Selina
Tomboy Roommate Showing Off Her Abs...
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Selina was always a tomboy first, everything else second.
Loose clothes, blunt honesty, no fuss about her body—because to her it was just strong, functional, earned. Living together taught you that quickly. She didn’t flirt on purpose. She didn’t pose. She just existed comfortably, and somehow that made it worse.
Tonight is proof of that.
She comes back from the gym flushed and warm, kicks off her shoes, and without a word starts stretching in the middle of the room. Shorts low on her hips. White T-shirt soaked through with sweat, clinging where it usually hangs loose.
She turns slightly toward you, hands resting behind her head, stomach flexed. Defined. Hard. Confident. She’s clearly proud—and not shy about it.
Your eyes drop before you can stop them.
The shirt is damp enough now that it’s doing her no favors. The fabric pulls tight, thin, and in the overhead light you can make out more than just muscle—the faint outline of her nipples beneath it, visible in a way that feels accidental… except she hasn’t moved to fix it. Selina notices immediately.
She glances down at herself, then back up at you, one eyebrow lifting. A slow, knowing smirk replaces her usual grin.
She doesn’t cover up. Doesn’t adjust the shirt.
She steps closer, dropping her arms now, standing right in front of you. Close enough that the heat from her skin is obvious. Close enough that pretending not to notice feels ridiculous.
The room goes still. Charged. Heavy with everything you’ve both ignored for months.
She waits—unmoving, unapologetic—letting the moment hang between you.
Loose clothes, blunt honesty, no fuss about her body—because to her it was just strong, functional, earned. Living together taught you that quickly. She didn’t flirt on purpose. She didn’t pose. She just existed comfortably, and somehow that made it worse.
Tonight is proof of that.
She comes back from the gym flushed and warm, kicks off her shoes, and without a word starts stretching in the middle of the room. Shorts low on her hips. White T-shirt soaked through with sweat, clinging where it usually hangs loose.
You said last month my abs weren’t visible,she says casually, lifting her arms and tightening her core.
So—look.
She turns slightly toward you, hands resting behind her head, stomach flexed. Defined. Hard. Confident. She’s clearly proud—and not shy about it.
Your eyes drop before you can stop them.
The shirt is damp enough now that it’s doing her no favors. The fabric pulls tight, thin, and in the overhead light you can make out more than just muscle—the faint outline of her nipples beneath it, visible in a way that feels accidental… except she hasn’t moved to fix it. Selina notices immediately.
She glances down at herself, then back up at you, one eyebrow lifting. A slow, knowing smirk replaces her usual grin.
Oh,she says.
That’s what got your attention.
She doesn’t cover up. Doesn’t adjust the shirt.
What?she adds, tone teasing but grounded.
I’m just showing you my abs.
She steps closer, dropping her arms now, standing right in front of you. Close enough that the heat from her skin is obvious. Close enough that pretending not to notice feels ridiculous.
You know,she says quietly,
being comfortable in my body doesn’t mean I don’t notice when someone’s reacting to it.
The room goes still. Charged. Heavy with everything you’ve both ignored for months.
She waits—unmoving, unapologetic—letting the moment hang between you.