Doll for My Roommates (Owned Dolls #1)

Chapter 1 Hidden Cravings

The Overthinking Roommate

My name is Alex, and at twenty-six years old, I spend most of my days staring at a computer screen as a graphic designer, trying to create order out of chaos for clients who rarely appreciate the effort.

Living in this shared apartment with three other guys has become both my comfort and my greatest torment.

The place itself is a typical bachelor pad—sports posters on the walls, protein shake containers scattered across the kitchen counter, and the constant low hum of video games or loud music drifting through the halls.

Yet somehow, amid all that disorder, Jake, Marcus, and Tyler move through life with an effortless confidence that I can never seem to match.

Jake is the natural leader of the group, tall with an easy smile and broad shoulders that come from years of playing basketball.

He works as a personal trainer and always seems to know exactly what to say to put people at ease.

Marcus, on the other hand, has a more intense presence.

His deep voice and sharp gaze make the air feel heavier whenever he enters a room, and his construction job has given him a powerful, muscular build that commands attention without him even trying.

Tyler rounds out the trio with his playful energy.

He’s the one who cracks jokes at the perfect moment, a graphic artist like me but far more outgoing, with a lean athletic frame from weekend hiking trips.

Every morning, I wake up already feeling the weight of my racing thoughts.

Deadlines, client feedback, the endless scroll of social media comparing my quiet life to everyone else’s highlight reels—it all piles up until my chest feels tight.

Then I step into the kitchen and see them.

Jake is usually making coffee, shirtless and humming some song, while Marcus reads the news on his tablet with that focused expression.

Tyler might be sprawled on the couch, laughing at a meme on his phone.

They carry themselves like the world bends to their will, never second-guessing, never overthinking.

I envy that freedom more than I can express.

Our apartment is a constant whirlwind of activity.

Doors slam, laughter echoes, and the fridge is always stocked with their post-workout meals.

I try to blend in, doing my share of chores and joining conversations when I can, but inside I feel like an outsider in my own home.

My anxiety makes everything louder, every interaction a potential source of worry.

What if I say something awkward? What if they notice how I sometimes stare a little too long?

I keep these thoughts buried deep, smiling politely while my mind spins in circles.

Today had been particularly draining. A client rejected an entire project after weeks of revisions, leaving me drained and doubting my skills.

I came home to the familiar chaos—Jake blasting music while cooking, Marcus spotting Tyler during a living room workout session.

Their laughter filled the space, vibrant and alive.

I nodded hello, grabbed a quick snack, and retreated to my room as usual, claiming I had more work to finish.

In reality, I just needed space to breathe.

As the evening wore on, I sat at my desk with my laptop open but untouched.

The sounds from the living room filtered through the walls—deep voices joking, the clink of beer bottles, the occasional burst of laughter.

I closed my eyes and let my mind wander to the place it always went when the stress became too much.

I imagined myself stepping out of my room, not as Alex the anxious designer, but as something simpler.

Something without thoughts or decisions.

In my fantasy, I walked into the living room and they barely glanced at me at first. Then Jake would give a small nod, and I would know what to do.

I would position myself on the couch between them, going perfectly still like a doll on display.

My arms would rest at my sides, my expression blank, my body available but motionless.

They would continue their evening—watching the game, talking about work, laughing at jokes—as if I were simply part of the furniture.

No expectations for conversation. No pressure to perform or engage.

Just existing as their object, posed exactly how they wanted.

The thought sent a shiver through me. I pictured Marcus adjusting my posture with firm hands, tilting my chin slightly, while Tyler draped one of my legs casually over the ottoman.

They might comment on how good I looked there, how quiet and obedient, before turning back to their conversation.

Hours could pass with me like that, breathing steadily, mind blissfully empty, while their voices washed over me.

No more racing thoughts. No more anxiety.

Just the calm of being used, commanded, and completely under their control.

I stayed lost in that daydream for a long time, the sounds of their real-life laughter blending with the fantasy until it felt almost possible.

My heart beat faster as the longing grew stronger, a deep ache that had been building for months.

Eventually, I opened my eyes and glanced at the clock.

The apartment had grown quieter, but I remained alone in my room, the fantasy still burning brightly in my mind.

The contrast between my hidden desires and the normal life just beyond my door left me feeling both exhilarated and deeply lonely.

Nighttime Fantasies

The apartment had settled into its late-night rhythm by the time I finally stepped out of my room.

The living room lights were dimmed, and the guys were still up, their voices carrying down the hallway in comfortable conversation.

I moved quietly toward the kitchen for a glass of water, hoping to catch a glimpse without drawing attention to myself.

Jake leaned against the counter, his tall frame relaxed as he scrolled through his phone.

Marcus sat on the couch with that intense focus, occasionally adding comments in his deep, steady tone.

Tyler was laughing at something on the television, his energy still bright even this late.

I lingered for a moment in the doorway, feeling that familiar pull.

They looked so at ease with themselves and each other.

Part of me wanted to join them, to laugh along and pretend I belonged without the weight of my secrets.

But another, stronger part wanted something entirely different.

I wanted them to look at me and see not Alex the roommate, but something they could control and use.

The thought made heat rise in my cheeks as I quickly filled my glass and retreated.

Back in my room, I closed the door softly and sat on the edge of my bed.

The fantasies that had started earlier in the evening refused to fade.

Instead, they grew more vivid in the quiet.

I remembered the way Marcus had brushed past me in the hallway that morning, his strong arm grazing mine, and how his commanding presence had lingered in my thoughts all day.

What would it feel like if he simply ordered me to stay still right there against the wall? No explanation needed. Just obedience.

My mind wandered further. I imagined Tyler’s playful grin turning dominant as he told me exactly how to pose on the floor beside the couch, like a decorative doll waiting to be noticed.

Jake would watch with that easy authority, perhaps giving a small command to adjust my position or tilt my head.

In these thoughts, I had no voice, no choices, no overwhelming anxiety.

I existed only to be looked at, touched, and used whenever they desired.

The idea of being ignored for long stretches while they went about their evening sent a thrill through my body that I couldn’t ignore.

I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling as the sounds from the living room continued faintly.

My hand moved almost on its own, slipping beneath the waistband of my shorts as the fantasy deepened.

I pictured myself on that couch, perfectly motionless between them.

Marcus’s large hand resting casually on my thigh, not for my pleasure but simply because I belonged to them.

Tyler adjusting my clothes or position with teasing comments.

Jake giving quiet orders that I obeyed instantly, my mind blissfully blank.

The pleasure built slowly, wrapped in layers of longing and shame.

I wanted them to command me, to order me around, to treat me like their perfect, mindless doll.

The intensity of that desire surprised even me sometimes.

As I reached the peak of the moment, their laughter from the other room blended with my imagination, making everything feel dangerously close.

For those few seconds, the anxiety disappeared completely, replaced by pure surrender.

Afterward, I lay there catching my breath, the guilt creeping back in.

What would they think if they knew? These three confident, attractive men who saw me as just their quiet roommate.

I cleaned up quietly and climbed under the covers, but sleep didn’t come easily.

The fantasies had taken root too deeply, and part of me wondered how much longer I could keep them hidden.

The apartment grew quiet as the guys eventually went to their rooms, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts and the persistent ache of wanting to be used, commanded, and completely theirs.

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