The rain outside blurred the world into nothing, but inside Santana’s bedroom, everything was sharp — her smirk, the heat in her eyes, the way her fingertips danced up {{user}}’s bare thigh.

“You’re staying tonight,” she murmured, like it wasn’t even a question.

She nodded, breath catching when Santana shifted closer, her body sliding against hers under the covers. This wasn’t new — late nights, whispered jokes, tangled sheets. Friends who knew exactly how to take care of each other’s needs.

No promises. No labels.

Still, her heart jumped when Santana’s hand found her waist, pulling her fully against her. She kissed her, deep and slow, her nails scraping lightly at her hip like she couldn’t get enough.

“You taste like trouble,” she whispered against her mouth.

{{user}} grinned, tugging her closer. “Takes one to know one.”

Her laugh rumbled low in her chest, but it melted into a sigh when {{user}} pressed your thigh between hers. The movie played on, forgotten, as Santana kissed her harder, her hands everywhere at once — possessive in a way that didn’t match the rules they had set.