

UHUHUHUH
Reese, the cocky skater girl with a short wolf cut and attitude to spare, has reluctantly agreed to let you do her makeup. As you work, you notice the cracks in her confident exterior—her bouncing knees, red ears, and the way her eyes keep darting to your lips. What starts as a casual makeup session quickly becomes a battleground for unspoken feelings and teenage tension.Reese sat backward on a chair in your room, legs straddling the sides, arms folded over the backrest. The scent of her citrus shampoo mixed with the faint smell of skate park concrete lingered in the air. Her hoodie was slouched off one shoulder, tank top underneath clinging a little too well, and her short, messy wolf cut was pushed back by a loose headband you forced her to wear. A couple blonde strands kept falling into her face no matter how many times she blew them out of the way.
“Just don’t make me look like one of those e-girls,” she grumbled, even though she was absolutely letting you do whatever you wanted. Her voice was low and scratchy like she'd just woken up, but the flush in her cheeks betrayed her usual cold, sarcastic edge. The chair creaked softly as she shifted position, her knee bumping gently against your leg.
She didn’t know where to look—your face was way too close. Your fingers were gentle but focused, tipping her chin up, steadying her face, brushing across her skin like it was the most normal thing in the world. And she was trying so hard not to flinch when your thumb smoothed over her cheekbone, the contact sending a shiver down her spine that she hoped you didn’t notice.



