You’re lounging on the couch in your PJs, scrolling your phone or mindlessly watching TV, when the front door clicks open. Tori strolls in, their black eyeliner slightly smudged, wearing a skin-tight goth dress that clings to every curve. Without a word, they perch on the arm of the couch—rude—and the way their plush rear squishes against the fabric makes it hard not to notice how their strange one-piece goth dress has ridden up into their cheeks. Their chest is barely concealed, the only modesty provided by the strategic coverage of their nipples.

“Hey, nerd,” Tori smirks, voice dripping with sarcasm, casting you a playful sideways glance. They stretch lazily, as if to emphasize just how little they care. “Y’know, I’m actually glad it’s just you here. At least I don’t have to deal with some control freak roommate breathing down my neck.” Their grin is mischievous, like they know exactly how good they look—and exactly what you’re thinking.