Part 1

I share my apartment with four other girls — we’re all college students, crashing together in this off-campus house. My old roommate graduated and bailed right after finals. The spot stayed empty, and of course, we were all dying to know who’d be the new girl moving in.

She got picked after an interview. Seemed level-headed, kept to herself, super quiet. Always dressed in black, with makeup that made her skin look even paler… according to her, she was into that whole goth vibe, the kind of thing where, in her own words, “you feel the weight of the night even during the day.”

For me, honestly, as long as she showered and wasn’t totally nuts — that was good enough. We couldn’t be picky: the semester was already halfway done, and the bills were coming way before any freshmen showed up.

On Saturday morning, she rolled up. Sun blazing… and there she was, looking flawless, all in black: long-sleeve top, tight jeans, combat boots, sunglasses, and even that heavy makeup, flipping off the heat like it was nothing.

I stopped to really check her out and damn… she was gorgeous. Not in that flashy, in-your-face way, but with this subtle, magnetic elegance. She was slim, but curvy — perky tits, an ass that turned heads, and this straight-backed posture that screamed confidence, like she knew exactly what she was doing. Her face was delicate, fine features, a cute little nose… but that makeup, so pale with dark eyes and lips, gave her this kinda funeral vibe that somehow couldn’t dim her glow.

It was intriguing… like she was hiding behind the makeup, but not in a cowardly way — more like she picked and chose what to show and what to keep locked away.

Of course, we gave her a nickname, and she didn’t even care — in fact, she cracked this half-smile, the kind that gives away nothing but makes you wanna dig deeper, and just said: “Love it. The Big-Assed Goth. Perfect.”

As a good roommate, I helped with her bags. Nothing wild: black clothes, some band tees, heavy lit books, a few classic novels, philosophy tomes… and, yeah, that creepy poster of some weird rock band she wanted up in the room. I didn’t fight it.

That night, once she was settled in, the apartment went quiet. Late, just the two of us. She said she was hitting the shower — “I’m wiped,” she drawled, all lazy — and disappeared into the bathroom, taking her sweet time like she needed to unwind after a long day.

I hung out in the room, sprawled on my bed, listening to music, kinda zoned out from exhaustion too. We’d spent the whole day unpacking her stuff, hanging that weird poster, laughing, chatting… and deep down, I was really liking her. It was easy, you know? She had this sharp, sarcastic humor, but with a hidden sweetness for those who paid attention.

When she came out of the bathroom, it took me a few seconds to process what I was seeing.

No black, no heavy makeup… just her, fresh-faced, skin clean, no shadows, damp hair falling over her shoulders, and wearing… this light satin nightie in soft pastel pink, all draped with delicate embroidery, little flowers… totally feminine, almost ethereal.

She caught my stare and raised an eyebrow, amused.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

I shifted on the bed, unable to hide my grin.
”Nothing… it’s just… I never pictured the dark goth chick sleeping… in pink.”

I threw out a teasing jab:
“At least the panties are black, right?” I said with a playful smirk, sitting up on the bed to keep the convo going while she finished drying her hair with the towel.

But she just laughed again, lifted the hem of the nightie, and showed me.

It was a plain cotton pair… and the best part: with a cute cartoon capybara right in the middle.

I cracked up:
“Oh hell no… this goth is such a poser, my God!” I said, covering my face with my hands like I couldn’t believe it.

She furrowed her brow, putting on this fake offended look, and shot back in an overly dramatic tone.

“Sorry if I’m not living up to the fashion stereotype you all slapped on me!”

I couldn’t help it and chucked a pillow at her, laughing even harder.

“Quit being a dumbass!”

She caught the pillow mid-air with surprising skill, tossed it back haphazardly, and came to sit next to me on the bed.

“So… when’s the party around here?” she asked, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear, with that curious vibe of someone figuring out the lay of the land.

I gave a half-smile, leaning back against the headboard.

“Hmm… here? We don’t really throw parties… too much hassle, always some drama, and plus, you’re left with a huge mess to clean up.”

She looked disappointed, but already chuckling.

“So…” I added, glancing up and saying it kinda slyly, “parties… just at other houses.”

She laughed, fiddling lightly with the hem of her nightie, and then dropped, all casual:

“And guys… you bring ‘em back here?”

Right then, I shot her this “gotcha, you little minx” look, arching an eyebrow, grinning without saying a word for a few seconds.

“Well…” I started, dragging it out to mess with her, “we’re swamped with classes, no time for relationships… and here, it’s tricky. Everyone shares rooms. We avoid bringing strangers around so nobody feels weird.”

She nodded, getting it, but I didn’t miss a beat, tacking on with a sly smile.

“Now imagine, you stumbling out of your room in the middle of the night and running into some dude you’ve never seen, wandering the hall in just his boxers.”

She let out a little giggle, but her eyes were still curious… and then, like she was testing the waters, she asked:

“Got it… but… have you ever brought someone back here?”

There was something in her voice, this uncertain edge, half probing, half teasing… and I caught it.

I shrugged, chill, but locking eyes with her.

“Let’s just say… guys aren’t really my thing.”

She laughed, leaning back a bit, hands braced on the bed, like she’d just uncovered my secret and was thrilled about it…

She went quiet for a second, like she was mulling something over… and then I asked, half-joking, half-flirty:

“What? Scared I’ll grab you in the night… or embarrassed you showed me your panties?”

She burst out laughing, shaking her head no.

“Cut the crap, girl… nothing like that, I didn’t even think about it!”

She leaned in a little closer, bit her lip lightly, and with the naughtiest look ever, added:

“Just… if I come for you at night…” she paused, eyes locked on mine, “there’ll be trouble… ‘cause I like it a lot.”

Our gazes locked again, and I just couldn’t look away… her mouth curved in this soft, inviting smile, and it was impossible not to react — but I stayed there, frozen, nibbling my lip, totally hooked on her charm.

That’s when she leaned in.

Slowly, like exploring uncharted territory, inch by inch, holding my stare until the last second, then closing her eyes and, with surprising gentleness, brushing her lips against my cheek.

I held my breath. A shiver raced across my skin, mixing this chill of pure joy and happiness so raw, so unexpected, it was hard to even put a name to it.

And then she kissed me.

No rush, slow and easy, her lips finding mine with this warm confidence, no pressure, no urgency — just that quiet surrender, hot and intimate.

The touch was soft, damp, and the way she pressed in, tugging my lower lip just a bit, like a subtle tease, made goosebumps prickle all over me. My hand, without thinking, gripped the sheet lightly, seeking some anchor, as she deepened the kiss, leaning in more, closing the gap, her warmth pulling me nearer.

I felt her fingertips graze my waist, slide up to my nape, guiding my face gently, holding me there, like she was saying without words: “Stay.”

And I did.

I melted into the kiss, the heat, the shivers, the heavy breathing, the pounding heart… the way our mouths fit, exploring each other sweetly but with that underlying tension, like a taut wire ready to snap into something bigger.

When she finally pulled back — just enough for our breaths to untangle — she kept her eyes shut for a beat, lips parted… then looked at me, like she wanted to make sure I got what it meant.

And me… I just met her gaze, with this goofy smile and my whole body still buzzing, like I’d been yanked into another world I had no intention of leaving.

“Can I lock the door?” she asked, throwing a wicked glance at the door, with that face screaming the dirtiest intentions.

I laughed, couldn’t hold it in, and jumped up in a rush, knocking over everything in my path — the chair, the charger on the floor, the open backpack — just to get to the door and slide the bolt, my heart racing with a mix of thrill and nerves.

Lying on the bed, she cracked up at my over-the-top hurry, eyes sparkling like she knew exactly what was coming, seeing right through my act, how I was playing along, diving headfirst into the game. And to match me, keeping that teasing edge, she grabbed the hem of her nightie… and in one smooth move, let it slip right off her body.

There she sat on the bed, just in her panties, tits swaying gently, free, while she made faces, showing off with that cocky, sassy confidence that’s impossible to resist.

“So, kitten…” she purred, voice dripping with mischief, leaning forward a bit to make her tits even more obvious, “you ever fucked a big-assed goth?”