s work attire.” he finally breathes. you both can hear him exhale all the pent up emotions. he turns to you, fingers reaching towards your collarbone where the charm of your necklace sits. it’s his turn for payback.

“and who bought you this lovely charm?”

“my mother.” it comes out a bit snippy. his knuckles against your collarbone slip away and for a moment you curse yourself for being so hostile to such an inviting man. one you’ve wanted for so long to get to know.

“who taught you how to talk to your neighbors like that?”

“my father. he was an ass.”

he barks out a laugh taking the last sip of his wine. you don’t want this to be over, and you’re thankful it’s not when he offers to pour refills for you both.

you watch him walk inside your house leaving you alone with the beautiful stars of the sky and your tempting thoughts. having him this close wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t any good. you’d want him as much as he was making the efforts to show, and the buzz in between your legs was loud enough for him to hear. he wanted you too. but what would this do for your friendship? truthfully, nothing. Toto Wolff wasn’t a friend, just a neighbor who sometimes gets your mail instead of his. you could live looking across the window knowing he fucked you senseless.

what drama this cul de sac would have, and it seems they haven’t experienced this much since you two came around and played ding dong fuck every other night.

I guess you both took loving thy neighbor a little too seriously, but you’re sure Jesus wouldn’t mind the kind of love you were making.

tags: @oconso @xcicix @imsorare @weasleyswizardwheezes-blog @monzabee @lpab @frreyaa

want to be apart of my taglist? let me know here!

[god-has-entered-my-body]

𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞

A/N: omg look who's here

word count: 2.5k

content warnings: kissing/making out, suggestive language, mentions of alcohol, cursing, thats it actually wow

“You’re not holding up your part, you need to-” 

“Don’t tell me to hold my end when you’re doing fuck all.” 

You sigh at the sound of Ross and Adam bickering, nervously picking at your nail beds as they carry in the sofa, Adam cautiously walking backwards whilst complaining about his lack of help. Panting and tired, they almost let it drop straight onto the floor before Matty shouts at them to lower it down properly, going over to save the precious hardwood floor from their carelessness. 

Boxes surround you, labeled things like “bathroom” or “kitchen”, the feeling surreal as you look around, taking in the room. The walls are still empty, yet to be decorated by the vintage art Matty had bought to add to your new home. Your home. 

Despite Denise's protests, you and Matty had saved up enough to rent your own flat on the other side of the city, a half an hour or so away from his parents and now closer to the guys, who had let George move in soon after his 18th birthday. Though cramped, they found a way to live semi peacefully, with George sleeping on the sofa indefinitely. 

You feel Matty come up behind you as you unpack the centerpiece for your coffee table, wrapping his arms around your waist and gently turning you around so you face him. 

The toothy grin on his face makes your heart swell with adoration, and you press a light kiss to his lips, humming contentedly as he pulls you in tighter. 

“Look at us, all grown up.” You whisper against his mouth, smiling sweetly as Matty nods, looking around the mostly empty space and snaking his hand into the back pocket of your jeans. 

You giggle at his little move, pressing yourself further into him. “Fucking insane, isn’t it? Our own place.” he sounds in awe, like he didn't pick this flat out himself and sign all the paperwork with you. 

Your moment is interrupted by gagging noises coming from none other than Ross, who’s currently scrunching up his face and telling you to “Get a room, mate, we don’t need to see all that.”, with Adam shooting you both an apologetic look. Matty shakes his head and lets you go, flipping Ross off before finding another box to unpack, bringing it into the bathroom. You follow close behind with a box of your own, wanting to get your toiletries in order before you spend your first night there. 

Matty pulls out toothbrushes, towels, creams, and toilet paper, putting the items in their respective places as you cut open the tightly sealed box in front of you. You find more hair stuff, old dye, brushes, and combs, but one thing catches your eye. A box of bleach makes its way into your hands, and you run your fingers over the label as old memories flood your mind. 

The way Matty laughed as you put the first layer of bleach onto his hair, begging you to not fry it off or make him orange, earning him an annoyed eye roll and a vague threat. The sound of his laugh will never not make you fall in love with him even more. 

“We should re-do your roots, baby, it's been a while.” you say as you turn around, taking the opportunity to run a hand through Matty’s hair, seeing the two or so inches where his highlights had grown out. They’re not extremely noticeable, but you can see them clearly whenever he puts his hair up, the two strands that frame his face looking off and unfinished. 

You’re not one to talk, though, wincing as you think back to your bleached hair, how uneven and fried it was afterwards, happy about your decision to dye it back to black.

Matty takes a look in the mirror, narrowing his eyes “Yeah, it has, hasn't it? I look proper trashy now.” turning his head in all different directions to see his hair from all angles. You laugh quietly, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek, smiling against his skin. “You know I don't mind.” you reassure him, raking your nails down his arm. 

Taking your time, you unpack the rest of the bathroom, stopping in between to make sure the other hasn't broken anything down the hall. Adam seems to have everything under control, being ever helpful as Ross and George bicker over who has to bring in the dining table, both of them refusing to do it. Their fighting makes you roll your eyes in defeat, calling Matty from the bathroom to help you bring in the parts to build it back up, making sure all the screws were still in the little ziplock bag you put them in. 

The first night in your new flat is strange, sleeping in an empty room with just a bed and more. boxes. Both of you are sick to fucking death of the boxes, praying that you’d get the rest done tomorrow in the hopes of having an actual home, decorated and filled with the things you love. Matty’s record player sits on the floor as you cuddle up to him, laying your head on his bare chest.  

The sound of his breathing soothes any anxiety you feel, a familiar safety enveloping your body as night falls, moonlight flooding in through the curtainless window. This change is a lot for you, and Matty knows that, but it’s also a fresh start. A new beginning for your relationship, for your lives together. 

You fall asleep with Matty’s hand in your hair, rubbing loving circles into your scalp. 

☁︎

Matty grins as the bells chime, his eyes landing on you. Shutting the door behind you, you greet the hostess with a smile, noting her name down in your head, and make your way over to him. With your bag slung over your shoulder, the keychains attached to it clink as you walk, lifting the bar door to be greeted with a kiss and hug from your boyfriend, his arms snaking around your hips and pulling you close. 

“Missed me that much?” he asks, a cheeky smile spread onto his face. You make eye contact with the shift manager across the room, and she nods at you, shooting you a polite smile before turning to talk to a server. His work knows you, and lets you hang out behind the bar under the condition that you don’t touch anything, and don't distract him from his customers. 

Matty’s finally landed a job at a bar downtown, hidden behind a tailor but still popular nonetheless. It fits him, and pays well enough that he could afford the rent by himself if he had to, but you split it equally anyway. 

The black stained wood of the place is pleasing to the eye, silver detailing on the tables and bar pulling it all together nicely. You have your chair behind Matty, a bar stool you sit on to keep him company while he works his shifts, mostly in the evening or late afternoon, when the place starts to fill a bit more. 

Though very much enjoying the view of your boyfriend in a loose, borderline skimpy white tank shaking and pouring drinks, you take to people watching. The couple at table nine seems to be fighting, charged glances being exchanged as they silently eat their food. The woman at the other end of the bar is looking for someone to take home tonight, dressed up to the nines and sweet talking a man who seems quite a bit older than her. 

You play some songs on their jukebox, taking song requests from Matty here and there, and even ordering a few drinks to occupy you. Matty brings you your martini, letting his fingers linger a few beats too long as he hands it to you, using the moment to kiss you softly, the minty smell of gum on his breath. 

Time ticks by slowly as you sip your drink, holding idle conversation with a girl sitting at the bar whilst doing your best to stay out of Matty’s way. You’re pulled away by Matty scooting past you, grabbing a tall glass for a customer. 

“He’s your boyfriend?” the blonde asks, gesturing to a now quite sweaty, and mildly stressed Matty pouring a gin and tonic. You smile and nod, brushing your hair out of your face. “Yeah, they let me chill here while he works. Pretty cool, yeah?”

“Layla.” she says, holding out her hand for you to shake, and you offer your own name. You talk for a long while, and you make Matty make her a new drink more than once. It feels nice having someone to talk to. Getting lost in conversation, you learn she braids hair for a living, and Layla asks what you do. “I work at the Wetherspoons down the road from our flat, opening shifts when I can.” 

It’s not long before Matty taps you on the shoulder, telling you he’s about to go on his break. You politely excuse yourself, smiling sweetly as you follow him outside to the alley, pack of cigarettes already in hand. “Who’s that?” he asks, referring to the person you’d been speaking to for the better part of an hour. 

“That's Layla, it’s her first time here.” Matty just hums in response, handing you his nearly empty lighter. 

It takes a few tries to light, and the first drag relaxes you immediately. You don’t speak much, just stand there smoking your respective cigarettes until Matty puts his out under his boot. You can tell he’s tired and stressed by the overwhelming amount of customers, and that this break is much needed to get him through the rest of his shift. 

“You doing okay?” you ask as his hands find your hips, his face burying itself into the crook of your neck. “You smell nice.” he murmurs into your skin, ignoring your previous question. You let your hands wander the expanse of his back, feeling Matty tense and relax his whole body under your touch. 

“M’just tired.” he adds, pulling away to press his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes. The closeness of it all makes you giddy, but at the same time you worry about him.  

“Is it always this busy? I don't like seeing you this tired, baby.” you speak slowly, not wanting to sound too overbearing, knowing how much he hates being babied. Matty sucks in a deep breath, standing up straighter before giving you your answer. “It’s Saturday, always gonna be a bit fuller with people going out.” you just nod, rubbing his back lovingly and pressing a soft kiss to his bitten lips. 

Matty sighs into the kiss, his hands finding your shoulders as you guide him the brick wall of the alley, pushing him up against it gently. You can tell he likes this little turn of events, letting you direct him and take over the kiss quickly, licking into his mouth as your fingers graze over his torso, grabbing onto his waist. The soft noises he lets out make you smile, pulling away to look at him properly. 

“Y’know, some people think i sit there to look pretty for you, when really, you’re absolutely gagging to be whisked away like this, aren't you?” you whisper, digging your nails into his hips as a grin spreads onto Matty’s face, complementing the faint blush on his cheeks beautifully. 

“S’nice being appreciated for how hard I work, especially if it's like this.” Matty answers, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip before pulling you back in and kissing you, harder this time. 

You feel him up properly, groping his chest and sides while he feels the curve of your ass, kneading the flesh and earning soft moans from you. Making out in the alley isn't really the best way to be spending his ten minute break, but you can't bring yourself to care. It isn't until you’re interrupted by a harsh knock on the door that you pull away from each other, quickly smoothing out your clothes and wiping lipstick off Matty’s lips, shooting him one last cheeky smile before he goes back inside, quickly following behind him. 

☁︎

The distinct smell of bleach fills the air as you mix the dye in your trusty bowl, using the back of the brush to do so. Matty sits on the white marble counter, swinging his feet and fiddling with the speaker, turning the volume higher before facing you again. Using clips, you pin his hair up gently, fixing it so it’s easier to put the foils on afterward. 

The look in Matty’s eyes as you layer the mixture on makes your heart melt. His brown eyes bore into yours, and you almost lose your concentration more than once, quickly wiping off the stray bleach off the bits where it's not supposed to be. 

“Don’t fuck up my hair, I beg you.” Matty warns jokingly, licking his lips as you bit yours, cleaning up your mistake in record time. 

“Don't look at me like that then, it’s throwing me off.” you breathe, wiping your hand on a towel before continuing painting his roots. “Like what?” Matty asks, raising his eyebrows at you, questioning your statement. You simply shake your head, smiling fondly as a wave of deja vu washes over you. 

“Remember the first time we did this, back when I was a blonde?” 

Matty giggles at the memory, making a comment about how fried your hair was after that, and how your mother almost killed you because of it. The mention of your parents shifts the mood, but you ignore that sinking feeling in your chest in favor of wrapping Matty’s hair up. 

“I really love you, you know that?” the words sound like they've been coated in love the way they make you so, so giddy when you hear them. Your cheeks flush as Matty smiles sweetly, his hand thumbing at your hip while you work on him. “I love you too.” you answer, loving the way his eyes light up when you speak. 

Nothing could replicate the feeling you get when you’re with him, the pure, passionate love the two of you share. 

You giggle at the sight of Matty all done up in foils, strips of metal sticking out of his hair wildly. Committing the sight to memory, you kiss him while you wait for his hair to lift, faintly tasting the chapstick on his lips. 

[monkeyssalad-blog]

Detail from a 1950 Lifebuoy ad by totallymystified

[pretty-little-fools]