hobie brown x reader (fluff) - eyeliner
→ she/her pronouns!
hobie loves asking you to do eye makeup for him
"Sweets! C'mere for a sec!"
Your ears perk up when you hear Hobie from the other room, amidst slathering on a moisturizer onto your face.
"Hold on! I'm doing skincare!" You exclaim, hoping he heard you.
"C'mon already!" Hobie yells, and you fight every urge to roll your eyes as you rub in the last bit of your face lotion.
"Okay, okay!"
Hobie smirks when you dip into his bedroom, reaching out his hands to beckon you closer. The fluffy lounge set you're in makes him want to handle you more, his fingers subconsciously drawing in towards you.
You stick out like a sore thumb against the different shades of black in his room, studded belts and punk magazines scattered on the ground. Lazily, he's seated on the edge of his bed, his worn-out guitar sprawled across his charcoal-black sheets.
Those silver-ringed hands slip onto the curves of your waist, snaking their way up your back to tug you closer to him. You almost shiver at the feeling of so much metal. Cockily, he stares at your face, cheekily dragging you so that his face his a hair close to your chest.
"What is it, Hobie?" You ask, smoothing your fingers through his kinky hair. Hobie likes it when you trace your thumb over all of his piercings.
Seemingly out of nowhere, Hobie pulls out an eyeliner pen, flipping it smoothly through his fingers. Hobie chuckles a little, squeezing at the fat of your sides. There's a glint in his eye; excitement.
"Y'always talk about puttin' makeup on me, so I'm givin' you a try."
Hobie's smirk widens when he sees you light up in excitement, allowing you to slip the eyeliner pen from his fingers.
"Right now?" You ask, and Hobie squeezes you. He nods, shoving his face right up at you to emphasize.
"Do an edgy look for me, yeah? Don't be afraid t'smudge it a li'l."
So, while Hobie sits at the edge of his bed, he indulgently allows himself to wrap his arms around you, tilting his head upwards so you can paint on the makeup properly. You're parked right in the gap between his legs, closing in the little distance you have with Hobie to perfect the look.
While you stand there, bracing Hobie's face with one hand, he just takes it upon himself to stare at your concentrated expression. He hates to admit but he loves the close proximity.
"Hobie, you gotta close your eyes for me to do it."
The boy shuts his eyes closed, flinching just the tiniest bit when the tip of the pen first meets his skin. You build up a fine line at the outer corner of his eyelid, making it an effort to upturn the wing just the slightest bit.
For the last part, you draw a somewhat messy line underneath his lower lash line, smearing black onto only the outer side. Taking your finger, you smudge the black while its still wet, blurring out the line until whats left under his eye looks like black shadow.
Hobie resists every urge to open his eyes, every nerve screaming at him to keep them shut. For now, he makes due with what he can, squishing a little too close to your butt, or running his thumbs over where your rib cage is.
"I finished the first eye, wanna see?" You ask.
He opens his eyes back up, relishing the sigh of you until he has to close them again. You step away elsewhere to search for a good-sized mirror, and Hobie reluctantly lets go.
You come back with a hand mirror, and Hobie feels his eye itch just a little, probably from the eyeliner. You hand him the mirror, and it makes you a little nervous. At the end of the day, you just want him to like it.
You watch as Hobie examines the first eye, tilting his face from side to side with a smile forming on his mouth.
"Wow, y'did a nice job. I like the smudging right 'ere." Hobie explains, pointing his finger up to his under eye.
You smile, taking the mirror from his hand so you could continue the other eye.
"Y'know... I think I might ask'ya to do this more often." Hobie says, mindlessly tapping his fingers against your back. The way you handle his face almost makes him melt.
"You're good at makeup."
You chuckle a little, swiping the pen away to press a gentle kiss to Hobie's forehead. The way he smiles is so cute, how you can feel his cheeks warm under your fingertips.
"If you wanted to be with me, you could'a just asked, Hobie." You giggle, gently poking the corner of his other eyelid with the pen.
"I'm serious!" Hobie laughs, his eyes still closed. "I look like Cooper, y'know who Cooper is?"
"The guy that gave you a spare guitar string?" You ask.
"Yeah, he's a good man, had this really wicked eyeliner on."
With a final swoop of your wrist you finish his other eye, your vision ping-ponging between the two wings to make sure they're symmetrical.
"Done!" And you hand Hobie the mirror again, intently watching his expressions. Again, he tilts his head from side to side, an impressed smile on his face. It looks really good on him, perfect for one of his shows.
"Wow, sweets, this is really sick. Bet I'd give Cooper a run for his money, yeah?" Hobie says, standing up from his bed. You giggle into his chest when he pulls you in, repaying you for the earlier kiss with one on the crown of your head.
"You think so?" You ask, and Hobie nods.
"Get dressed and I can take us to The Crown, bet Cooper's there havin' a drink or two." He cockily states, making you playfully roll your eyes. You're expecting him to show up Cooper, pridefully pointing to his eyes to say, "Yeah, my girl did that."
"I'd like that." You say, untangling yourself from Hobie to search for something on the floor to wear. You leave some of your clothes in his room anyway. He lets go of you, watching you skim through his wardrobe.
"How 'bout that l'il dress, the short one you always like? We can match." Hobie suggests, placing his hands underneath his head and leaning back into his bed.
"It's all the way over at my flat." You reply, and Hobie springs back up, already pulling his spider mask out of his worn-out vest pocket.
"I can go get it, if you want."
"I think you want it more than I do, Hobie." You shrug, Hobie already a third of his way out the window.
"Be back in a sec!"
© 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒂.
1K notes
·
View notes
at the end of the day it's not that you hate your job - actually, you like working, you like routine, you like feeling like an adult - it's that any time you fuck anything up, you feel like you're fucking dying.
because you could be actually fucking dying. because if one day you wake up and you misunderstood something - you could lose your job, and nobody is hiring, and nobody is paying, and nobody takes people like you, and that job you want hasn't gotten back to you. and what exactly are you going to do without insurance? good luck with those meds. you should have thought of that before being a person.
so it's not just that you forgot to CC someone on an email, it's that if you don't have this job, you can't afford rent. it's not that you misread a comment, it's that if you get fired, you will be in massive amounts of unpayable debt. it's not that you are bad at your job, but here are the stakes as they have been decided for you: be perfect or fucking die. like, literally, die. that is how much safety net you have: none.
it's not burnout, technically. but you literally just had two typos in your work, and you're already picturing the ending. you want to throw up & curl up & make it all go away. it is two typos. if he decides he is mad at you, you lose literally everything.
your mom says that you seem stressed. the thing is that you have never known a job that isn't stressful. welcome to capitalism. there is no other road, only this one. what the fuck is a career. you come here, and we hold your life against the barrel of a gun, and somewhere someone is spinning the chamber and pulling. eventually the bullet will come.
you live in a mugging. your boss owns three cars and has four kids. you worry about having enough to feed your dog. good luck. beg for forgiveness. CC the right people next time and be grateful, kid. somebody has it worse than you. someone, probably, has it worse than you. so what if you can't sleep or eat or focus. your work chat sound literally makes you panic. you had to change the sounds of computer notifications so you'd stop having such an upset stomach.
welcome to the real world! the rat race! the dog eat dog circus!
your doctor studies the results and frowns at you. "it's bad for your heart," she says. "try to reduce your levels of stress."
21K notes
·
View notes