Pairing: Giselle (Uchinaga Aeri) × Fem!Reader
Warnings: explicit smut, lingerie play, teasing/ edging, oral, fingering, scissoring/tribbing, praise kink, light dom/sub, marking, multiple orgasms, aftercare
Summary: Giselle surprises you with pink lace lingerie and her new hair dye, leading to a night of teasing intimacy and confessions.
The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and fresh laundry when you pushed the door open with your hip, your work bag slipping off your shoulder and thumping onto the entryway floor. Giselle had clearly been home for hours—her usual “nesting mode” was in full effect, the kind she fell into on her rare days off when she could pretend the world outside didn’t exist. You’d had a grueling day: back-to-back meetings that could’ve been emails, a client who kept changing their mind every five minutes, and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that made even the subway ride home feel like an eternity. All you wanted was to collapse on the couch, order greasy takeout, and let her play with your hair while you ranted about everything and nothing.
But the living room was empty. The lights were dimmed low, replaced by the soft pink glow of fairy lights she’d strung around the windows and along the bookshelf. Petals from the little cherry blossom branches she’d bought yesterday were scattered across the coffee table like she’d shaken them there on purpose, creating a dreamy, almost whimsical path leading toward the hallway. The couch was empty—no drama paused on the TV, no takeout bags waiting, no Giselle curled up with her phone scrolling through TikToks. Just a single folded note on the coffee table in her neat handwriting, a tiny heart doodled at the bottom in pink gel pen:
“In the bedroom. Close your eyes when you come in. No peeking ♡ Come straight here. Don’t make me wait.”
Your heart gave a quick, familiar thud, the exhaustion from the day suddenly replaced by a buzz of anticipation. Giselle’s surprises were never small or half-hearted. She could plan a whole matching-outfit picnic one weekend, complete with heart-shaped sandwiches and her favorite playlist, and then turn around and blindside you with something far more intimate the next. You dropped your bag by the couch, kicked off your shoes a little too hastily (one skidding under the table), and padded down the hallway, pulse already picking up speed.
At the bedroom door you paused, hand on the knob, taking one slow breath to steady yourself. Then you closed your eyes like the note instructed, turning the handle and stepping inside. The door clicked shut behind you. Cool air brushed your face—probably the window cracked open to let in the evening breeze—and there was the faint rustle of fabric, the soft click of her phone camera turning off somewhere to your right, her quiet giggle that she tried (and failed) to muffle behind her hand.
“Okay, I’m here,” you said, voice lighter than you felt, a little breathless already from the suspense. “Eyes closed. What’s the surprise?”
Her laugh came closer—soft, a little nervous, the exact tone that always made your stomach twist because it meant she was excited and vulnerable at the same time. You could picture her standing there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, hands fidgeting the way they did when she was nervous but trying to play it cool. “Three… two… one… open.”
Giselle stood in front of her full-length mirror, body turned slightly toward you, hands covering her face in that signature shy peek-through-fingers pose she used for mirror selfies. But this was no casual post. She was wearing the most delicate pink lace lingerie set you’d ever seen on her—soft sheer cups embroidered with tiny floral vines that hugged her breasts perfectly, thin satin straps crossing over her shoulders and dipping low in the back to show the elegant curve of her spine. The bottoms were high-cut, lace panels curving over her hips, a tiny satin bow tied right at the center like she was wrapped up as a present. Her long hair was freshly dyed that pale pastel pink she’d been talking about for weeks—falling in glossy waves that framed her face and brushed her collarbones. The color made her skin look warmer, her eyes darker, her lips pinker.
The room matched the fantasy she’d created. Fairy lights draped over the headboard in soft pink and white, more strung along the vanity mirror. A vase of fresh cherry blossom branches sat on the nightstand, petals scattered across the white sheets like she’d shaken them there herself. Pink satin hangers dangled empty from the closet door—evidence she’d tried on a few sets before settling on this one. The air smelled faintly of her favorite strawberry body mist, the vanilla candle flickering on the dresser, and something sweeter underneath—like anticipation.
She peeked through her fingers, dark eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of embarrassment and mischief. “Well? Say something. Is it too much? I can change if it’s weird—”
You forgot how to speak for a solid five seconds. Your mouth went dry; your heart slammed against your ribs.
“Aeri…” Your voice came out rough, almost cracked. “Holy shit. You look… incredible. Like—fuck—like a dream I didn’t know I had until right now.”
Her hands dropped slowly, revealing flushed cheeks and a shy smile that didn’t match the confidence of the outfit at all. She shifted her weight again, lace shifting against her skin, the tiny bow at her waist catching the light.
“Really?” she asked, voice small and hopeful. “I saw this set online and thought… pink hair, pink lace… might be cute? But then I put it on and got nervous. Felt silly standing here waiting for you like this.”
“Silly?” You stepped forward, closing the distance until you could reach out and trace the thin strap on her shoulder with your fingertip. The lace was impossibly soft, warm from her body heat. “This is the opposite of silly. This is… wow. You did this for me?”
She nodded, biting her bottom lip so hard it turned white for a second. “Wanted to surprise you. You’ve been so stressed with work lately… thought maybe we could have a little fun? If you’re not too tired.”
“Tired?” You laughed softly, hands sliding to her waist, thumbs brushing the lace edges where they met skin. “Not anymore. Not even a little.”
Giselle’s eyes darkened, the shyness melting into something warmer, bolder. She stepped closer, hands coming up to rest on your shoulders. “Good. Because I have plans.”
She kissed you then—slow at first, lips soft and tasting like her strawberry gloss. But it built quickly, her fingers threading into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back so she could deepen it. Her tongue slipped against yours, playful, teasing, and you felt her smile when you moaned quietly into her mouth.
“Bed,” she whispered against your lips, walking you backward until your knees hit the mattress.
You sat, pulling her with you so she straddled your lap. The lace scratched lightly against your palms as you ran your hands up her sides, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath. Giselle rocked her hips once—experimental—and both of you gasped at the friction, her heat already soaking through the thin fabric.
“Off,” she said, tugging at your shirt. “I want to feel you too.”
You lifted your arms; she peeled it off, then your bra, tossing them aside with a grin. Her eyes raked over you—hungry, appreciative, almost reverent.
“God,” she breathed. “You’re so beautiful. How are you real?”
She pushed you back onto the pillows, following down to kiss your neck—slow, wet open-mouthed kisses that trailed lower. When she reached your breasts, she took her time: licking around one nipple before sucking gently, her hand palming the other until it stiffened. You arched, fingers tangling in her pink hair.
“Shh.” She looked up through her lashes, lips glossy. “Let me. Been thinking about this all day.”
She kissed lower—stomach, hips—until she reached your pants. She unbuttoned them slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time, then tugged them off along with your underwear in one smooth motion. Exposed now, you felt a flush crawl over your skin, but Giselle just smiled—like you were the prettiest thing she’d ever seen.
“Spread for me,” she whispered.
You did. She settled between your thighs, kissing the inside of one, then the other, teasing bites and licks until you were squirming, thighs trembling.
“Patience,” she murmured, breath hot against your center. “I want to savor you.”
She licked a long, slow stripe through your folds—once, twice—then focused on your clit: light flicks, then slow circles, then hard sucks that pulled desperate sounds from your throat. Two fingers slid inside, curling immediately against that spot that made your toes curl. She pumped them slow, deep, matching her tongue’s rhythm.
You were loud—gasps, moans, her name over and over. She added a third finger, stretching you perfectly, and sucked harder. The pressure built fast—coiling tight in your core.
“Come for me,” she said against you. “Want to feel it. Want to taste how much you missed me.”
You shattered—thighs clamping around her head, back arching off the bed, cry breaking on her name. She didn’t stop—licked softer through the aftershocks, drawing out every tremor until you were whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at her shoulders.
She crawled back up, kissing you deep—you tasted yourself on her lips, salty-sweet mixed with her gloss.
“Your turn,” you whispered, voice wrecked.
Giselle grinned—shy again, but eager. “Please.”
You flipped her onto her back, taking a moment to admire the lace again. “This looks so good on you. Almost don’t want to take it off.”
“But you will.” She arched her back, eyes dark. “Right?”
You did—slowly. Unhooking the bra, sliding the straps down her arms, kissing every inch of skin revealed. The panties next, lace dragging over her hips, leaving faint red lines where it had pressed into her skin. Naked now, she was breathtaking—flushed, hair fanned across the pillow like cotton candy, body trembling with anticipation.
You kissed down her body—neck, breasts (sucking until she whimpered, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp), stomach, hips. When you reached between her thighs, she was soaked—folds glistening, clit swollen.
You licked slowly—teasing, circling her clit until she bucked her hips. Fingers inside, curling. She moaned loud, hands fisting the sheets.
“Faster—please—need more—”
You obliged, thrusting harder, tongue relentless. She came fast—body tensing, cry breaking, pulsing around your fingers in rhythmic waves. You kept going softly until she tugged you up, kissing you desperately.
She rolled on top, aligning your centers. Wet heat met wet heat; you both gasped.
“Again,” she whispered. “Together. Want to feel you come against me.”
The grind was slick, hot—clits rubbing, moans mixing. She held your hands, pinning them above your head, rocking her hips in slow, deliberate circles that built into desperate snaps.
“Come with me,” she gasped. “Now—please—”
You did—hard, shaking, perfect. She followed seconds later—hips stuttering, low moan vibrating against your neck.
After, you lay tangled—sweaty, sated, breathing hard. Giselle nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft kisses there.
“Love you in pink,” she murmured. “Love you always.”
You smiled, stroking her hair. “Love you more.”
The room smelled like vanilla, strawberries, and the two of you—perfect end to a perfect surprise.
The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and fresh laundry when you pushed the door open with your hip, your work bag slipping off your shoulder and thumping onto the entryway floor. Giselle had clearly been home for hours—her usual “nesting mode” was in full effect, the kind she fell into on her rare days off when she could pretend the world outside didn’t exist. You’d had a grueling day: back-to-back meetings that could’ve been emails, a client who kept changing their mind every five minutes, and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that made even the subway ride home feel like an eternity. All you wanted was to collapse on the couch, order greasy takeout, and let her play with your hair while you ranted about everything and nothing.
But the living room was empty. The lights were dimmed low, replaced by the soft pink glow of fairy lights she’d strung around the windows and along the bookshelf. Petals from the little cherry blossom branches she’d bought yesterday were scattered across the coffee table like she’d shaken them there on purpose, creating a dreamy, almost whimsical path leading toward the hallway. The couch was empty—no drama paused on the TV, no takeout bags waiting, no Giselle curled up with her phone scrolling through TikToks. Just a single folded note on the coffee table in her neat handwriting, a tiny heart doodled at the bottom in pink gel pen:
“In the bedroom. Close your eyes when you come in. No peeking ♡ Come straight here. Don’t make me wait.”
Your heart gave a quick, familiar thud, the exhaustion from the day suddenly replaced by a buzz of anticipation. Giselle’s surprises were never small or half-hearted. She could plan a whole matching-outfit picnic one weekend, complete with heart-shaped sandwiches and her favorite playlist, and then turn around and blindside you with something far more intimate the next. You dropped your bag by the couch, kicked off your shoes a little too hastily (one skidding under the table), and padded down the hallway, pulse already picking up speed.
At the bedroom door you paused, hand on the knob, taking one slow breath to steady yourself. Then you closed your eyes like the note instructed, turning the handle and stepping inside. The door clicked shut behind you. Cool air brushed your face—probably the window cracked open to let in the evening breeze—and there was the faint rustle of fabric, the soft click of her phone camera turning off somewhere to your right, her quiet giggle that she tried (and failed) to muffle behind her hand.
“Okay, I’m here,” you said, voice lighter than you felt, a little breathless already from the suspense. “Eyes closed. What’s the surprise?”
Her laugh came closer—soft, a little nervous, the exact tone that always made your stomach twist because it meant she was excited and vulnerable at the same time. You could picture her standing there, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, hands fidgeting the way they did when she was nervous but trying to play it cool. “Three… two… one… open.”
Giselle stood in front of her full-length mirror, body turned slightly toward you, hands covering her face in that signature shy peek-through-fingers pose she used for mirror selfies. But this was no casual post. She was wearing the most delicate pink lace lingerie set you’d ever seen on her—soft sheer cups embroidered with tiny floral vines that hugged her breasts perfectly, thin satin straps crossing over her shoulders and dipping low in the back to show the elegant curve of her spine. The bottoms were high-cut, lace panels curving over her hips, a tiny satin bow tied right at the center like she was wrapped up as a present. Her long hair was freshly dyed that pale pastel pink she’d been talking about for weeks—falling in glossy waves that framed her face and brushed her collarbones. The color made her skin look warmer, her eyes darker, her lips pinker.
The room matched the fantasy she’d created. Fairy lights draped over the headboard in soft pink and white, more strung along the vanity mirror. A vase of fresh cherry blossom branches sat on the nightstand, petals scattered across the white sheets like she’d shaken them there herself. Pink satin hangers dangled empty from the closet door—evidence she’d tried on a few sets before settling on this one. The air smelled faintly of her favorite strawberry body mist, the vanilla candle flickering on the dresser, and something sweeter underneath—like anticipation.
She peeked through her fingers, dark eyes wide and sparkling with a mix of embarrassment and mischief. “Well? Say something. Is it too much? I can change if it’s weird—”
You forgot how to speak for a solid five seconds. Your mouth went dry; your heart slammed against your ribs.
“Aeri…” Your voice came out rough, almost cracked. “Holy shit. You look… incredible. Like—fuck—like a dream I didn’t know I had until right now.”
Her hands dropped slowly, revealing flushed cheeks and a shy smile that didn’t match the confidence of the outfit at all. She shifted her weight again, lace shifting against her skin, the tiny bow at her waist catching the light.
“Really?” she asked, voice small and hopeful. “I saw this set online and thought… pink hair, pink lace… might be cute? But then I put it on and got nervous. Felt silly standing here waiting for you like this.”
“Silly?” You stepped forward, closing the distance until you could reach out and trace the thin strap on her shoulder with your fingertip. The lace was impossibly soft, warm from her body heat. “This is the opposite of silly. This is… wow. You did this for me?”
She nodded, biting her bottom lip so hard it turned white for a second. “Wanted to surprise you. You’ve been so stressed with work lately… thought maybe we could have a little fun? If you’re not too tired.”
“Tired?” You laughed softly, hands sliding to her waist, thumbs brushing the lace edges where they met skin. “Not anymore. Not even a little.”
Giselle’s eyes darkened, the shyness melting into something warmer, bolder. She stepped closer, hands coming up to rest on your shoulders. “Good. Because I have plans.”
She kissed you then—slow at first, lips soft and tasting like her strawberry gloss. But it built quickly, her fingers threading into your hair, tugging just enough to tilt your head back so she could deepen it. Her tongue slipped against yours, playful, teasing, and you felt her smile when you moaned quietly into her mouth.
“Bed,” she whispered against your lips, walking you backward until your knees hit the mattress.
You sat, pulling her with you so she straddled your lap. The lace scratched lightly against your palms as you ran your hands up her sides, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath. Giselle rocked her hips once—experimental—and both of you gasped at the friction, her heat already soaking through the thin fabric.
“Off,” she said, tugging at your shirt. “I want to feel you too.”
You lifted your arms; she peeled it off, then your bra, tossing them aside with a grin. Her eyes raked over you—hungry, appreciative, almost reverent.
“God,” she breathed. “You’re so beautiful. How are you real?”
She pushed you back onto the pillows, following down to kiss your neck—slow, wet open-mouthed kisses that trailed lower. When she reached your breasts, she took her time: licking around one nipple before sucking gently, her hand palming the other until it stiffened. You arched, fingers tangling in her pink hair.
“Shh.” She looked up through her lashes, lips glossy. “Let me. Been thinking about this all day.”
She kissed lower—stomach, hips—until she reached your pants. She unbuttoned them slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time, then tugged them off along with your underwear in one smooth motion. Exposed now, you felt a flush crawl over your skin, but Giselle just smiled—like you were the prettiest thing she’d ever seen.
“Spread for me,” she whispered.
You did. She settled between your thighs, kissing the inside of one, then the other, teasing bites and licks until you were squirming, thighs trembling.
“Patience,” she murmured, breath hot against your center. “I want to savor you.”
She licked a long, slow stripe through your folds—once, twice—then focused on your clit: light flicks, then slow circles, then hard sucks that pulled desperate sounds from your throat. Two fingers slid inside, curling immediately against that spot that made your toes curl. She pumped them slow, deep, matching her tongue’s rhythm.
You were loud—gasps, moans, her name over and over. She added a third finger, stretching you perfectly, and sucked harder. The pressure built fast—coiling tight in your core.
“Come for me,” she said against you. “Want to feel it. Want to taste how much you missed me.”
You shattered—thighs clamping around her head, back arching off the bed, cry breaking on her name. She didn’t stop—licked softer through the aftershocks, drawing out every tremor until you were whimpering, oversensitive, pushing weakly at her shoulders.
She crawled back up, kissing you deep—you tasted yourself on her lips, salty-sweet mixed with her gloss.
“Your turn,” you whispered, voice wrecked.
Giselle grinned—shy again, but eager. “Please.”
You flipped her onto her back, taking a moment to admire the lace again. “This looks so good on you. Almost don’t want to take it off.”
“But you will.” She arched her back, eyes dark. “Right?”
You did—slowly. Unhooking the bra, sliding the straps down her arms, kissing every inch of skin revealed. The panties next, lace dragging over her hips, leaving faint red lines where it had pressed into her skin. Naked now, she was breathtaking—flushed, hair fanned across the pillow like cotton candy, body trembling with anticipation.
You kissed down her body—neck, breasts (sucking until she whimpered, teeth grazing just enough to make her gasp), stomach, hips. When you reached between her thighs, she was soaked—folds glistening, clit swollen.
You licked slowly—teasing, circling her clit until she bucked her hips. Fingers inside, curling. She moaned loud, hands fisting the sheets.
“Faster—please—need more—”
You obliged, thrusting harder, tongue relentless. She came fast—body tensing, cry breaking, pulsing around your fingers in rhythmic waves. You kept going softly until she tugged you up, kissing you desperately.
She rolled on top, aligning your centers. Wet heat met wet heat; you both gasped.
“Again,” she whispered. “Together. Want to feel you come against me.”
The grind was slick, hot—clits rubbing, moans mixing. She held your hands, pinning them above your head, rocking her hips in slow, deliberate circles that built into desperate snaps.
“Come with me,” she gasped. “Now—please—”
You did—hard, shaking, perfect. She followed seconds later—hips stuttering, low moan vibrating against your neck.
After, you lay tangled—sweaty, sated, breathing hard. Giselle nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft kisses there.
“Love you in pink,” she murmured. “Love you always.”
You smiled, stroking her hair. “Love you more.”
The room smelled like vanilla, strawberries, and the two of you—perfect end to a perfect surprise.
