#imkindanervousformyfirstpostidk

[evilslushy]

make-up (and irritations)

Hamzah x f!reader

(A/N): no proofread, first time writing hamzah and also anything x reader in a while… hope yall like it idk LOL send me requests maybe??? Idk fuck

“Okay, just don’t move and you won't look stupid in the end.” You hold your hand up to gesture a pause. Hamzah involuntarily paused his movement like a puppy, tensing up as the seconds passed. Somehow, after weeks of pleading, Hamzah found himself stuck in this god forsaken circumstance where you sat opposite him with your make-up bag comfortably still on the coffee table beside his beat up stained couch.

Hamzah broke himself loose from your trance by moving his eyes away from your gesturing hand that had a brush hanging between your index and middle finger to your stern eyes, excitement highlighted all across your face. “I don’t know. Your excitement is kinda freaking me out.” He responded, his eyebrows furrowing at the thought of products rubbing across his sensitive skin.

“You being negative is making me want to make you look stupid.”

Hamzah sighed, throwing his head back to rest it against the sofa, he looked up at the ceiling, murmuring: “I’m not being negative. I’m just being… cautious.”

“Cautious has a negative connotation to it.”

Hamzah only closed his eyes in response. Coming up with something in response only ten seconds later, “Big word alert.” Making you giggle. “Shut up.”

Hamzah’s smile grew at the sound of your laughter—opening his eyes to look at you. Using his hands to sit back up, he crossed his legs and faced you, the sunlight casting a warm glow on his features. There was a relaxed look in his eyes as he settled into the moment, the atmosphere around you charged with an unreadable energy. “Just go.” Your eyes clicked in place with his, your smile still lingering—nothing in your mind anymore other than your comments about how cute he looks.

“Don’t rush me.” You opened your eyeshadow pallet. “This is a form of art. Do you think good art is rushed?” You tapped the powder onto your brush, “you’re taking this way too seriously.” Hamzah’s eyes followed your movement, partially nervous. You clicked your tongue, saying: “hun if you don’t wanna do this we can stop.”

Hamzah looked at you blankly, trying to read if he’s starting to irritate you or not. The last thing anyone wants is an angry girlfriend. The last thing that he wants, matter of fact. Though you weren’t angry—you were genuine about your concerns, you put your brush down to show surrender to his protests. A reassuring smile tilting your lips. A strain in his heart formed at your demonstration of love and care. (Slightly fluttering at the sudden nonchalant nickname drop).

“No. No-no-no. It’s fine. I’m just joking.” He probably looked like an idiot right now. After months of dating he still gets flustered over little things like a teenager. Your hand moved back down to grab the brush again. “You’ll be fine. I know how to do this.” You reassured, smiling as your thumbs glided over his right eyes to close it.

It was quiet, Hamzah relaxing at the feeling of the brush running across his lid. Breathing steadily. You didn’t expect him to be so still. At one point you thought he was asleep. But the random: “my eye itches.” Or “my back hurts.” Reminded you who exactly your boyfriend is. You sighed as you finished one of his eyes.

“My back hurts.” He whined yet again, “I wanna lay my back on the couch.” He continued his whining. You were too focused to notice what he was saying, Hamzah holding your hand away from his face to break out of your focus cycle. “Can we take a break?” A suggestion that almost goes unacknowledged by you when you notice how close you are to his face, for the first time it seemed like you were the flustered one. “Why did you break me away from my art piece?” Hamzah snarked in response.

You pushed his shoulder towards the couch, forcing his back against it. Hamzah raised his eyebrows in curiosity, wondering what you’re doing to him. You uncrossed your legs, your back also aching from being in the same bending position for around fifteen minutes. “What’re you doing?” He asked.

“Sitting on your lap so you’d rest your back against something and stop whining.”

Hamzah liked to pretend like he didn’t care, but he was freaking the fuck out for sure now.

You slid yourself on his lap, not giving attention to the matter. Your right arm wrapping around the back of his neck to prop his head against it. The side of your body resting against his chest, your other hand going back to work and continuing his makeup.

Obviously you weren’t going to address the sudden position change. Especially knowing how Hamzah always reacts to ‘out of nowhere intimacy’ not that he doesn’t like it, it’s just easy to tense him up with—in his opinion, too much—TLC.

You couldn’t help but giggle when you noticed that he stopped breathing for a few seconds. He’s not moving at all. “You okay?” You asked, moving your brush away from his face. “I feel like you're too close, anything and I might mess it up.” He spoke, raising his head up from your arm to look at you.

“Hun, this isn’t a permanent marker, we can wipe it away.” Your thumb wiped the excess eyeshadow powder under his eyes. “Why are you so tense? Relax.” Your hand moving down to his shoulder and squeezing it.

“You’re just pretty, I don’t know.” He rested his head back against your arm, avoiding your eyes as he spoke. His signature awkwardly goofy laugh fills the silence between the both of you. “Wow, such a charming delivery.” You sarcastically teased, “you don’t know?” Both of you started to laugh at the way he phrased his words. Hamzah still avoided looking at you by closing his eyes while he laughed.

“You know what I mean.” Resting his head to the side to continue avoiding eye contact. You raise an eyebrow, holding his chin to turn his face towards you to continue his makeup look. “Yeah well, look at me the next time you compliment me.” You run your brush along the bridge of his nose to contour it. Hamzah’s eyes meeting your focused face, feeling a bit awkward as your comment floated around his subconsciousness. You noticed the way he went silent, regretting not clarifying your tone.

“I’m joking. I know what you mean.” You let out, moving the brush and yourself away from his face. Hamzah sent you a half smile—“I know.”—nodding his head. The guilt for calling him out still weighed heavy on your heart, especially with that look on his face. (By that you mean his awkward half smile, he looked cute.)

You couldn’t help but lean in and give him a rushed peck. Hamzah kissed you back but still gave you a confused look afterwards. “Why?” He asked, unable to hide the warmth spreading from his neck to his ears. It was cute that he wasn’t the kind to flush across his cheeks but rather mainly on the tip of his ears.

You snarked, “not the confusion. Can’t I just kiss you?” Going back to the makeup, starting to set his face. “No, it was out of nowhere.” He responded, “should I give you a countdown next time?”

Hamzah giggled at the thought, “that would be funny, I'm not gonna lie.” His giggle was contagious, because there you go; giggling as well. “Three… two… one. Trigger warning, smooch.”

“Okay, don’t say that word.” He puts his index finger up between your faces, shaking it left and right to shush you. “What?!”

“Millennials' word.”

“Trigger warning millennials.” You say back, making you both go back to the fit of giggles you were sharing a second ago.