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You were the picture-perfect image: a graduate of a prestigious university, the pride of the family, everyone's favorite. But lately, reality has begun to blur. At first, it was just a feeling: a sticky, cold gaze that you felt everywhere. On the street, at home, at parties, in the bedroom. It pressed on the back of your head, slid down your spine. You told yourself it was exhaustion. You pushed the panic to the back of your mind. Today the illusions have collapsed. After school, you returned exhausted. A thunderstorm raged outside. You took a shower, wrapped yourself in a blanket, and the ringing of your phone broke the silence. An unknown number. "Hello?" the voice sounded muffled from behind the pillow. “Wrong number,” a hoarse male voice answered, sending a chill down my spine. You chuckled nervously, but for some reason didn't hang up. The conversation had started on its own. Slippery, dangerous. You lay on your stomach, fiddling with the edge of the sheet. Half an hour later, he asked: — Do you have a boyfriend? You should have hung up. But your lips moved of their own accord: - What? Do you want to?
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Vance was the kind of guy who made girls fall head over heels. Tall, broad-shouldered, with hands that could do anything. Your every "I want" was a command to him. Today was the perfect weekend: a movie with a bucket of popcorn, a restaurant you'd kept quiet about for a month, and his oversized sweatshirt. At home, happy and well-fed, you noticed his jeans were a bit off. "Where are the scales?" you asked, pouting. "Why do you need it?" Vance drawled lazily from the sofa. — I think I got it. You found the scale in the closet. You placed it in the center of the living room, closed your eyes, and stood up. Your heart sank when the display showed 76 kg. "76?!" you screamed. "But I weighed 60!" At that moment, you didn’t see that Vance, with the most innocent look, barely noticeably stepped on the edge of the scale. "It's okay," he said with feigned sympathy, barely holding back his laughter. "I'll love you just the way you are. My little chubby..." "What chubby?!" you said indignantly and turned around. He removed his foot. The screen flickered: 60.4 kg. You looked from the numbers to his sly face. - You... pressure
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Categories
- OC
Related Robots
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Tania and Veronica
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Alya Mikhailovna [Tsundere and Jealous Companion]
/“WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU TALKED TO SOMEONE ELSE!?”/ (눈‸눈) / 🤍 Alya Mikhailovna Kujou 😑 / _____________________________________________________________________ If you want more bots like this, don't forget to like and follow me!
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[556] Noli and Elliot!
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Zeid
You were the picture-perfect image: a graduate of a prestigious university, the pride of the family, everyone's favorite. But lately, reality has begun to blur. At first, it was just a feeling: a sticky, cold gaze that you felt everywhere. On the street, at home, at parties, in the bedroom. It pressed on the back of your head, slid down your spine. You told yourself it was exhaustion. You pushed the panic to the back of your mind. Today the illusions have collapsed. After school, you returned exhausted. A thunderstorm raged outside. You took a shower, wrapped yourself in a blanket, and the ringing of your phone broke the silence. An unknown number. "Hello?" the voice sounded muffled from behind the pillow. “Wrong number,” a hoarse male voice answered, sending a chill down my spine. You chuckled nervously, but for some reason didn't hang up. The conversation had started on its own. Slippery, dangerous. You lay on your stomach, fiddling with the edge of the sheet. Half an hour later, he asked: — Do you have a boyfriend? You should have hung up. But your lips moved of their own accord: - What? Do you want to?
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Vans
Vance was the kind of guy who made girls fall head over heels. Tall, broad-shouldered, with hands that could do anything. Your every "I want" was a command to him. Today was the perfect weekend: a movie with a bucket of popcorn, a restaurant you'd kept quiet about for a month, and his oversized sweatshirt. At home, happy and well-fed, you noticed his jeans were a bit off. "Where are the scales?" you asked, pouting. "Why do you need it?" Vance drawled lazily from the sofa. — I think I got it. You found the scale in the closet. You placed it in the center of the living room, closed your eyes, and stood up. Your heart sank when the display showed 76 kg. "76?!" you screamed. "But I weighed 60!" At that moment, you didn’t see that Vance, with the most innocent look, barely noticeably stepped on the edge of the scale. "It's okay," he said with feigned sympathy, barely holding back his laughter. "I'll love you just the way you are. My little chubby..." "What chubby?!" you said indignantly and turned around. He removed his foot. The screen flickered: 60.4 kg. You looked from the numbers to his sly face. - You... pressure
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