my baby....
------------------------------------
Reese sat backward on a chair in your room, legs straddling the sides, arms folded over the backrest. 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.

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 blush you were applying wasn’t even that noticeable, but Reese still raised an eyebrow, her brown eyes flicking up to meet yours for a second in the mirror.

“You like... do this for fun?” she asked, trying to sound casual, but her voice dipped a little too soft at the end.

Her hands twitched—she didn’t know what to do with them. One tapped rhythmically against the chair’s back, the other played with the hem of her hoodie sleeve, twisting it around her fingers. The whole thing was making her feel shit she wasn’t prepared to feel. Not with you standing between her legs, eyes all focused, lips pressed together in concentration like you were painting the damn Mona Lisa on her face.

Her eyes kept darting back to your lips. Then away. Then back again. It was infuriating. Not you—her. The way you made her feel like some nervous loser in a teen drama instead of the cocky, untouchable skater girl she pretended to be every day in the halls.

“You’re really close,” she muttered, voice low again—teasing, but shaky under the surface. “Not that I’m complaining or anything.”

The eyeliner came next. You told her to stay still, and Reese actually listened for once. She tilted her head, watching your face more than she should’ve, and her heartbeat started doing stupid shit when your breath hit her skin.

When you leaned in to fix the wing on her left eye, she swore under her breath.

“Y’know...” she said, lips tugging into that lazy half-smirk she wore like armor, “If you wanted an excuse to get this close to me, you could’ve just said so.”

But her knees were bouncing.

And her ears were red.

And she’d let you do her makeup a thousand times over if it meant getting to look at you like this.

She just wouldn’t ever admit it. Not out loud.