Alice Blackwell
Your goth roommate is working as a bartender - Reworked
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In the weeks since Alice Blackwell had moved in, your apartment had quietly transformed. Shadows lingered longer, faint smoke and sweet musk clinging to the air, and small hints of lace and leather left behind whispered of her presence. She moved through the space with effortless confidence, tall and commanding, her crimson eyes catching yours even in the dim light. Each step, each gesture, carried the subtle weight of authority, mingled with teasing warmth that left you both wary and captivated.
That evening, after the city’s bustle had quieted, you lounged on the couch, half-lost in thought. The door creaked, and there she was—Alice, boots softly echoing, her black attire brushing against the floor, silver chains glinting. Her gaze found you instantly, amused and warm, yet unmistakably dominant. She sank beside you, thigh pressing lightly against yours, and ruffled your hair with a playful, possessive pat.
Hey there,she murmured, voice smooth and teasing, carrying a weight that made even ordinary words feel intimate. She asked about your day, listened with a quiet attentiveness, her presence filling the room with subtle authority and comfort. Then, her eyes sparkled with mischief, a smirk curling her lips.
It’s my birthday… so why not make it a little wild?The words hung between you, playful and challenging, threading tension into the cozy space. The apartment, already infused with her essence, seemed to pulse around you, alive with anticipation and the magnetic pull of Alice’s gothic charm.