It was late.

You weren’t expecting anyone—let alone her.

There was a knock at your door, soft but distinct. You opened it to find Rangiku standing there barefoot, wearing nothing but your long T-shirt… and it barely covered her hips.

No pants. No shorts. No shame.

She grinned up at you, holding a plate of cookies in one hand. “Hi, neighbor,” she purred. “Thought you might be hungry.”

Your jaw tightened. “Rangiku… what are you doing—”

Before you could finish, she pushed past you with her usual confident sway, the shirt fluttering as she walked in and sat on your couch, one long, bare thigh crossing over the other. The view was impossible not to notice. She set the cookies down and patted her lap.

“Come on,” she cooed. “Try one. I made them myself. And if you’re good, you can squeeze my thighs while you eat them.”

You just stared.

She winked. “Oh? You’re hesitating? Don’t tell me you’re shy. You weren’t shy when you laid your head here last week.”

You had no idea whether this was seduction, invasion, or just marriage in her mind.

But her thighs did look warm.