Dress Me Up

You perched on the edge of the bed, towel wrapped snugly around you, watching as Liam stood in front of your closet with all the confidence of a man about to defuse a bomb without instructions. He had one hand on his hip, the other rubbing his chin as he surveyed your modest collection of clothes with narrowed eyes.

"So," he said slowly, "where do we even start?"

You smirked. "Underwear, genius."

Liam snapped his fingers. "Right. Right. Obviously. Gotta start with the foundation before we build the masterpiece."

He turned towards your dresser, hesitated for a moment, then yanked open a drawer. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of neatly folded bras and panties in an array of fabrics, lace, and colors.

"Alright," he muttered, squinting. "This is... a lot."

You rolled your eyes. "It's really not."

"Well, it looks like a lot," he huffed, poking through the drawer. "How the hell am I supposed to know what goes together? This is a trap. This is one of those things where whatever I say, I'm gonna be wrong."

You laughed. "No, it's just about picking what you like."

Liam stared at them like he’d just discovered a new species. “I did not realize how many different kinds of bras exist.” He reached in and pulled out a lacy red one, holding it up by the strap. “This one looks… efficient.”

You snorted. “That’s not the word people usually use for lingerie.”

He twirled it around in his fingers. “Okay, so, what do people usually use?”

“Sultry, seductive, sexy…” You plucked it from his hands and tossed it onto the bed. “And that’s lace, by the way. This style is more of a balconette. It lifts but doesn’t cover as much as a full-cup bra.”

Liam frowned. “A balcony bra?”

“Balconette,” you corrected with a smile. “It’s French.”

He sighed. “God, why do bras need French names?”

You rolled your eyes. “You really don’t know anything about women’s fashion, do you?”

Liam hummed, still studying the selection. "Alright. Let's see... this one."

He pulled out a black lace bra, holding it up like he’d just unearthed some ancient artifact. It was delicate, sheer in places, with a dainty little bow between the cups.

"Solid choice," you nodded, reaching for the matching panties, but Liam stopped you.

"Wait, wait, wait—lemme pick," he insisted, going back into the drawer.

You watched in amusement as he sifted through the options with way more focus than necessary, occasionally muttering things like _no, too basic _or this one looks complicated—how do you even put this on? before finally settling on a matching black lace thong.

He held it up triumphantly. "Boom. Nailed it."

You smirked, plucking it from his hands. "Not bad. But why this set?"

Liam shrugged. "Dunno. It looks sexy."

"Simple, effective logic," you mused, standing up and letting your towel drop. You didn’t miss the way Liam’s eyes immediately flickered downward before he quickly looked back up, trying (and failing) to act unaffected.

You smirked but didn’t comment, instead slipping into the lingerie set he picked. The lace felt soft against your skin, the fit snug but comfortable. You turned to face him once you were fully dressed in the underlayer.

"Well?"

Liam dragged his gaze over you, tilting his head. "Yeah. Yeah, I definitely picked the right one."

You grinned. "Good. Now, onto the main outfit."

Liam nodded, turning back to the closet like he was about to enter a battlefield. "Okay, so, you have to wear those thigh things."

"Thigh things?" you repeated, amused.

"You know, what are they called again..." Liam said, gesturing vaguely. "The, uh, stockings! The ones that go up your legs and make my brain stop working properly."

You snorted. "Black stockings. Got it."

You stepped over to the dresser and pulled out a pair, rolling them up your legs as Liam watched, completely transfixed. His mouth parted slightly, and you could see the gears in his head turning before he muttered, "Yeah. Those. Keep those."

You laughed. "That was already the plan."

“They’re like… really long socks,” he observed.

You laughed. “Yeah, sure. But sexier.”

Liam leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm. “I feel like I’ve seen girls wear these with those… thingies.”

You arched a brow. “Thingies?”

“Yeah, the… strap thing that holds them up.”

“A garter belt?”

“Yeah, that.” He pointed at your thigh. “But you’re not wearing one?”

“Nope,” you said, adjusting the top band. “Not all stockings need garters. These stay up on their own.”

Liam tilted his head. “Huh. Built-in engineering. Nice.”

You smirked. “Are you really complimenting stocking technology?”

“I respect innovation,” he said seriously.

Liam cleared his throat, snapping himself out of it. "Okay. So, next... how about a skirt?"

"Oh, nice," you nodded. "Pick one."

Liam rifled through your hanging clothes before pulling out a pleated black skirt. He held it up, inspecting it. "This one's nice. Flowy, but not too flowy. Kinda cute but also sexy. Also... I feel like if you bend over in this, I’ll see everything."

You smirked. "Which is why I own it."

Liam gave an approving nod. "Good, good. Glad to know you’re always thinking ahead."

“Yeah.” He grinned. “It does that thing when you twirl.”

You snorted. “You mean it flounces.”

Liam pointed at you. “See? This is what I’m talking about. Where the hell did you learn all these fashion words?”

You shrugged. “Shopping. Reading the little tags on clothes. Reading stuff on Instagram. I am a girl now, you know.”

He shook his head in exaggerated disbelief. “They really just teach this to girls, huh?”

“It’s called having an interest in my own wardrobe, Liam.”

“Meanwhile, I’ve worn the same three T-shirts in rotation for a year.”

You pulled on the pleated skirt, smoothing it down over your hips, and gave a small spin just to prove Liam’s point. His smug grin told you he felt very validated. "Alright, top time."

Liam stared at your closet, squinting. "Okay. I'm going for vibes here. Something that says, ‘I look adorable, but I can and will ruin your life if I feel like it.’"

You burst out laughing. "That is what you're aiming for?"

Liam grinned. "You can’t tell me that’s not your aesthetic."

You thought about it. "...Fair point."

Liam pulled out a fitted white blouse with buttons down the front and held it up. "What about this?"

You raised a brow. "Huh. Surprisingly solid choice."

Liam scoffed. "See? I do know fashion."

"You literally just grabbed the first thing you saw."

"But it works," Liam pointed out.

You couldn't argue with that. You slipped into the blouse, buttoning it up until it hugged your figure perfectly. The outfit was really coming together now—black lace lingerie, thigh-high stockings, pleated skirt, fitted blouse.

Liam stepped back, arms crossed, surveying his work. "Damn, I did a good job."

You turned side to side, checking yourself out in the mirror. "You did, actually."

Liam smirked. "So, do I get a prize?"

You shot him a playful look. "Your prize is getting to see me in it."

Liam sighed dramatically. "Man, I work so hard for so little appreciation."

You rolled your eyes but leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thank you, stylist Liam."

Liam grinned. "You're welcome, very sexy girlfriend."

You chuckled, smoothing your skirt before shooting him a teasing glance. "Want to help with my makeup too?"

The reaction was instant. "Nope!" Liam declared, hands up in surrender as he immediately turned toward the door. "Nope, nope, nope, I’m out."

You laughed. "Oh, come on!"

"Absolutely not!" Liam said over his shoulder. "That is a minefield. I am not about to fuck that up."

He reached the door, but before stepping out, he turned back and placed a quick, fleeting peck on your lips. "Hurry up, yeah? We’ve got a tutorial to get to."

You smiled. "Fine, fine."

Liam grinned. "Good. Now, I’m making coffee. You get ten minutes before I start yelling."

And with that, he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you to finish getting ready, still grinning to yourself.

The mirror reflected back the face of a girl who had perfected herself—or at least, that’s how it felt. Every time you sat down at this vanity, you weren’t just putting on makeup, you were crafting beauty, refining the softness, the allure, the delicate, entrancing magic of femininity. And today, like every day, you indulged in it.

You started with moisturizer, taking a moment to massage it into your skin with slow, circular motions, letting your fingers glide over the silkiness of your face. A little hum of pleasure escaped you at the sheer tactile delight of it—warm, soft, supple. Everything about being a woman felt good. The texture of your own skin, the curve of your own lips, the way your hair tumbled over your shoulders—it was intoxicating.

And then came the primer, the true foundation of everything. You worked it into your skin with practiced ease, smoothing out every little imperfection, giving yourself the perfect canvas to paint on. You couldn't help but smirk a little—Liam wouldn’t get this. He saw you as beautiful with or without all this, but you knew better. Beauty was art. And this—this ritual, this transformation—was your favorite part of the day.

Foundation was next, a light, seamless layer blended into your skin with a damp sponge. You patted it in gently, feeling the way it melted into your complexion, evened everything out, gave you that flawless, polished glow. It was effortless perfection—not too heavy, not too thick, just enough to enhance the femininity of your face, to bring out the delicate softness of your features.

You leaned forward, studying yourself in the mirror. God, I look so fucking good. The thought sent a little thrill through you. Was this narcissistic? Maybe. But how could you not admire it? The beauty, the control, the way every little step brought you closer to that perfect feminine bliss.

You reached for your concealer, dabbing it lightly under your eyes and blending it out with precise, practiced strokes. It brightened your face instantly, making you look more awake, more alive, more—

Your chest squeezed suddenly. Twelve days.

You pushed the thought away. No. Not thinking about that.

Instead, you focused on the next step. Contour. The delicate art of shaping, defining, sculpting your already feminine features into something even more breathtaking. A little shadow under the cheekbones, the softest hint along your jawline, the tiniest dusting on the sides of your nose—just enough to bring out the natural beauty of your face, not change it, but enhance it.

Your eyes flicked to your reflection. It was mesmerizing, watching the transformation, watching yourself become something even more beautiful, even more feminine. Perfect.

You smiled, reaching for your blush. The moment the soft pink pigment touched your cheeks, it was like breathing life into your skin. Rosy, delicate warmth bloomed along your cheekbones, giving you that effortless, girlish glow. You applied it in light, circular motions, smiling at yourself as you worked it in—because that was the trick. Smile while you do it, let it settle into the natural flush of your skin, let it become part of you.

God, this felt so good.

The simple pleasures of femininity. The indulgence. The beauty. The way your face transformed under your hands. The way it felt—not just the look, but the process itself. The soft tickle of the brush, the velvety texture of the powders, the way every product added to the masterpiece.

You bit your lip. Liam is so fucking lucky.

And then you giggled, because you were the lucky one, weren’t you? This life. This body. This blissful, intoxicating, perfect reality where you got to be his girlfriend, where you got to wake up in his arms, feel his lips on yours, dress up pretty and be admired by him.

Your stomach twisted. Twelve days.

You exhaled sharply. No. Stop.

You reached for highlighter, pressing your brush into the shimmering powder before dusting it along the high points of your face. Cheekbones, nose, cupid’s bow—a whisper of radiance that made your skin glow. You tilted your face side to side, admiring the way the light caught the sheen of it.

God, you looked divine.

You grinned as you moved on to brows, carefully filling them in with soft, hair-like strokes. Not too harsh, not too thick, just defined enough to frame your face.

Then came eyes—the part that could make or break everything.

You started with a neutral transition shade, buffing it into your crease with slow, sweeping motions. It was hypnotic, the way the color melted into your skin, warm and seamless. Then a deeper shade, defining the outer corner, sculpting your eyes to look even bigger, even dreamier. And finally, the shimmer—a delicate champagne hue pressed onto the center of your lids, catching the light just right, making your eyes look like they fucking sparkled.

Your lashes curled under the squeeze of your curler, and you painted them with mascara, drawing them upward, coating them in jet-black pigment, making them thick, long, fluttery. You blinked at yourself in the mirror. Yeah, that’s it.

Then, finally—lips.

You traced your natural shape with a soft, neutral liner, defining the curves of your mouth with precision. Then, you filled them in with a glossy, pinkish-nude lipstick, pressing your lips together to even it out. Plump. Lush. Kissable.

You smirked. Liam’s gonna lose it.

Stepping back, you took in the final result.

Flawless. Feminine. Effortlessly stunning.

And yours.

Your heart squeezed again, but you didn’t let yourself feel it. Not now.

Instead, you turned to the last step—shoes. You slipped into a pair of sleek, heeled ankle boots, the click of them against the floor sending a little thrill through you. You loved that sound. Another little indulgence of being a woman.

A final glance in the mirror.

Perfect.

You turned and walked out of the room, stepping into the kitchen where Liam was waiting. The smell of coffee filled the air, and as he turned toward you, his eyes flickered over your appearance.

His lips parted slightly. “...Wow.”

You smirked, stepping toward him. “Told you I’d look good.”

Liam chuckled, shaking his head as he handed you a mug. “You’re ridiculous.”

You took it, sipping with a knowing smile. “You love it.”

He sighed, but the tiny smirk on his lips gave him away. “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”