to dye for
matty dyes the reader's hair in his own chaotic, messy way
matty healy x reader
word count: 1k
warnings: some suggestive mentions but it's all jokey but other than that it's just fluff ! (aka all i seem to write)
notes: this is self indulgent because i dye my hair all the time and i saw a pic of blue haired matty on the dash this morning that inspired me to actually write this ! also shoutout to mads for saying it was similar to the hair dying scene from clueless you were so right and i finally watched clueless because of that so slay
The scene in the bathroom is carnage. Coloured dye and stained towels litter the previously spotless floor. You almost regret putting too much trust into your boyfriend’s capabilities to help you, but he did insist and who were you to resist those chocolate brown eyes?
You're sitting cross-legged on the chair you brought in from the office, one you’re glad neither of you cared about as it’s now irreversibly dyed with memories of this venture. Matty stands behind you, your head at the perfect height for him to apply his ministrations. Normally you adore the feeling of your boyfriend’s slender fingers playing and passing through your hair, but at this current moment in time the feeling just stresses you out, not being able to see the ‘artistic choices’ he’s taking in terms of your appearance worries you. It’s not that you don’t trust him but judging from the sight of the splatters of dye that are dotted all over the bathroom floor he seems to have gotten a little too overenthusiastic to be involved in your makeover, making you worry for the state of your undoubtedly stained scalp.
After a particularly loud sigh from you and a warning of “Matty!” your boyfriend's infectious giggle can be heard from above you, the wholesome sound filling the small space of the bathroom.
“Darling I am helping you know”
“Matty, you’re getting dye everywhere!” you chide, only pretending to be annoyed at him and he knows that.
“You want it all to be covered don’t you?”
You snap your head back to look up at him, his infectious grin already staring back at you, “Yes but not the walls!”. His responding laugh is booming and full of entertainment and the way his eyes crinkle at the edges with how broad his smile is makes you want to kiss every inch of his pretty face, that too which somehow has dots of dye splattered onto it, making him look even more like a work of art than he normally does.
His colourful gloved hands start a shooing motion, telling you to turn around once again so he can finish his job. You slump your shoulders in joking exaggeration, breathing out “You’re gonna make my hair go grey Matthew”. His laugh is immediate, “And then I’ll just dye over it again” his voice proud and smug as he drops a loud, overdramatic kiss to your shoulder, that act alone fracturing your annoyed facade, a large lovestruck smile breaking out onto your face.
“You make me want to scream sometimes”
“Oh I know, love”, you can practically hear the shit-eating grin in his sudden sultry voice as he decides to interpret this as innuendo.
His antics make you sigh once more as you lean your head back, looking up at his playful eyes, “Oh stop, you know I didn't mean it like that”.
His mischievous smile is hypnotising as you look up at him from below, his face upside down due to your awkward angle, “Oh sure you didn’t but I have enough memories of you screaming for me to last a lifetime so forgive me if your threat lacks substance sweetheart”
“Oh my god Matthew!”, the memories of pleasure-filled nights filling your mind and making you blush; even after all these years of dating he still has this effect on you so easily.
His amused laugh echoes in your ears once again, “Please, stop pretending to be innocent, we both know you like it”.
You suddenly feel very vulnerable, covered in hair dye and currently blushing and flustered from your boyfriend’s previous comment, “Behave and finish my hair now please”.
“Anything you say love”.
He maneuvers your head forwards again to allow him to add some finishing touches to the art piece that is your hair, how there’s any part of your head not covered in dye at this point is a mystery to you but you let him entertain himself.
Once Matty had rinsed through your hair until the water ran clear, his fingers soothing as he ran them through the freshly coloured strands as well as the conditioner he had generously applied afterwards.
When that too was rinsed out, he left you sitting on your shared bed like a wet dog while you towel-dry off your hair as he tries to clean up the multicoloured mess he had created in the bathroom. As you take the hairdryer to your hair Matty comes in from the other room, now changed into his ‘comfy clothes’ and wearing those tartan pyjama bottoms he knows you can never take your eyes off of. He walks slowly up to you from behind, wrapping his tattooed arms around your chest as he leans his head on your shoulder, looking at you in the tall mirror you both stand in front of. His eyes and smile are tired as he silently appreciates you and your new look, his thumbs rubbing slowly over your ribs and holding you flush to his cosy chest, an action that always feels like home.
Your hair is finally dry and Matty takes on the responsibility of being the one to brush it, slowly dragging the brush through your fresh hair and afterwards running his fingers through it once more, that motion alone bringing on a wave of sleep causing you to subconsciously lean back into him, your eyes fluttering shut at the contact. Matty begins carefully swaying you both side to side, still watching you intently in the mirror, leaving feather-light kisses in the crook of your neck, the urge to have them tattooed into your skin a constant desire.
His voice is low as he sleepily mumbles into your skin, “New hair looks good y’know, always knew it would, you’d suit anything”.
Your voice is light and appreciative as you thank him and watch your sleepy man of a boyfriend nuzzle closer into your body, his dark eyes making eye contact with yours as he leans up to drop a kiss to the side of your temple,
“You look beautiful, my perfect little art piece”.
His reference to his pollock-like hairdressing style makes you giggle and turn around to hug him fully, his large arms more than welcoming as he holds you tight against his pyjama-clad torso once again, whispers of sleep swirling around you both and subconsciously dragging you back to bed.
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