The bass thrummed through the floorboards, vibrating up through your soles. Red solo cups littered every surface. Laughter and shouted conversations tangled into one loud, pulsing noise.
You were pressed against the arm of the couch, Matt's arm looped loosely around your waist. He was telling you about some new update to his favorite game, his voice warm and familiar. His thumb traced absent patterns on your hip. Sweet. Comfortable.
You loved him. You did.
But sometimes comfort felt a lot like boredom.
Your gaze drifted across the room, scanning past familiar faces, until it snagged on Chris. He was slouched against the kitchen doorway, beer bottle dangling lazily from his fingers. His eyes weren't on the party. They were on you. Dark. Focused. Unreadable.
Matt kept talking. Chris kept staring.
Then Chris tipped his bottle toward the hallway. A small, deliberate motion. The bathroom.
Your stomach flipped.
You should've ignored it. You should've turned back to Matt, kissed his cheek, and pretended you hadn't seen.
But Chris was already pushing off the doorframe and disappearing down the hall. And your feet were moving before your brain caught up.
The bathroom was small. Cramped. The flickering light above the mirror buzzed softly.
Chris was leaning against the counter when you slipped inside and clicked the lock. He didn't say anything at first. Just watched you with that lazy, knowing smirk.
"Your boyfriend's a lame," he said finally, voice low. "Standing out there talking about nothing while you're in here with me."
"He's not—"
"Yeah, he is." Chris pushed off the counter, crossing the space in two steps. His body crowded yours against the door, one hand bracing beside your head. "That's why you followed me."
His free hand slid down your stomach, fingers hooking into the waistband of your skirt. He didn't ask. He just pushed the fabric up, bunching it around your hips.
"Bet he doesn't even know what you like," Chris murmured, dropping to his knees in front of you. "Bet he's never even made you cum."
Your breath caught as his fingers found the damp spot on your panties. He dragged one finger through the fabric, slow, deliberate.
"This all for me?" He looked up at you through his lashes, that smug smirk playing on his lips. "Soaked through your panties and I haven't even touched you yet."
"Chris—"
"Answer me." His finger pressed harder, circling your clit through the thin material. "This all for me? Or does Matt get you this wet too?"
"Just—just you," you breathed.
"Didn't think so."
He hooked his fingers in your panties and dragged them down your legs. He didn't bother taking them all the way off—just let them hang around your ankles, trapping you there.
"Spread your legs."
You obeyed, widening your stance as much as the fabric allowed.
Chris's fingers found your folds, parting them slowly. He dragged two fingers through your slickness, gathering it, then held them up where you could see.
"Look at that," he said, almost awed. "Fucking dripping for me. Your boyfriend's right outside and you're this wet for his brother."
His fingers went back to your cunt, pushing inside without warning. Two of them, thick and long, stretching you.
"Feel that?" He curled them, finding that spot inside you that made your knees buckle. "Feel how deep my fingers are? Imagine what my cock's gonna feel like."
You whimpered, head falling back against the door.
He worked his fingers in and out, slow and deep, his thumb pressing against your clit. Your hips started moving, chasing the rhythm.
"Look at you," he said, almost disappointed. "That desperate already? Pathetic."
His fingers slid out and he stood, towering over you. He unbuckled his belt, let his jeans fall just enough. His cock sprung free, thick and heavy, the head already glistening.
You swallowed hard.
"See something you want?" He wrapped his hand around himself, stroking lazily, showing off. "You ever seen anything this big before?"
You shook your head, eyes fixed on him.
"Didn't think so." He stepped closer, pressing the head against your entrance. Not pushing in. Just letting you feel the size of it, the stretch that was coming. "Matt got a dick like this?"
"No."
"Didn't think so." He dragged the head through your folds, coating himself in your wetness. "He couldn't fill you up like I can. Couldn't fuck you stupid."
He pushed in. Just the tip. You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders.
"Too much?" He didn't sound concerned. He sounded amused. "That's just the tip, baby. And you're already struggling."
He pushed deeper, inch by inch, letting you feel every bit of him. Your walls stretched around him, burning and full.
"Fuck—Chris—"
"Shh." He pressed his palm over your mouth. "You wanna get caught? Want Matt to walk in and see his girlfriend stuffed full of my cock?"
You shook your head frantically.
"Then shut up."
He bottomed out, his hips flush against yours. You felt impossibly full, stretched to your limit, his cock reaching places inside you that you didn't know existed.
"Look at that," he breathed, glancing down at where you were joined. "Taking all of me. Even though I'm too big for you."
He pulled out slow, then slammed back in. Your whole body jolted.
"This what you needed?" He set a brutal pace, each thrust pushing you up against the door. "Your boyfriend can't fuck you like this. He's too soft. Too sweet. Bet he's gentle with you."
He drove into you harder, knocking the air from your lungs.
Your eyes were rolling back. You couldn't form words anymore, just wet, broken sounds against his palm.
"Fuck, you're useless now, aren't you?" He laughed, breathless and mean. "Look at you. Pretty little thing, can't even speak."
His free hand found your chin, forcing you to look down at where you were connected. You could see him moving in and out of you, see how stretched you were around him.
"See that?" His thumb traced where you were joined, feeling the stretch. "You're taking every inch. Like the slut you are"
He groaned at the feeling of you clenching around him. "Somebody likes being called names," he observed, smirking. "Gonna cum for me? Gonna soak my cock while your boyfriend's in the hall?" he cooed softly.
You nodded frantically against his hand.
"Let go f’me baby.."
His thumb found your clit, pressing hard, circling fast. His hips never stopped, each thrust hitting that spot deep inside you.
You shattered. Your whole body seized, clamping down on him, a muffled scream swallowed by his hand. Your vision went white, your knees giving out.
Chris caught you, holding you up, and kept fucking you through it. "That's it. Good girl. Take it. Take all of it."
His rhythm stuttered, his hips slamming into you one last time as he buried himself deep. You felt him pulse inside you, hot and thick, filling you up.
He stayed there for a moment, breathing hard, his forehead against yours.
Then he pulled out slow, watching his cum drip out of you.
"Look at that," he murmured, almost to himself. "Making a mess."
He tucked himself away, smoothed down his shirt. You were still slumped against the door, legs shaking, panties around your ankles.
Chris grabbed a towel from the rack and tossed it at you. "Clean yourself up. You're leaking."
Your hands were trembling so badly you could barely manage it.
He watched you with that smug smirk, arms crossed. "Don't forget—I'm the better brother. And now you know why."
He unlocked the door, slipping out into the hallway like nothing happened.
You fixed your skirt. Splashed water on your face. Took three deep breaths.
When you walked back into the living room, Matt was in the same spot, scrolling on his phone.
"Hey," he said, smiling. "Feeling okay?"
"Yeah." You sat beside him, legs pressed together. "Just needed some air."
He kissed your forehead.
Across the room, Chris caught your eye. He mouthed something—stupid—and raised his beer in a toast.
You looked away first.
Your thighs were still wet. You were still full of him.
And you knew your boyfriend was a lame. And Chris had definitely fucked your brains out.
in which . . . three vampire brothers spend over a century hiding in plain sight until one girl remembers what she was never supposed to see, a werewolf refuses to stop hunting them, a siren begins asking dangerous questions, and an ancient order of hunters resurfaces. As secrets unravel and forbidden love blurs the line between enemy and ally, they’ll learn that some monsters are far more dangerous than the ones they were born to fear.
warnings- mentions of manipulation (compulsion.) blood mentions. i think this is all. (let me know if i’ve missed anything.)
word count- 2701.
Chapter One: Compulsion
The town slept like it always did.
Streetlights buzzed overhead, casting pale, wavering circles onto empty sidewalks. Porch lights flickered behind closed curtains, their warm glow doing little to chase away the deep shadows that pooled in doorways and beneath parked cars. The occasional vehicle drifted through the quiet streets before disappearing into the darkness again, leaving nothing but silence in its wake—the kind of heavy, watchful silence that made every sound feel intentional.
It was the kind of night where every sound carried.
The scrape of shoes against concrete. The rustle of wind through dry leaves. The distant cry of something unseen moving through the woods beyond the town's edge.
Sienna pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she hurried home, her breath forming small clouds in the cool night air.
"Should've just let my mom pick me up…" she muttered, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. Her fingers brushed against her keys, the familiar cold metal offering some small comfort. She'd taken the late shift at the café again, trading sleep for extra hours, and now she was paying for it with a long walk through a town that felt far too empty for comfort.
She wasn't scared.
Not really.
The dark had never bothered her. Growing up, she'd been the one who explored abandoned buildings, who walked home alone, who never flinched at horror movies while her friends hid behind their hands. Fear was something other people felt.
But tonight felt different.
There was a strange weight in the air, a tension that seemed to press against her skin. The kind of feeling that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The kind that made her want to look over her shoulder, even though she knew nothing would be there.
She glanced back anyway.
Nothing.
Empty sidewalk. Empty road. Empty night.
The street stretched behind her, quiet and still, lined with sleeping houses and dark windows.
"…You're being dramatic," she whispered to herself, forcing out a small laugh. "It's just dark. You've walked home in the dark a thousand times."
She kept walking.
The shortcut through the small wooded trail would get her home ten minutes faster. It was a path she knew well—she'd taken it hundreds of times, during the day, when the sun filtered through the leaves and the birds sang overhead. It was peaceful then. Safe.
Normally, she'd avoid it this late.
But tonight, for reasons she couldn't quite explain, something pulled her toward it. A quiet whisper in the back of her mind, telling her to take the shorter way. To get home faster. To stop wasting time.
She stepped off the sidewalk and onto the dirt path.
The trees swallowed the moonlight almost immediately.
Branches stretched overhead like skeletal fingers, their tangled limbs blocking out the sky until only thin strips of silver remained. The path wound forward into darkness, and the air grew cooler, damp with the scent of earth and decaying leaves. The sounds of the town faded behind her, replaced by the oppressive quiet of the forest.
Everything was too still.
No crickets. No birds. Not even the whisper of wind through the leaves.
Sienna slowed.
Something was wrong.
She couldn't say what, exactly. The path looked the same as it always did. The trees were the same. The ground beneath her feet was the same packed earth she'd walked a hundred times before.
But the silence was wrong.
It was the kind of silence that existed only when something else was there, something that had chased away the natural sounds of the night. The kind of silence that meant she wasn't alone.
"…Hello?"
Nothing answered.
She bit the inside of her lip, a nervous habit she'd never been able to break. Her teeth pressed into the soft skin, grounding her, reminding her to breathe.
Just keep walking.
One step.
Then another.
Her foot landed on a branch, and the sharp crack echoed through the trees like a gunshot. She winced, freezing in place, her heart hammering against her ribs.
And then—
A sound.
Not from her.
From deeper in the trees.
A sharp, muffled gasp. The kind of sound someone made when they were surprised. Or hurt.
Sienna's blood went cold.
"…What was that?"
Curiosity won before fear ever had the chance.
It always did. It was the curse of her life, the thing her mother warned her about, the trait her teachers called "inquisitive" and her friends called "reckless." She couldn't help it. The unknown called to her, pulled at her, refused to let her walk away.
She stepped off the path.
Branches scraped against her sleeves as she carefully pushed through the underbrush. Twigs snapped beneath her feet, each sound impossibly loud in the thick silence. She moved slowly, trying to follow the sound, her eyes straining against the darkness.
Another noise.
Closer this time.
A wet sound. A soft, rhythmic sound that made her stomach turn.
Her heartbeat picked up, pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else.
She rounded one last tree—
—and stopped.
The world tilted sideways.
Someone was there.
Kneeling over another person, their body bent low, their head pressed against the victim's neck. The figure beneath them hung limply in their arms, completely still, their head lolled back at an unnatural angle. Dark stains spread across the collar of their shirt, soaking into the fabric, black and glistening in the faint slivers of moonlight.
For one impossible second, Sienna's brain refused to make sense of what she was seeing.
It was too dark. Too strange. Too wrong.
But then—
The stranger's head lifted slightly, and she saw it.
Teeth.
Blood.
A mouth painted red.
Her breath caught in her throat.
No.
No, that couldn't be—
A branch snapped beneath her shoe.
Crack.
The sound cut through the silence like a blade.
The figure stopped moving.
Slowly.
Far too slowly.
His head turned.
Even from where she stood, Sienna couldn't make out his face. The darkness hid it, shrouding him in shadow. But she felt his eyes find hers.
Ice flooded her veins.
Every nerve in her body screamed at once.
Run.
Run now.
Don't look back.
But her body refused to obey. Her legs wouldn't move. Her voice wouldn't work. She stood frozen, rooted to the spot, watching as the stranger slowly straightened.
The world blurred.
One second, the clearing was empty.
The next—
He was standing in front of her.
She didn't see him move. She didn't hear him approach. He was simply there, close enough that she could smell the copper tang of blood on his breath.
His hand wrapped around her wrist.
Cold.
Unnaturally cold. The kind of cold that seeped through skin and settled deep into bone.
"What did you see?"
His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came from absolute control, from knowing there was nothing she could do to escape.
Sienna stared at him.
Up close, she still couldn't make out much. Dark clothes. Dark hair. Pale skin that seemed to almost glow in the darkness. And eyes—his eyes—that seemed almost… wrong. Too bright. Too sharp. Not quite human.
"I…" she breathed.
He tilted his head slightly. A predator studying its prey.
"What," he repeated, his voice dropping lower, "did you see?"
"I-I don't…"
His gaze narrowed.
"You do."
The grip around her wrist tightened. Not painfully. Just enough to stop her from pulling away.
"You'll forget this."
His voice changed.
It became softer. Smoother. Each word wrapped around her mind like smoke, curling into her thoughts, pressing against her consciousness.
"You were never here."
Sienna blinked.
"You didn't see me."
Everything suddenly felt heavy. Her eyelids drooped. Her limbs went slack. The world around her seemed to fade at the edges, growing distant and unimportant.
"You'll go home…"
His eyes never left hers.
"…and you'll forget."
Silence.
Nothing happened.
The stranger frowned.
"You'll forget," he repeated, more firmly this time.
Sienna stared back.
"…Forget what?"
For the first time, his expression changed.
Confusion flickered across his features. Then disbelief. His grip on her wrist loosened slightly as he studied her face, searching for something—some sign that she was pretending, that she understood and was fighting back.
He found nothing.
"No…"
He tried again.
"You. Will. Forget."
The words hit her like a wave, pushing against her mind, demanding compliance.
And still, nothing happened.
Sienna's brows pulled together.
"I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about."
A flicker of panic crossed his face.
It vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by a mask of cold composure. But she'd seen it. For just a moment, he'd been afraid.
His eyes darted toward the trail. Toward the body. Back to her.
He let go of her wrist and stepped back.
"What are you?" he whispered.
"What?"
But he wasn't looking at her anymore.
He was thinking. Calculating. Trying to understand something that had never happened before. His gaze flickered over her—her clothes, her face, the small silver ring on her finger—searching for answers that weren't there.
Then—
He was gone.
Not running. Not hiding.
Simply… gone.
One moment he was there. The next, the space where he'd been standing was empty.
The air rushed past her as if someone had opened a door that wasn't there.
Sienna stumbled forward, her hand reaching out instinctively to grab onto something, but finding only empty air.
"What the…"
She spun in circles, her eyes scanning the darkness, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No movement. No sign anyone had ever been there.
Except—
Something caught the moonlight.
A brief silver glint, disappearing into the darkness as the stranger fled.
A necklace.
That was all she saw. A flash of metal, pale and gleaming, before even that was gone.
For several long moments, Sienna couldn't breathe.
She stood frozen in the clearing, her chest heaving, her mind spinning. The body was gone. The stranger was gone. Everything was gone, as if it had never happened.
But it had.
She knew it had.
Finally, she looked toward where the body had been.
Empty.
Nothing.
No blood. No person. No evidence.
Just flattened grass.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs.
"…I need to go home."
She didn't run.
She couldn't.
Her legs felt too heavy, too numb, as if the terror had drained all the strength from them. She walked as quickly as she could, her eyes fixed on the path ahead, refusing to look over her shoulder again.
Because somehow…
She already knew.
If she did—
She wouldn't be alone.
The front door slammed shut behind Matt, rattling the framed pictures on the wall.
Nick looked up from the couch immediately, his book forgotten in his lap.
"You look terrible."
Matt ignored him, pacing across the living room with quick, sharp strides. His hands were shaking—just slightly, barely noticeable—but Nick noticed.
Chris glanced over from the kitchen, a half-eaten apple in his hand. "…Well, that's never a good sign."
Matt paced once across the living room. Twice. His footsteps were too fast, too sharp, cutting into the silence like a knife.
Then he stopped.
"Someone saw me."
Silence.
Nick slowly stood, setting his book aside. "…What?"
"I was feeding." Matt's voice was flat. Controlled. But there was an edge beneath it—something frayed and barely contained. "In the woods near the east trail. There was a girl."
Chris's grin disappeared.
"She walked into the clearing. She saw everything."
"You compelled her?" Nick asked.
Matt nodded once.
"It didn't work."
Neither of his brothers spoke.
For what felt like an eternity, the room remained completely still. The clock on the mantel ticked. The wind rattled the windows. But none of them moved.
Finally—
Chris laughed.
A single, disbelieving laugh.
"Yeah, right."
Matt met his eyes. "I've compelled thousands of people." His voice was quiet, almost calm. "I know when it fails."
The smile disappeared from Chris's face.
Nick folded his arms, his expression darkening. "Did she see your face?"
"No."
"Your eyes?"
"I don't think so."
"Then what did she see?"
Matt's jaw tightened.
"My necklace."
The room fell silent again.
No one had to explain why that mattered. The necklaces were ancient—forged by a witch decades ago, enchanted with magic that allowed them to walk in daylight. They were powerful. Valuable. Recognizable to anyone who knew what to look for. And they were the only things standing between them and a life of eternal darkness.
Chris looked between his brothers. "So…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "…That's bad."
Matt finally looked at him. "We need to know who she is."
Nick frowned. "And how exactly do you expect us to do that?"
Matt didn't hesitate.
"One of us gets close to her."
Chris immediately pointed at Nick. "Oldest goes first."
Nick gave him a flat look. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not doing that."
Chris smirked. "Coward."
Nick rolled his eyes. "I like men."
"…Right."
Chris's smirk slowly faded as the implication sank in. He turned to Matt, his expression shifting to something caught between horror and exasperation.
"Absolutely not."
Matt's gaze was unwavering. "You blend in better than either of us."
"No."
"You're charming."
"No."
"People trust you."
"No."
Matt stepped closer, his voice dropping to something quiet and firm. "She was young, Chris. She looked like she was in high school." He paused, letting the words sink in. "And there's a high school nearby. You can get in there. Find her. Figure out who she is."
Chris blinked. "You want me to—what? Enroll? Pretend to be a student? That's insane."
"It's necessary."
"It's stupid."
Matt said nothing. He just stared at his brother with that calm, steady gaze that always made Chris want to throw something.
Chris sighed dramatically. "…You've already decided, haven't you?"
Matt didn't respond and Chris groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I hate both of you."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Fine." The word came out like a curse. "I'll do it. But."
He held up a finger.
Matt's expression didn't change. "But?"
"If I'm going to be stuck in high school, pretending to be some teenage nobody, then you two are coming with me."
Nick's eyes went wide. "Absolutely not."
"No."
"Chris, I'm a hundred and twenty-five years old."
"So am I."
"I'm not going back to high school."
"Then I'm not doing this."
"You can't be serious."
Chris smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Dead serious."
Nick turned to Matt, looking for backup. "Tell him he's being ridiculous."
Matt was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he said, "He's right."
Nick's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
"If he's going to be there, it's easier if we're all there together. We can watch his back. Keep an eye on things." Matt's voice was calm, logical, the way it always was. "And if she's connected to anything—anyone—we'll be able to find out faster."
Nick stared at him in disbelief. "You're actually considering this."
"Chris won't do it alone."
"And you think I will?"
Chris clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "You'll be fine, big brother. You can sit in the back of the classroom and brood. You're good at that."
Nick shoved his hand off. "I hate you."
"I know."
Matt looked between them, his expression unreadable. "Then it's settled."
Chris sighed. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow. I'll find her first. Point her out to you. Then we'll figure out the rest."
Nick shook his head, muttering something under his breath.
Chris just smiled.
"High school," he said, almost to himself. "This is going to be a disaster."
Outside, hidden among the trees across the street, a figure watched the lights inside the house.
They'd been there for hours, still and silent, their eyes fixed on the three silhouettes moving behind the curtains.
They didn't move when the lights finally went out. They didn't move when the house fell silent. They simply watched.
And when the first pale light of dawn began to creep across the sky, they turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving nothing behind but the faint impression of footsteps in the dew-covered grass.
Ezekiel had hoped—naively, stupidly, desperately hoped—that Nicolas Sturniolo would forget about him. That their first interaction had been a passing curiosity. The kind of thing that happened when you were the new kid and people wanted to see what you were made of before moving on to something else.
But no.
Of course not.
Because a week later, Ezekiel was still the church boy. Still Nicolas's favorite target. Still the recipient of an endless campaign of small, infuriating, completely unnecessary attention.
It started in American Literature.
Ezekiel arrived early on his second Tuesday at the school, determined to find a seat far away from the sleeping troublemaker. Somewhere in the front. Somewhere where teachers could see him. Somewhere safe.
He sat near the window. Perfect. Strategic. Untouchable.
Then Nicolas walked in, scanned the room with those sharp blue eyes, and made a beeline straight for him.
"There's other seats," Ezekiel said flatly.
"Don't care." Nicolas dropped his bag on the floor and slid into the seat next to him. Not even asking. Not even acknowledging that Ezekiel might want space. Just—sat. Like he belonged there.
Ezekiel stared at him. "There are literally thirty other seats."
"Yours is the best one."
"How? It's exactly the same as every other seat."
"Better view."
Ezekiel looked around, confused. "Of what?"
Nicolas smirked. "You."
Ezekiel's face went red. He turned away quickly, facing the front of the room, and spent the entire class pretending Nicolas didn't exist.
Nicolas spent the entire class pretending he didn't notice how flustered Ezekiel was.
They both knew it was a lie.
Then it was lunch.
Ezekiel sat alone at a corner table, carefully positioned so he could see the entire cafeteria. It was a survival tactic. Being new meant being vulnerable, and being vulnerable meant being careful. He'd learned that lesson a long time ago.
Today, though, his caution didn't matter.
Because Nicolas appeared out of nowhere, sliding into the seat across from him like he owned it. Before Ezekiel could even react, a fry was plucked from his tray. Then another. Then another.
"Stop," Ezekiel said.
"Stop what?"
"Stealing my food."
"I'm not stealing." Nicolas chewed thoughtfully. "I'm... borrowing."
"You're not giving it back."
"Exactly." Nicolas grinned. "Borrowing without return. It's a new economic model."
Ezekiel stared at him. "That's just stealing."
"Don't overthink it, church boy."
"My name is Ezekiel."
"Church boy."
Ezekiel resisted the urge to scream. "Why do you keep calling me that?"
Nicolas tilted his head, considering the question like it was genuinely interesting. "Because you react."
"I don't react."
"You're reacting right now."
Ezekiel opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Nothing came out.
Nicolas laughed. That stupid, easy laugh that made something in Ezekiel's chest do a strange flutter he refused to acknowledge.
"See?" Nicolas leaned forward. "You're fun."
"I'm not fun. I'm annoying."
"Same thing."
"That doesn't even make sense."
"And yet." Nicolas shrugged, stealing another fry. "Here we are."
Walking to class became a thing too.
Ezekiel had a schedule. He knew where he was going. He didn't need an escort. He didn't want an escort. He wanted to be left alone.
But every day, without fail, Nicolas appeared beside him in the hallway.
"We're going opposite directions," Ezekiel pointed out on Wednesday.
"I know."
"So why are you walking with me?"
"Because."
"Because what?"
Nicolas shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You look lost."
"I'm not lost. I know exactly where I'm going."
"Sure."
"I do!"
"Okay." Nicolas kept walking beside him. "You definitely don't look lost at all."
"I—" Ezekiel stopped. "You're infuriating."
"Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"I took it as one."
They reached Ezekiel's classroom. Nicolas stopped, not even pretending he was going anywhere else.
"You can go now," Ezekiel said.
"I know."
"So go."
"I will."
"I'm waiting."
Nicolas grinned. "You're so easy to mess with."
Ezekiel wanted to punch him. He also wanted to laugh. Both feelings were equally strong and equally confusing. He settled for glaring.
Nicolas winked. Then he turned and walked away, hands still in his pockets, clearly in no rush to actually go to his own class.
Ezekiel watched him leave, telling himself he was just making sure Nicolas was actually gone.
He was lying.
"Leave me alone," Ezekiel said on Thursday.
They were in the cafeteria again. Nicolas had appeared at his table again. This time he'd brought his own lunch, which Ezekiel found both infuriating and slightly flattering.
"You'd miss me," Nicolas said.
"I would not."
"You'd cry."
"I literally wouldn't."
"Big, ugly tears. Sobbing in the corner. Begging for me to come back."
Ezekiel stared at him. "You have the most inflated ego I've ever met."
Nicolas beamed. "Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment either!"
"Still took it as one."
"Of course you did."
Ezekiel ate his lunch in pointed silence, trying very hard not to notice how good Nicolas looked when he smiled. How his eyes crinkled at the corners. How his hair fell across his forehead in that annoyingly perfect way.
He failed.
The worst part—the absolute worst part—was that everyone assumed they were friends.
"Your friend's here," the girl next to Ezekiel said on Friday morning, nodding toward the door.
"He's not my friend," Ezekiel said automatically.
"Sure." She smiled knowingly.
"No, really—"
"Hey, church boy." Nicolas slid into the seat beside him. "Miss me?"
"Literally never."
"You missed me."
"I didn't."
"I can tell. You look sad without me."
"That's my normal face."
"Exactly." Nicolas nodded sagely. "Sad without me."
Ezekiel's eye twitched.
The girl next to him giggled.
"We're not friends," Ezekiel said firmly.
Nicolas looked at him, his expression unreadable for just a moment. Then the grin was back. "Sure we are."
"We're literally not."
"We're sitting together. We talk. I steal your food. You pretend to hate it." Nicolas shrugged. "That's friendship."
"That's harassment."
"Same thing."
Ezekiel gave up.
That afternoon, Ezekiel escaped.
He found a bench outside, tucked away behind the gymnasium where nobody ever went. The sun was warm. The breeze was light. And for the first time all week, he was alone.
Perfect.
He pulled out his book—a battered paperback of The Catcher in the Rye that he'd read a dozen times before. It was comfort reading. Familiar. Safe. The kind of book that didn't make him think too hard about his new school or his absent friends or the boy with the blue eyes who wouldn't leave him alone.
He was just getting to his favorite part when a shadow fell across the page.
"No."
Ezekiel looked up.
Nicolas stood over him, hands in his pockets, looking down with an expression Ezekiel couldn't quite read.
"Hi," Nicolas said.
"No."
"Hi, church boy."
"I said no."
"I heard you." Nicolas sat down on the bench beside him. "Didn't care."
Ezekiel closed his book with a snap. "This is my spot. My bench. My alone time."
"Too late."
"Can't you leave me alone for five minutes?"
"Five minutes?" Nicolas pretended to consider it. "Maybe. But then you'd be lonely."
"I wouldn't."
"You'd be so lonely. Crying again."
"Stop saying I'd cry!"
"Fine." Nicolas leaned closer. "What're you reading?"
Ezekiel froze. This was a trap. It had to be a trap. Nicolas was going to make fun of him. Call him a nerd. Mock his taste in books. That was what people like Nicolas did—they pretended to be interested and then used it against you.
"Nothing," Ezekiel said.
Nicolas raised an eyebrow. "That's a pretty thick book for nothing."
"I'm not reading."
"Your bookmark is literally in it."
"I'm... looking at the cover."
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm an excellent liar."
"Bad liar. Terrible. So obvious."
Ezekiel's face flushed. "Give me my book back."
He hadn't even noticed Nicolas taking it. But there it was—his battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye in those black-nailed fingers, being flipped through like it was nothing.
"Hey—"
"Holden Caulfield," Nicolas said, reading the back cover. "Angsty teenager. Hates everyone. Runs away." He looked up, grinning. "So, like, a regular guy."
Ezekiel blinked. "You've read this?"
"Read it in middle school." Nicolas flipped through a few more pages. "Ending sucks."
Ezekiel stared at him. "You've read The Catcher in the Rye?"
"Yeah."
"You actually read it?"
Nicolas raised an eyebrow. "You think I can't read?"
"I didn't say—"
"Felt like you were about to."
"I just—" Ezekiel stopped. He had been about to say it. Had been about to express surprise that someone like Nicolas—the skater, the troublemaker, the guy who never did homework—had read a classic American novel. Had formed opinions about it. Had—
"How is that the thing that shocks you?" Nicolas asked, genuinely curious now.
"I just didn't expect you to have..." Ezekiel gestured vaguely.
"Brains?"
"Taste."
Nicolas laughed. Actually laughed. "Ouch. You hurt my feelings."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." Nicolas handed the book back, his fingers brushing Ezekiel's for just a moment. "I read a lot, actually."
Ezekiel stared at him. "You do?"
"Don't look so shocked."
"I'm not shocked. I'm... processing."
"Processing. Right." Nicolas leaned back on the bench, tilting his head up toward the sun. "What else do you think you know about me?"
Ezekiel opened his mouth. Closed it. He'd been so sure. So certain that Nicolas was exactly what his father had described. A troublemaker. A distraction. A dangerous influence who didn't care about anything or anyone.
But now—
"I don't know anything," Ezekiel admitted quietly.
Nicolas looked over at him, his expression unreadable again. That strange softness from the first day. Like he was seeing something in Ezekiel that nobody else noticed.
"See?" Nicolas said, his voice suddenly gentle. "That's why you're interesting."
Ezekiel's heart stuttered. "I'm not interesting."
"You are. You just don't know it yet."
And for a moment—just a moment—the teasing disappeared. The smirk faded. Nicolas looked at him like he actually mattered. Like he was worth paying attention to.
Then the moment passed.
"Ending still sucks though," Nicolas said, standing up. "Holden's a mess. Doesn't really grow. Just complains."
"That's the point," Ezekiel said automatically.
"Maybe." Nicolas shrugged. "But you can do better."
"Better than what?"
"Better than believing you have to be perfect all the time."
Ezekiel's breath caught. How did he know? How did this boy—this infuriating, annoying, impossible boy—keep seeing right through him?
Nicolas started walking away. Then he paused, looking back over his shoulder.
"See you Monday, church boy."
And he was gone.
Ezekiel sat there for a long time, the book forgotten in his lap.
He was in trouble.
Real trouble.
The kind of trouble his father had warned him about.
But somehow, he couldn't bring himself to care.
Because for the first time in a long time, someone had looked at him and seen more than just the perfect smile. Someone had looked at him and seen the mess underneath.
in which . . . three vampire brothers spend over a century hiding in plain sight until one girl remembers what she was never supposed to see, a werewolf refuses to stop hunting them, a siren begins asking dangerous questions, and an ancient order of hunters resurfaces. As secrets unravel and forbidden love blurs the line between enemy and ally, they’ll learn that some monsters are far more dangerous than the ones they were born to fear.
warnings- mentions of manipulation (compulsion.) blood mentions. i think this is all. (let me know if i’ve missed anything.)
word count- 2701.
Chapter One: Compulsion
The town slept like it always did.
Streetlights buzzed overhead, casting pale, wavering circles onto empty sidewalks. Porch lights flickered behind closed curtains, their warm glow doing little to chase away the deep shadows that pooled in doorways and beneath parked cars. The occasional vehicle drifted through the quiet streets before disappearing into the darkness again, leaving nothing but silence in its wake—the kind of heavy, watchful silence that made every sound feel intentional.
It was the kind of night where every sound carried.
The scrape of shoes against concrete. The rustle of wind through dry leaves. The distant cry of something unseen moving through the woods beyond the town's edge.
Sienna pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she hurried home, her breath forming small clouds in the cool night air.
"Should've just let my mom pick me up…" she muttered, shoving her hands deep into her pockets. Her fingers brushed against her keys, the familiar cold metal offering some small comfort. She'd taken the late shift at the café again, trading sleep for extra hours, and now she was paying for it with a long walk through a town that felt far too empty for comfort.
She wasn't scared.
Not really.
The dark had never bothered her. Growing up, she'd been the one who explored abandoned buildings, who walked home alone, who never flinched at horror movies while her friends hid behind their hands. Fear was something other people felt.
But tonight felt different.
There was a strange weight in the air, a tension that seemed to press against her skin. The kind of feeling that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The kind that made her want to look over her shoulder, even though she knew nothing would be there.
She glanced back anyway.
Nothing.
Empty sidewalk. Empty road. Empty night.
The street stretched behind her, quiet and still, lined with sleeping houses and dark windows.
"…You're being dramatic," she whispered to herself, forcing out a small laugh. "It's just dark. You've walked home in the dark a thousand times."
She kept walking.
The shortcut through the small wooded trail would get her home ten minutes faster. It was a path she knew well—she'd taken it hundreds of times, during the day, when the sun filtered through the leaves and the birds sang overhead. It was peaceful then. Safe.
Normally, she'd avoid it this late.
But tonight, for reasons she couldn't quite explain, something pulled her toward it. A quiet whisper in the back of her mind, telling her to take the shorter way. To get home faster. To stop wasting time.
She stepped off the sidewalk and onto the dirt path.
The trees swallowed the moonlight almost immediately.
Branches stretched overhead like skeletal fingers, their tangled limbs blocking out the sky until only thin strips of silver remained. The path wound forward into darkness, and the air grew cooler, damp with the scent of earth and decaying leaves. The sounds of the town faded behind her, replaced by the oppressive quiet of the forest.
Everything was too still.
No crickets. No birds. Not even the whisper of wind through the leaves.
Sienna slowed.
Something was wrong.
She couldn't say what, exactly. The path looked the same as it always did. The trees were the same. The ground beneath her feet was the same packed earth she'd walked a hundred times before.
But the silence was wrong.
It was the kind of silence that existed only when something else was there, something that had chased away the natural sounds of the night. The kind of silence that meant she wasn't alone.
"…Hello?"
Nothing answered.
She bit the inside of her lip, a nervous habit she'd never been able to break. Her teeth pressed into the soft skin, grounding her, reminding her to breathe.
Just keep walking.
One step.
Then another.
Her foot landed on a branch, and the sharp crack echoed through the trees like a gunshot. She winced, freezing in place, her heart hammering against her ribs.
And then—
A sound.
Not from her.
From deeper in the trees.
A sharp, muffled gasp. The kind of sound someone made when they were surprised. Or hurt.
Sienna's blood went cold.
"…What was that?"
Curiosity won before fear ever had the chance.
It always did. It was the curse of her life, the thing her mother warned her about, the trait her teachers called "inquisitive" and her friends called "reckless." She couldn't help it. The unknown called to her, pulled at her, refused to let her walk away.
She stepped off the path.
Branches scraped against her sleeves as she carefully pushed through the underbrush. Twigs snapped beneath her feet, each sound impossibly loud in the thick silence. She moved slowly, trying to follow the sound, her eyes straining against the darkness.
Another noise.
Closer this time.
A wet sound. A soft, rhythmic sound that made her stomach turn.
Her heartbeat picked up, pounding in her ears, drowning out everything else.
She rounded one last tree—
—and stopped.
The world tilted sideways.
Someone was there.
Kneeling over another person, their body bent low, their head pressed against the victim's neck. The figure beneath them hung limply in their arms, completely still, their head lolled back at an unnatural angle. Dark stains spread across the collar of their shirt, soaking into the fabric, black and glistening in the faint slivers of moonlight.
For one impossible second, Sienna's brain refused to make sense of what she was seeing.
It was too dark. Too strange. Too wrong.
But then—
The stranger's head lifted slightly, and she saw it.
Teeth.
Blood.
A mouth painted red.
Her breath caught in her throat.
No.
No, that couldn't be—
A branch snapped beneath her shoe.
Crack.
The sound cut through the silence like a blade.
The figure stopped moving.
Slowly.
Far too slowly.
His head turned.
Even from where she stood, Sienna couldn't make out his face. The darkness hid it, shrouding him in shadow. But she felt his eyes find hers.
Ice flooded her veins.
Every nerve in her body screamed at once.
Run.
Run now.
Don't look back.
But her body refused to obey. Her legs wouldn't move. Her voice wouldn't work. She stood frozen, rooted to the spot, watching as the stranger slowly straightened.
The world blurred.
One second, the clearing was empty.
The next—
He was standing in front of her.
She didn't see him move. She didn't hear him approach. He was simply there, close enough that she could smell the copper tang of blood on his breath.
His hand wrapped around her wrist.
Cold.
Unnaturally cold. The kind of cold that seeped through skin and settled deep into bone.
"What did you see?"
His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came from absolute control, from knowing there was nothing she could do to escape.
Sienna stared at him.
Up close, she still couldn't make out much. Dark clothes. Dark hair. Pale skin that seemed to almost glow in the darkness. And eyes—his eyes—that seemed almost… wrong. Too bright. Too sharp. Not quite human.
"I…" she breathed.
He tilted his head slightly. A predator studying its prey.
"What," he repeated, his voice dropping lower, "did you see?"
"I-I don't…"
His gaze narrowed.
"You do."
The grip around her wrist tightened. Not painfully. Just enough to stop her from pulling away.
"You'll forget this."
His voice changed.
It became softer. Smoother. Each word wrapped around her mind like smoke, curling into her thoughts, pressing against her consciousness.
"You were never here."
Sienna blinked.
"You didn't see me."
Everything suddenly felt heavy. Her eyelids drooped. Her limbs went slack. The world around her seemed to fade at the edges, growing distant and unimportant.
"You'll go home…"
His eyes never left hers.
"…and you'll forget."
Silence.
Nothing happened.
The stranger frowned.
"You'll forget," he repeated, more firmly this time.
Sienna stared back.
"…Forget what?"
For the first time, his expression changed.
Confusion flickered across his features. Then disbelief. His grip on her wrist loosened slightly as he studied her face, searching for something—some sign that she was pretending, that she understood and was fighting back.
He found nothing.
"No…"
He tried again.
"You. Will. Forget."
The words hit her like a wave, pushing against her mind, demanding compliance.
And still, nothing happened.
Sienna's brows pulled together.
"I genuinely have no idea what you're talking about."
A flicker of panic crossed his face.
It vanished almost as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by a mask of cold composure. But she'd seen it. For just a moment, he'd been afraid.
His eyes darted toward the trail. Toward the body. Back to her.
He let go of her wrist and stepped back.
"What are you?" he whispered.
"What?"
But he wasn't looking at her anymore.
He was thinking. Calculating. Trying to understand something that had never happened before. His gaze flickered over her—her clothes, her face, the small silver ring on her finger—searching for answers that weren't there.
Then—
He was gone.
Not running. Not hiding.
Simply… gone.
One moment he was there. The next, the space where he'd been standing was empty.
The air rushed past her as if someone had opened a door that wasn't there.
Sienna stumbled forward, her hand reaching out instinctively to grab onto something, but finding only empty air.
"What the…"
She spun in circles, her eyes scanning the darkness, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat.
Nothing.
No footsteps. No movement. No sign anyone had ever been there.
Except—
Something caught the moonlight.
A brief silver glint, disappearing into the darkness as the stranger fled.
A necklace.
That was all she saw. A flash of metal, pale and gleaming, before even that was gone.
For several long moments, Sienna couldn't breathe.
She stood frozen in the clearing, her chest heaving, her mind spinning. The body was gone. The stranger was gone. Everything was gone, as if it had never happened.
But it had.
She knew it had.
Finally, she looked toward where the body had been.
Empty.
Nothing.
No blood. No person. No evidence.
Just flattened grass.
Her pulse hammered against her ribs.
"…I need to go home."
She didn't run.
She couldn't.
Her legs felt too heavy, too numb, as if the terror had drained all the strength from them. She walked as quickly as she could, her eyes fixed on the path ahead, refusing to look over her shoulder again.
Because somehow…
She already knew.
If she did—
She wouldn't be alone.
The front door slammed shut behind Matt, rattling the framed pictures on the wall.
Nick looked up from the couch immediately, his book forgotten in his lap.
"You look terrible."
Matt ignored him, pacing across the living room with quick, sharp strides. His hands were shaking—just slightly, barely noticeable—but Nick noticed.
Chris glanced over from the kitchen, a half-eaten apple in his hand. "…Well, that's never a good sign."
Matt paced once across the living room. Twice. His footsteps were too fast, too sharp, cutting into the silence like a knife.
Then he stopped.
"Someone saw me."
Silence.
Nick slowly stood, setting his book aside. "…What?"
"I was feeding." Matt's voice was flat. Controlled. But there was an edge beneath it—something frayed and barely contained. "In the woods near the east trail. There was a girl."
Chris's grin disappeared.
"She walked into the clearing. She saw everything."
"You compelled her?" Nick asked.
Matt nodded once.
"It didn't work."
Neither of his brothers spoke.
For what felt like an eternity, the room remained completely still. The clock on the mantel ticked. The wind rattled the windows. But none of them moved.
Finally—
Chris laughed.
A single, disbelieving laugh.
"Yeah, right."
Matt met his eyes. "I've compelled thousands of people." His voice was quiet, almost calm. "I know when it fails."
The smile disappeared from Chris's face.
Nick folded his arms, his expression darkening. "Did she see your face?"
"No."
"Your eyes?"
"I don't think so."
"Then what did she see?"
Matt's jaw tightened.
"My necklace."
The room fell silent again.
No one had to explain why that mattered. The necklaces were ancient—forged by a witch decades ago, enchanted with magic that allowed them to walk in daylight. They were powerful. Valuable. Recognizable to anyone who knew what to look for. And they were the only things standing between them and a life of eternal darkness.
Chris looked between his brothers. "So…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "…That's bad."
Matt finally looked at him. "We need to know who she is."
Nick frowned. "And how exactly do you expect us to do that?"
Matt didn't hesitate.
"One of us gets close to her."
Chris immediately pointed at Nick. "Oldest goes first."
Nick gave him a flat look. "No."
"Why not?"
"Because I'm not doing that."
Chris smirked. "Coward."
Nick rolled his eyes. "I like men."
"…Right."
Chris's smirk slowly faded as the implication sank in. He turned to Matt, his expression shifting to something caught between horror and exasperation.
"Absolutely not."
Matt's gaze was unwavering. "You blend in better than either of us."
"No."
"You're charming."
"No."
"People trust you."
"No."
Matt stepped closer, his voice dropping to something quiet and firm. "She was young, Chris. She looked like she was in high school." He paused, letting the words sink in. "And there's a high school nearby. You can get in there. Find her. Figure out who she is."
Chris blinked. "You want me to—what? Enroll? Pretend to be a student? That's insane."
"It's necessary."
"It's stupid."
Matt said nothing. He just stared at his brother with that calm, steady gaze that always made Chris want to throw something.
Chris sighed dramatically. "…You've already decided, haven't you?"
Matt didn't respond and Chris groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I hate both of you."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"Fine." The word came out like a curse. "I'll do it. But."
He held up a finger.
Matt's expression didn't change. "But?"
"If I'm going to be stuck in high school, pretending to be some teenage nobody, then you two are coming with me."
Nick's eyes went wide. "Absolutely not."
"No."
"Chris, I'm a hundred and twenty-five years old."
"So am I."
"I'm not going back to high school."
"Then I'm not doing this."
"You can't be serious."
Chris smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. "Dead serious."
Nick turned to Matt, looking for backup. "Tell him he's being ridiculous."
Matt was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, he said, "He's right."
Nick's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"
"If he's going to be there, it's easier if we're all there together. We can watch his back. Keep an eye on things." Matt's voice was calm, logical, the way it always was. "And if she's connected to anything—anyone—we'll be able to find out faster."
Nick stared at him in disbelief. "You're actually considering this."
"Chris won't do it alone."
"And you think I will?"
Chris clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "You'll be fine, big brother. You can sit in the back of the classroom and brood. You're good at that."
Nick shoved his hand off. "I hate you."
"I know."
Matt looked between them, his expression unreadable. "Then it's settled."
Chris sighed. "When do we start?"
"Tomorrow. I'll find her first. Point her out to you. Then we'll figure out the rest."
Nick shook his head, muttering something under his breath.
Chris just smiled.
"High school," he said, almost to himself. "This is going to be a disaster."
Outside, hidden among the trees across the street, a figure watched the lights inside the house.
They'd been there for hours, still and silent, their eyes fixed on the three silhouettes moving behind the curtains.
They didn't move when the lights finally went out. They didn't move when the house fell silent. They simply watched.
And when the first pale light of dawn began to creep across the sky, they turned and disappeared into the trees, leaving nothing behind but the faint impression of footsteps in the dew-covered grass.
The morning of Jenn's engagement party took place in the first week of April. The official announcement had been sent out two weeks prior, and New Yorkers were shocked by the news of the engagement. The union of two prominent old-money families always stirred excitement, as it meant yet another bachelor was off the market.
She spent the day running errands before the doors were set to open at six. For the past month, she hadn’t felt like herself. She was always tired, making small mistakes, and her mind was constantly crowded with problems. She felt stressed, and she could thank a certain security CEO for that. Tonight, nearly half of the city's high society would be there to celebrate her and Braxton. She didn’t have time, nor did she want to dwell on him.
At the moment, she was on her way to his office to discuss a few things she wanted him to handle for the evening. They hadn't seen each other in two days but had only called to do check-ins.
Braxton's temporary small office was located a bit outside New York in a more industrial area. His company was responsible for helping new buildings and landscapes come together.
When she entered the building, she nodded at the guy at the front desk, who smiled and told her to keep going. As she neared the door, she noticed it wasn't fully shut. It sat slightly ajar, just enough for the voices inside to carry. Her hand closed around the doorknob as an unfamiliar woman's voice.
Jenn stilled, withdrawing her hand. She should've walked away. She knew that. Eavesdropping was invasive... but she never claimed she was above it. So she listened.
"You told me you'd figure it out." A woman's voice sounded hurt.
"I told you..." Braxton exhaled heavily, his voice laced with exhaustion. "Willow, it's... It's over. There's nothing I can do."
Willow?
"Why didn't you tell me you were engaged?" the girls whos name was apparently Willow asked, her voice breaking. "Do you have any idea what it felt like finding out the love of my life had been engaged for almost a year while I was sitting around waiting for him?"
"I told you not to wait, Willow."
"You told me to have hope."
"I'm marrying Jenn."
"But how can she possibly love you more than I do, Brax?" Her voice was teary. She sounded absolutely gutted.
"She doesn't," he admitted quietly. "She just... I don't know. But we have an understanding between us."
Jenn blinked, but oddly enough, the words didn't hurt the way she'd expected them to. Instead, they settled somewhere inside her with an eerie sense of confirmation.
"So you're admitting it," Willow let out a watery laugh. "You're marrying her because she fits the life you've always wanted, and I don't." No answer. "Say it, Braxton. She's old money, and I'm just the middle-class girl you were too embarrassed to choose."
"Willow, you know that's not true." His chair scraped softly against the floor. "I fought for us. God, I fought for us for years. But eventually…eventually I couldn't make it work. I'm sorry."
A quiet sob came to answer him.
Jenn almost flinched at the sound. The conversation should have shattered her. Instead, all she could think was, of course. She had never mistaken whatever existed between her and Braxton for some sweeping love story. They'd built something stable and respectful. Friends in a relationship.
"Willow... you know I'll always love you."
Those seven words rooted Jenn to the spot.
"But...I love Jenn now too." Braxton's voice cracked beneath the weight of his own confession. "She's my future. I don't want to hurt you anymore. I couldn't protect you from my family before, and I can't keep asking you to wait for something that isn't going to happen. I'm almost thirty, Willow. My family's been expecting me to marry for years."
"So that's it?" Willow whispered. "You finally found someone they approve of."
"It's not about approval."
"It is." Her voice trembled. "Maybe not to you anymore, but it always was to them."
"They would've made your life miserable."
"They already did." Another silence settled between them. “But I would've endured it again if it meant I got to be with you."
The room was quiet except for uneven breaths. Then came the sound of footsteps. Jenn instinctively took a step back. The office door swung open.
A woman emerged, hastily wiping at her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. She was tall with a sharp bob that brushed her jaw. Their coloring was strangely similar, though Willow's hair was a shade lighter, and intricate black tattoos wound from her wrist to the top of her shoulder, disappearing beneath the sleeve of her blouse.
For one disorienting second, Jenn thought she was looking at another version of herself.
Willow’s tear-filled eyes widened as they landed on Jenn. Realization settled over her face almost instantly.
"Of course you're beautiful in real life too."
With that, she hurried past Jenn before either of them could say another word, one hand covering her mouth as fresh tears escaped, while Braxton still stood inside his office.
"I'm not going to pretend I didn't hear all of that." Her voice was calm. "So... I'd appreciate it if you just told me the truth."
Brax held her gaze for a long moment before gesturing toward the chair across from his desk, and Jenn sat. "I don't want to lie to you." Jenn nodded and muttered a thank you. "That was my ex."
"I assumed that part."
"She moved out of state for graduate school a little over two years ago, and she only found out about our engagement today. The way things ended between us..." He exhaled through his nose. "It wasn't exactly clean. I may have left her with the impression that if the timing ever worked out, we'd find our way back to each other."
Jenn's brows knit together. "So she thought you were waiting for her."
He nodded once.
"Do you still love her?"
Brax hesitated for a brief moment before looking down, then meeting Jenn's gaze again. "No, I loved her for a long time, but I don't anymore, and I can't. I've accepted that chapter of my life is over. I love you now, Jenn."
She looked at him in silence, sensing that his words didn’t resonate quite as she had expected. It felt as though he was trying very hard to convince himself of what he was saying.
After everything that had happened between her and Chris, it felt almost hypocritical to scrutinize Braxton too harshly for a relationship that had ended before they'd even met. Nor get angry for not telling her sooner. It's not like she ever told him about Chris.
"Thank you for telling me the truth."
Brax reached across the desk and gently took her hand. "I don't want there to be secrets between us." Neither of them noticed that both of them had just told a truth, while carefully avoiding an even bigger one.
After the tension in the room settled, Jenn spoke to him about tonight. But there was still an odd lingering tension between them, especially from Braxton as she spoke. Like his mind was far away.
By the time she left the office and was in the hall where it was taking place, it was four in the afternoon. She had to get ready. She was in her robe and doing her makeup. Her mother was straightening the dress she would be wearing, very silent.
Kitty had been a little wary that the engagement was so soon, and that the wedding was even sooner, even though Jenn tried to tell her it was all good. Her father was fond of Braxton, her mother was too, but not as much.
"If you have something to say, Mom..." Jenn unclasped her earrings and set them on the vanity. "Now's probably the time."
Kitty looked up from where she sat on the edge of the bed. "I don't have anything to say, sweetheart."
Jenn gave her a knowing look through the mirror. "You do. You've barely involved yourself in any of the wedding planning. You only threw me the party a few weeks ago because Grandma would've been offended if we skipped the tradition." Mothers always threw their daughters small, only close family engagements.
"It's not like that, darling."
"So what is it?" Jenn's frustration finally surfaced. "You don't like Braxton?"
"Oh, honey..." Kitty immediately crossed the room. "It's not that at all. I do like Braxton."
Jenn searched her mother's face. "You hardly ask about him. When he comes over for dinner, you barely talk to him. Dad approves of him completely. So why don't you?"
Kitty gently brushed a strand of Jenn's hair behind her ear sadly. "I do approve. He comes from a wonderful family. I just...I think everything's happening very quickly. It's only been a year."
"You married Dad three months after you started dating." Kitty smiled despite herself at Jenn's comment. "And besides, you and Dad are the ones who've been reminding me for years that I should start thinking about marriage. You've mentioned it practically every day. But now that I actually am getting married, you're hesitant?"
Kitty's expression softened. "I wanted you to marry because you found the right person. Not because you felt it was time. I was pushing you to at least date someone.”
"He's everything you've ever said I should look for."
Kitty looked at her daughter for a long moment. "Yes. He is. I just always imagined you'd end up with..." Her voice trailed off, and she didn’t continue, shaking her head, saying Forget it.
Jenn frowned. "Who?"
Kitty looked almost reluctant to answer.
"I just always thought you’d find your way to Christopher."
Now that wasn't what she had expected her mother to say.
"That's ridiculous, Mother. We never even dated. We weren't even—" Memories of late-night phone calls and broken promises flooded her mind before she forced herself to continue, "—we weren't anything. I don't even know where you got that from." She hoped her mother didn’t see the way her voice cracked.
"I know, darling." Kitty smiled softly. "It's just...Christopher was quite smitten with you. He'd even ask your father how you were while he was in Italy after his mother passed." Kitty's expression grew gentler. "And about that, I wish you could've brought him a little comfort during such a difficult time."
Guilt settled heavily in Jenn's chest. "I... I sent flowers," Even if she'd made sure the card read From the Seinee family instead of just her name. "...anyway. Christopher and I were never anything. We never even got started."
"I know the way he looked at you." Kitty gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "And I saw the way you looked back. You looked at him with more conviction than I've ever seen you look at Braxton."
Her heart cracked.
"Well, it doesn't matter." Jenn's voice was sharper than she'd intended. "I'm marrying Brax."
Kitty walked over and cupped Jenn's face like she had when she was little. Despite being a full-grown woman, a mother was always going to be a mother.
"I only want one thing for you, darling. I want you to be happy." Her thumb brushed away a loose strand of hair. "If Braxton is the man who gives you that happiness, then I'll welcome him into this family with my whole heart."
Kitty sensed the conversation had reached its end.
"Enough of all this. You haven't eaten properly today, have you? I'm going downstairs to fix you a plate before everyone starts arriving. I refuse to let my daughter faint at her own engagement." Kitty pressed one last kiss on Jenn's forehead. "I'll be back in a few minutes." Then she left the room.
Jenn remained standing in front of the vanity. Almost absentmindedly, she twisted the engagement ring around her finger. Her mother's words echoed relentlessly in her mind.
"Christopher was quite smitten with you."
She squeezed her eyes shut but now heard his voice.
"I can't be the man who watches you marry someone else."
She opened her eyes again. Her mother's voice echoed back.
"I've seen you look at Christopher with more conviction than I've ever seen you look at Braxton."
Ever since Christopher had come back, everything she'd spent the last year and a half convincing herself of had begun to unravel. When his mother died, he hadn't returned to New York straight away; she'd told herself he'd chosen to stay in Italy because he'd moved on. So she did the same.
Then he'd walked back into her life, and suddenly nothing felt certain anymore. The future she'd worked so hard to accept didn't fit the way it had before. Needs, wants, and desires she'd spent months suffocating clawed their way back to the surface.
Braxton was safe. Chris never had been.
Braxton was predictable. Chris never let her know whether she'd end the day wanting to kiss him or throw something at his head. One offered peace. The other made her feel painfully, terrifyingly alive.
She'd never been someone who chose safe. Everything she'd ever been proud of had come from taking chances other people had been too afraid to take. So why had she chosen differently when it came to love?
Staring at herself in the mirror, she only saw doubt.
For the first time since Braxton had slipped it onto her finger, it felt heavy. Like she was wearing some other woman's ring. The tears she'd been fighting all afternoon finally threatened to spill over. A sense of urgency that she chose the wrong—
A soft knock sounded against the bedroom door. She dabbed the corner of her eyes before any tears could escape and tightened her robe. She didn’t want her mom to see her crying.
"It's open."
The handle turned, and the figure that came through stopped everything inside her.
Christopher stood quietly in the entrance, one hand still resting on the doorknob, dressed in a tailored black suit that somehow looked just as out of place as he did. His eyes found her immediately, then slowly traveled over her, lingering for only a moment before returning to her face. A faint sad smile tugged at his lips.
“What are you doing…” Jenn's voice cracked. “You can’t be in here—”
“I know.” His answer came gently. “I just… I just want to ask for five minutes of your time. Please. If you have it.”
They both knew he wasn't invited to the engagement. He had to have snuck in. Not that it would have taken the security much persuading to let him in.
She swallowed. He didn’t sound like he was here to fight. But he was also the last person she wanted to see right now. Something in her heart told her that if Chris asked her not to marry Brax again… she might listen. Consequences be damned.
“I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Ouch.
"Or more so, clear the air, one last time before..." She watched him fight the words, Before you get married. He couldn't bring himself to say them. "...before we go our separate ways."
Chris took a few slow steps into the room before stopping at a respectful distance.
"Chris, you don't have to apologize."
"I do."
"No, you—"
"I haven't been fair to you." He didn't let her finish. "I know that. Ever since I came back, I kept asking you to choose me. I kept showing up expecting you to still be standing exactly where I left you."
Jenn felt tears threatening again. "Chris..."
"I've been angry." He admitted it plainly. "Angry at the timing, at myself, and most of all angry that I lost years that I can never get back. And I took that anger out on you."
The words sounded like they physically hurt him.
"I don't want either of us to spend the rest of our lives carrying resentment because we never said what needed to be said." He took another small step forward. She didn’t want him to come closer; she was afraid she’d do something she’d regret. "I don't want you walking into your new life thinking I hated you or that I wanted to hurt you. Because I never could."
His eyes revealed how hard this was. Emotions battered at his put-together facade. Sadness, regret, love. They all tried to hide behind his forced smile. But he shouldn't be the only one apologizing right now. Jenn could feel the water falling gently down her cheek.
"No, Chris, I should be sorry." Her tears spilled freely, and every word came out in hiccups. "I hope you know I didn’t mean most of the things I said. I've been cruel because it was easier than admitting I was hurt. Which is why it was harder to accept why you would even say you love me in the first place. I've hurt you—"
Chris was already shaking his head before she'd even finished. "Don't apologize, bella." She looked up at him. Christopher Sturniolo had always carried himself like a man impossible to shake, but right now he looked heartbroken. "I just want you to be happy, and I've accepted that if he makes you happy, then that's enough for me."
It was a lie.
They both knew it. But he clearly wanted it to become true.
"If you ever need anything, you can always call me, okay?" They both knew she wouldn’t call. "Whether it's next week or ten years from now. You'll always have me."
Jenn's face crumpled. God, he was making this so hard.
"You don't stop being important to me just because..." His gaze drifted to the ring on her finger. "...life turned out differently." He inhaled slowly before forcing another small smile. "Tell Braxton, I said congratulations. He doesn't know how incredibly lucky he is to marry a woman as extraordinary as you."
His eyes returned to her.
"You look beautiful, Jenn."
His gaze lingered on her for one heartbeat longer than it should have. Slowly, quietly, he took her in. As though he were committing every detail to memory. He gave the smallest nod to himself, as if he'd finally seen enough to carry with him. His eyes were filled with so much emotion it almost frightened her.
He took one slow step toward her and lifted a hand with agonizing care, as his palm settled against her cheek. She instinctively leaned into the touch despite herself. His thumb brushed a tear before it had the chance to fall. Slowly, the other hand came up to cradle the opposite side of her face.
He simply looked at her, for what felt like years, before he leaned forward and placed an achingly soft kiss on her forehead. One that carried every I love you he no longer had the right to say.
He pulled away.
"Be good to each other, Bella."
That was the last thing he said before he let his hand fall. The absence of his touch was agonizing as Chris took a single step back, then turned and walked away from her until he was gone.
She stared at the closed bedroom door as if it might open again. As if he'd tell her none of this was real. Then her body moved before her mind caught up. She rushed toward the door, her hand already reaching for the handle.
Her heart pounded so violently it hurt.
Go after him.
Her eyes dropped to the diamond resting on her finger. Reality came crashing back. Braxton. The guests. Her parents downstairs. Her engagement party. The life she'd already chosen.
Painfully, she let go of the handle, and a strangled sound escaped her throat.
Instead of opening the door, she locked it before her knees gave out. She crumpled to the floor, her back against the door, as sob after sob tore its way out of her. Each one ripped through her chest so violently she struggled to catch her breath.
Maybe Christopher had never been the problem. She had been. She'd spent so long convincing herself that he'd betrayed her, but she knew he did it because he knew she felt second to him. She was insecure. Her life was a product of every decision she'd made, and now marrying Brax no longer felt like a choice—it felt like the consequence of all of them.
Chris had always come back no matter how badly they argued or stubborn they both became. He always found his way back to her.
Even if she didn’t want to agree with her mother, Jenn had also always believed that no matter how messy things became, she and Chris would eventually find their way back to each other.
Yet, this time it felt final.
There had been no pleading, which meant he wasn't going to fight for her anymore. He was letting her go. She felt hypocritical crying about it. She was the one who begged him to move on. Yet the moment he finally seemed ready to do it, it felt like someone had reached into her chest and torn something out.
She met Chris when they were young and everything she hated, and lost him when she realized she loved him, and he was everything she wanted.
ceyana’s note: keep the theories coming! i love you, mwah <3
in which . . . you have a nightmare and matt comforts you.
warnings- slight mentions of blood and violence. showings of a panic attack. nothing else but fluff!! (let me know if i’ve missed anything)
word count- 1190
requested by this anon.
In the dream, everything feels too quiet.
Not peaceful quiet—empty quiet. The kind that presses in on your ears until your heartbeat sounds too loud, too fast, too alone. The air feels heavy, like something bad already happened and you’re just… late to it.
“Matt?”
Your voice echoes weirdly, like the world isn’t fully there.
No answer.
Your chest tightens as you move, faster, then faster, until you’re running.
“Matt—baby?”
Still nothing.
And then you see him.
Everything in you drops.
He’s on the ground.
“No—”
You’re beside him in seconds, your knees hitting the pavement hard, hands already reaching for him, grabbing at his shirt, his face, anything.
There’s blood.
Too much.
“No, no, no—baby—Matt—please—please look at me—”
Your hands shake as you cup his face, trying to keep him with you, trying to make his eyes focus. They don’t.
“Baby, c’mon—talk to me—say something—”
His lips part slightly, like he’s trying. Like he wants to.
You lean closer, desperate. “What? What is it? I’m right here, I’m right here—”
But nothing comes out.
Or maybe it does and you just can’t hear it over the sound of your own heart breaking.
“No—no, no, no—baby, please don’t do this—please don’t leave me—”
Your voice cracks, dissolves into sobs as you press your hands harder against him like you can hold him here by force.
“Matt, please—I can’t—I can’t—”
His head tilts.
His body goes still.
And the world goes silent.
You wake up with a sharp gasp.
Your room is dark, unfamiliar for a split second, your chest so tight it feels like something is crushing it from the inside. Your hands are still tingling, like they were just covered in something that won’t wash off.
You can’t breathe right.
In—too fast.
Out—shaking.
You sit up abruptly, one hand pressed hard against your chest like you can steady your heart manually. It’s racing, pounding so hard it almost hurts.
It wasn’t real.
It wasn’t real.
But it felt real.
You turn your head.
Matt is right there.
Sleeping.
Alive.
His face is soft, peaceful, completely untouched by the horror still clinging to you. One arm is tossed over the pillow, his breathing slow and steady.
Relief hits you so hard it almost makes you dizzy.
Your eyes burn.
You swallow it down.
Don’t make it a thing.
It was just a dream.
You lie back down slowly, turning slightly away, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself like you can hide inside it. Like you can contain everything threatening to spill out.
In.
Out.
You try to breathe normally.
You can’t.
Every time you close your eyes, you see it again—his body, the blood, the way he stopped moving in your hands.
Your breath stutters.
You press your lips together, trying to keep quiet, trying not to wake him, but it only makes it worse. Your chest tightens further, your lungs refusing to cooperate, your hands starting to shake again.
You sit up, quicker this time, dragging a hand through your hair.
Still can’t breathe.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
Too much.
“Hey…”
You freeze.
“Sweetheart?”
His voice is soft, still thick with sleep, but already laced with concern.
You shake your head quickly, even though he can barely see you. “Nothing—it’s nothing, go back to sleep—”
Not convincing.
Not even close.
He’s sitting up now, fully awake in seconds.
“Hey, no—look at me.”
You don’t want to.
Your breathing catches again, sharp and uneven, and that’s all it takes.
He reaches for you, gentle but firm, turning you toward him.
“Hey—hey, baby, what’s wrong?”
“I’m okay,” you try, but your voice breaks halfway through.
He softens immediately.
“Yeah… no, you’re not.”
That’s it.
Something in you cracks, and you let out a shaky breath that turns into a quiet sob before you can stop it. Your hand flies up to your mouth like you can shove it back in.
“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmurs, moving closer. “C’mere.”
His hands find yours, grounding, warm, steady.
“I had a dream,” you manage, words uneven, breath hitching between them. “I— you— there was blood and I couldn’t—”
Your chest tightens again, cutting you off.
He doesn’t push.
“Okay,” he says softly instead. “That’s okay. You don’t have to say it all right now.”
His thumb brushes over your knuckles, slow and calming.
“Breathe with me, yeah? In through your nose… and out. Nice and slow.”
You try.
It takes a few tries, but eventually your breathing starts to follow his rhythm instead of fighting it.
“I’m right here,” he keeps saying quietly. “You’re okay. I’ve got you, sweetheart.”
Tears slip down your cheeks anyway.
“I thought you died,” you whisper finally. “It felt so real… you wouldn’t wake up and I was—I was begging you—”
Your voice breaks again.
Matt’s expression shifts, something deeper settling into it as he pulls you into him without hesitation.
“Hey…hey, baby,” he murmurs, one hand cradling the back of your head. “I’m okay. I’m right here. I promise.”
You cling to him, fingers curling into his shirt like you’re afraid he’ll disappear if you don’t hold on tight enough.
“I know,” you breathe, even though your body still feels like it’s catching up. “I know, it just didn’t feel like that—”
“I know,” he repeats gently, rubbing slow circles into your back. “Dreams can be brutal like that.”
You nod against him, your breathing finally starting to even out.
He doesn’t rush you.
Just holds you.
Warm. Solid. Real.
After a while, he leans back just enough to look at you, brushing his thumb under your eye to catch another tear.
“Hey,” he says softly. “You wanna double check?”
You blink. “What?”
A small smile tugs at his lips as he takes your hand and places it against his chest.
“See? Still alive. Heart’s working. Kinda impressive, actually.”
A weak, breathy laugh slips out of you despite everything, your palm resting there, feeling the steady beat under your hand.
It grounds you instantly.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
“Yeah,” he echoes, softer.
He presses a kiss to your knuckles, then gently tugs you back against him, tucking you into his side.
“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs into your hair. “You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.”
You huff quietly, still a little shaky but calmer now. “Good.”
There’s a small pause.
And then—
“Also,” he adds, voice just a little lighter now, “for the record, if I ever do go out, it’s definitely not gonna be that dramatic. Way too much blood. Not my brand.”
You let out a real laugh this time, muffled into his shoulder.
“Matt.”
“What?” he mumbles, smiling against your hair. “I’m just saying. I’d pick something cooler.”
You shake your head, but your grip on him tightens just a little.
“Don’t.”
“Okay, okay,” he chuckles softly. “Too soon.”
His hand resumes its slow, comforting pattern against your arm.
“Go back to sleep, baby,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.”
This time, when you close your eyes—
Your breathing is steady.
Your chest doesn’t hurt.
And his heartbeat is right there under your hand, constant and real, exactly where it should be.
a/n- thank you for requesting this! this was very fun to make.
in which . . .you can’t get wet and it really freaks you out.
word count- 1538.
warnings- nothing but fluff. (also slightly suggestive). two boyfriends.
requested by this anon
The embarrassment was this heavy, gross feeling in your stomach that just wouldn't go away. No matter how much you told yourself it was fine, it wasn't. It was so embarrassing. And it had been going on for weeks.
It wasn't that you didn't want your boyfriends. God, you wanted them. You'd catch Matt's sleepy smile over coffee or see Chris stretching in the morning light, and you'd get all warm and fluttery inside. But that feeling never seemed to go anywhere else. Your body, which usually had no problem keeping up with them, had just... shut down.
The first time it happened, you brushed it off. Stress. You'd had a long week. You'd just moved. It happens.
The second and third times? Panic started creeping in.
So you started making excuses. Lots of them.
"I'm so tired, baby, can we just sleep tonight?" you'd mumble, rolling away from Chris when he'd come to bed late, his lips already on your neck and his hand sneaking under your shirt.
"I feel kinda gross, I really need to shower first," you'd tell Matt, pulling back from a kiss on the couch. Then you'd hide in the bathroom and sit on the toilet lid, feeling like the worst girlfriend ever.
Your sex drive had never been like this. They were always so sweet and careful with you, always making sure you felt good. And now the thought of trying and just... failing? Of them feeling how dry you were and being grossed out or disappointed? It made you want to crawl into a hole.
You couldn't stand the idea of them thinking you weren't into them anymore. You loved them more than anything.
The breaking point came on a lazy Saturday afternoon. Sun was pouring through the windows, and you were all tangled up in bed together, just chilling. You felt the shift in the air—that unspoken thing where everyone knows what's about to happen.
Chris propped himself up on his elbow above you, tracing a finger along your collarbone. "You know," he said, his voice all low and soft, "it's been a minute since I got to taste you."
Matt, curled up behind you, kissed your shoulder. "Mm, sounds good to me too."
And your heart just dropped. Panic hit you like a truck. It was the perfect setup. They were both looking at you with so much love, and your body was just... nothing. You couldn't do it. You couldn't.
"I—I'm actually kinda hungry," you blurted out. It sounded so dumb even to you. "I didn't eat breakfast. I'm starving."
Matt's hand, which had been rubbing your side, stopped. He and Chris looked at each other over your head, this quick look you couldn't quite read.
Chris frowned a little. "Babe, we can eat after. I just—"
"Please?" You cut him off, and you could hear the desperate edge in your voice. "I really need to eat something."
There was this pause. Like, a really long one. Then Matt kissed your temple and pulled back.
"Okay, sweetheart," he said softly. "Let's get you some food."
The rest of the day was weird. You ate a sandwich you didn't even taste, watched a movie you didn't pay attention to, and felt them watching you the whole time. They didn't push, didn't ask, but you could feel their eyes on you, all concerned and confused.
That night, you thought you were safe. You were in the kitchen, pretending to organize the cabinets for no reason, when Matt came up behind you. His hands landed on your waist, warm and familiar, and he pressed his chest against your back.
"You know we love you, right?" he murmured against your ear.
You tensed. "Of course. I love you too."
"Then why won't you let us touch you?" His voice was soft, not mad, but it still hit you like a punch.
Your stomach dropped. "Matt, I told you, I've just been—"
"Tired. Yeah, I know." He turned you around gently, cupping your face. "But it's been weeks. And every time we try, you shut us down. What's going on?"
Chris appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, looking just as worried. "We're not mad," he said quietly. "We're just... scared. We thought maybe we did something wrong."
"No!" The word came out all raw and desperate. "No, oh my God, you didn't do anything wrong. You're perfect. Both of you. It's me. I'm the problem."
Matt's thumbs stroked your cheeks. "Babe, there's no problem. Whatever it is, we can fix it. Just talk to us."
And then it all came out. Everything. You couldn't stop the words if you tried.
"I can't get wet anymore. Like, at all. Not even when I'm alone. I've tried and tried and nothing happens and I don't know why. And I was so scared you'd be upset or think I didn't want you anymore. So I just kept avoiding it. I thought if I didn't try, I wouldn't have to fail in front of you. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
You were crying now, full-on sobbing, and you couldn't even care anymore. Matt pulled you into his chest immediately, wrapping his arms around you like he was trying to hold you together.
"Hey. Hey. Look at me." His voice was firm but so, so soft. "Look at me."
You looked up, all blotchy and gross, and they were both staring at you with nothing but love in their eyes. Chris moved closer, pressing against your side, grabbing your hand.
"Oh, baby," Matt breathed, wiping a tear off your face. "That's what you've been dealing with? All alone?"
You nodded miserably.
Chris squeezed your hand. "You really thought we'd be upset about that? About something your body's doing that you can't control?"
"I don't know," you whispered. "I just didn't wanna disappoint you guys."
Matt let out this soft laugh, but it wasn't mean. "Disappoint us? Sweetheart, you could never. Like, literally never."
Chris stepped in front of you, tilting your chin up so you had to look at him. "Listen. Not everyone gets magically wet like in those books you're always reading, okay? Bodies are weird. They do weird stuff. Stress, hormones, life—it all messes with us. It doesn't mean anything about how you feel about us."
Matt nodded, kissing your forehead. "We didn't fall for you because of your body's automatic responses. We fell for you. All of you. Even the parts that don't work the way you want them to."
"But I wanted to—" you started.
"I know," Chris cut you off gently. "And we want to. God, we really want to. But not if it's gonna make you feel like this. I'd rather never have sex again than have you hiding from us, feeling this way."
More tears spilled out. "You mean that?"
Matt smiled, all soft and sad. "We mean it more than anything." He kissed your nose. "We love you, dummy. We just want you to feel safe with us. That's it. That's all we want."
Chris wiped another tear away, his thumb resting on your cheek. "So no more excuses, okay? No more running to the bathroom or faking a headache. If something's off, you tell us. And we'll figure it out together. Like we always do."
You let out a shaky breath, finally feeling some of the weight lift. "Okay," you whispered. "Okay. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner."
"Don't be sorry," Matt said firmly. "Just... let us in next time. That's all we ask."
Chris grinned suddenly, that mischievous look flickering across his face. "And for the record? We can still have plenty of fun without you getting wet. Our fingers and tongues work just fine, you know."
You laughed, all watery and surprised. "Chris!"
"What? I'm just saying! There are options, babe. Lots of options." He wiggled his eyebrows, and even Matt cracked a smile.
Matt shook his head, but he was laughing too. "He's not wrong, though. Sex isn't just about one thing. It's about being close. And we can be close in a million different ways. We just wanna be with you."
You leaned into them, letting yourself be held, finally letting yourself be loved through it. "Thank you," you whispered. "Thank you for not being mad."
"Babe," Matt said, pressing a kiss to your forehead, "we could never be mad at you for something like this."
Chris wrapped his arms around both of you from the side, pulling you all into a big group hug. "We're just glad you finally told us. Now stop being a dumbass and let us take care of you."
You sniffled, a real smile finally breaking through. "I love you both so much."
"We know," they said at the same time, and then they were both laughing, and you were laughing too, the heavy knot in your stomach finally starting to loosen.
Later that night, curled up between them on the couch with no pressure and no expectations, just the warmth of their bodies and the safety of their love, you realized you'd been so scared of letting them down that you forgot the most important thing they'd never let you go through anything alone. Not ever.
a/n- if anyone has anymore requests please do tell. i’m sorry this took sooo long to post!!
now playing: iris — goo goo dolls “i just want you to know who i am”
Vampire!Nicolas . . . 125. (18). intelligent. thinks before acting (most of the time). gentle (even when he shouldn’t be). holds grudges. fidgets constantly. kind of a dick. overly observant.
best paired with- werewolf!henry
Vampire!Matthew
now playing: les — childish gambino “i’m an awful guy, and i’m always away.”
Vampire!Matthew . . . 125. (18). strategic. stares without breaking eye contact (pretty intimidating). rarely raises his voice. constantly makes notes of his surroundings. control issues. lowkey a little obsessive when he starts to care.
best paired with- siren!isla
Vampire!Christopher
now playing: teen romance — lil peep “i met her by chance, i said i really like your pants.”
Vampire!Chris . . . 125. (18). cocky. flirty. good at getting his way. knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. smooth talker. playful but manipulative. smirks through absolutely everything. good at blending in. deflects with jokes. notices weakness immediately.
Werewolf!Henry . . . 18. impulsive when emotional. loyal to a fault. “i’ll handle it.” mindset. doesn’t apologize but shows he’s sorry through actions. always alert. sleeps lightly. jumps to conclusions. hates being pitied.
now playing: sweater weather — the neighborhood “one love, two mouths one love, one house”
best paired with- vampire!nick
Siren!Isla
Siren!Isla . . . 19. knows much more than she says. loves mind games. independent. enjoys making people feel uncomfortable. craves connection but won’t admit it. doesn’t react strongly or out loud. noticed tone of voice more than what someone is actually saying.
now playing: control — halsey “i’m well acquainted with villains that live in my bed”
best paired with- vampire!matt
Witch!Sienna
Witch!Sienna . . . 17. curious. stubborn when she believes something. sweetheart. always giving people another chance. talks fast when she’s nervous. bites her lip when she’s thinking. curiosity overrides fear.
now playing: you and only you — the softies “i’ve been thinking about you and only you”
gummygunk
gracieabrams
2087
romaincrisis
gamechangershow
vaporwave
titsay
kianamaiart
