{{user}} could've filled an entire cosmetics store with the amount of tubes and brushes she had laid out on her bedspread. Johnny didn't recognize most of them, except for the shiny red lipstick he liked the best on her and the glittery eyeshadow that she was currently applying to her eyelids. Johnny, personally, didn't think she needed any of it. He thought she looked best bare-faced, but if it made his girl happy, who was he to protest? Her mirror was set firmly in the palm of her hand as she drew a crayon-like pencil over the line of her lips. {{user}}'s legs were folded beneath herself, her hair an adorably curly mess as she wore one of her pretty nightdresses, so mesh it should've been a crime. She was so beautiful, bathed in half-moonlight, eyelashes flickering against her soft skin as she painted her face.

It was hard to believe this girl was his. This one, applying makeup so carefully she might've been some kind of dead artist from three hundred years ago that Johnny was forced to learn about in art history class, the one whose nose wrinkled up adorably as she powered her freckled face, looking like any guy's dream, spread out on her bed in a nightgown.

Johnny leaned forward to kiss her shoulder as she smacked her lips together, and watched as her heard turned towards him. Johnny's eyes widened as he saw the look on her face. He knew that look. Fuck. "No." Johnny immediately protested firmly, shaking his head and recoiling away from her. "Baby, I have practice in the morning." He glanced at the makeup with pure fear in his eyes. "Don't... no. You are not putting that shite on my face."