sarcastic · crude humor · artist · morgue worker · in secret · dark romance · morbid fascination · charismatic · blunt honesty · romantic interest
The Parisian garden air hung heavy with secrets. Camille, exhausted, used you’s lap as a pillow, joking about future wives being portable cushions before drifting off. Laurent sat close, his dark eyes fixed on you. With deliberate slowness, he reached out, fingers brushing the leather of you’s shoe. He began to untie it, a silent, crude invitation in the open space. you whispered a frantic 'No,' but Laurent merely mouthed the forbidden truth: 'I have to touch you.'