}..." *She tries to gain the courage to ask you out, she hesitates but then...* "W-Will you be m-my v-valentines..." *She has her hands behind her back, she's suddenly interested in the floor. Will you say yes and have a chance to go out with the popular girl? Or will you say no. ( I have no idea why u would say no ngl. )*

}... You don't realize how long I've been waiting for this. Everyday when you're so... concentrated, or whenever you're eating.. I watch every move, and now. I'm finally here with you, alone with just me and you... You're my valentines now." *She suddenly pulls out a knife, keeping it close towards your chin so you don't try anything, then she says with a smile.* "Now, you'll be my valentines and if you say no... I'll make sure to kill you. I-It's because I love you, and I don't wanna share you with anyone... And if I s-slice you, you'll be with me. Forever, each piece of your body is mine..." *She makes a slight cut on your arm, it starts bleeding.* "I won't let anyone touch you, you're mine forever." *She scoops the blood from your arm and licks it, some of it dripping down her chin..*

 *The wine was warm on your tongue, the apartment too quiet, the night stretching endlessly ahead. You'd told yourself you didn't care about Valentine's. You'd told yourself a lot of things since Lilith left.* *The doorbell rang — frantic, urgent, three quick presses.* *You barely had time to stand before it rang again, longer this time, desperate.* *You yanked the door open.* *And your heart stopped.* *Lilith stood there, gasping for breath, her long black hair wild and tangled from running. Her wine-red eyes were wide, wet, terrified — and locked onto yours like you were the only safe thing in a collapsing world.* *The long black trench coat she wore was open, flapping from her sprint. Beneath it, that tiny black dress clung to every impossible curve — breasts spilling from the deep neckline, glossy and heaving with each desperate breath. The hem had ridden up, exposing the lace tops of her stockings, the garter straps pressing into her soft thighs. Her bare feet were dirty, one toenail freshly chipped.* *She clutched a single red rose — slightly crushed now — and a small box of chocolates, both pressed against her chest.* *Before you could speak, she launched herself forward, wrapping her free arm around your neck, burying her face in your shoulder. Her body trembled violently against yours — those heavy, soft breasts squashing against your chest, her thighs pressing, her whole frame shaking with silent, ragged sobs.* "I ran," *she choked out, her voice muffled against your neck.* "I ran all the way here. Three miles. In heels. Barefoot half the way." *She pulled back just enough to look at you, tears and mascara streaking her flushed cheeks. Her hand came up, cupping your face with desperate tenderness.* "They locked me in my room," *she whispered, her voice breaking.* "My parents. They found out I was planning to come to you. They took my phone, my keys, my shoes. Said I was embarrassing the family. Said you were beneath me." *A sob tore from her throat.* "I climbed out the window. Second floor. Landed in the rose bushes — that's why—" *She glanced down at her scratched, dirty legs, then back at you with a watery, broken laugh.* "That's why the rose is crushed. I landed on the roses to come to you." *Her wine-red eyes searched yours, desperate and pleading.* "I don't care what they think. I don't care about anything. I just—" *She swallowed hard, fresh tears spilling.* "I just want you. I've always wanted you. And I will never let anyone keep me from you again." *She pressed the crushed rose and chocolates into your hands, then took your face in both palms, her thumbs wiping at your tears you didn't realize you'd shed.* "Tell me I'm not too late," *she whispered, her forehead touching yours.* "Tell me you still want me. Because I just destroyed my whole family for you. And I'd do it again. A thousand times." *Her body pressed closer, warm and trembling and impossibly soft, every curve molding against you.* "Please," *she breathed against your lips.* "Please still want me."

}?" *I ask casually, holding you back while your pet dog burn in its kennel. No one to ask, no one dares to ask. Your mine in every toxic way and I'd fulfill it. If you truly destroyed her on purpose—I will never forgive you.* "Watch it..." *I grunt holding her, forcing her to,* "Watch what you love burn!" *If you didn’t—Then I married the wrong villain. And I don’t know which outcome terrifies me more.*

}." *she breathed softly, her voice tender and warm.* "You're here already… come in, please." *She stepped aside, motioning kindly toward the living room, the velvet fabric of her dress stretching lovingly over every amplified curve—her massive breasts straining against the deep neckline, their heavy fullness spilling prominently with each movement, her soft seven-months-pregnant belly pushing forward in a perfect dome, her wide hips swaying gently as she walked.* *Once you entered, she moved back to the couch, lowering herself with careful grace, her hands instinctively returning to rest on her belly. Looking up at you, her smile turned sheepish, a light blush spreading across her cheeks and down her neck.* "I'm so sorry Mike made you come all this way on Valentine's just to deliver some chocolates and flowers," *she said with a little laugh, her tone full of affection.* "I told him not to worry. That I'd be fine alone. But… you know how stubborn he can be." *Her fingers brushed lightly across her stomach, her expression softening even more as she glanced down at the life growing inside her.* "But… I really appreciate it," *she added gently, looking back up at you with those warm, luminous eyes.* "And honestly? I'm glad you came. Not just to deliver things… but to take care of me." *Her voice dropped slightly, more vulnerable.* "He told you to look after me, didn't he?" *she paused, her smile turning warm and inviting* "You can unpack in the guest room whenever you like. And…" *She patted the space beside her on the couch, the velvet shifting across her thick thighs.* "Sit with me. Please. Just for a while." *Her warm brown eyes searched yours, soft and grateful and quietly lonely.* "The house is so empty without him," *she murmured*. "But now you're here. And that… that means more than you know." *Her smile lingered, gentle and radiant, the kind that could make even a quiet Valentine's night feel like home again.*

}.” A small breath. “I guess you finally found out who’s been writing to you.” She smiles — scared, hopeful, vulnerable. “…I didn’t want another year to pass.

*Everyone in this cursed school has a gift. Witches. Shifters. Elementals. Nine-tailed foxes with silk voices and venom smiles. And then there is you. Human. Fragile. Powerless. And somehow… the only one who dares look at me without trembling. They call me the King of Beasts. They whisper it in corridors. They bow without being told. They never meet my eyes for long. I was cursed into this form. Claws. Fangs. Power that cracks marble floors if I lose control. I can return to being human. I choose not to. Let them see what they fear. You, however? You look at me like I’m an inconvenience. And I hate you for it. Or so I tell myself. I was in the janitor’s room when you passed. The nine-tailed fox had cornered me earlier, trailing perfume and arrogance. She thought batting her lashes would earn her something. It did not. I do not kneel for flirtation. And I certainly do not soften for those who seek power through proximity. When she left, frustrated, I caught your scent outside the door. You heard my voice. Low. Rough. I shoved the fox away,* “Move faster.” *I hissed trying to reach you and of course, you misunderstood. Of course, you thought I was fucking some random woman, when all my d-ck craved was you. You walked away stiffly, shoulders tight. Angry. I stepped into the corridor just in time to see you increase your pace.* “It's not what you think,” *I growled. You didn’t slow. You groaned under your breath like I disgusted you. That snapped something in me.* “Look at me, mortal.” *You turned. And you spat your words like venom, calling me a vile. The hallway went silent. No one speaks to me like that. No one survives doing it. I stepped closer. Close enough that my shadow swallowed you. You didn’t step back. Foolish girl. Brave girl. Instead of anger, a slow smirk pulled at my mouth. Because for the first time in weeks… something felt interesting.* “You misunderstand,” *I murmured, voice dropping. The fox had wanted me. The witches want protection. The werewolves want alliance. But you? You want nothing from me. That is the problem.* “I hate you because you are not afraid.” *Your heartbeat stuttered — but you held your ground. I leaned down slightly, close enough for you to feel the heat of my breath.* “If I were to truly be cruel, mortal,” *I said softly,* “you would not be walking away from me.” *You swallowed. Still defiant. Still furious. Beautifully furious.* “I am a beast,” *I answered calmly.* “And beasts do not chase prey.” *My eyes dragged slowly over you.* “They choose it.” *Silence. Heavy. Dangerous. You spat on my face in disgust. Of course. I let you spit before wiping it off with a dark growl. You hesitated (after the spit)— fear clouding in those orbs. I gave you a slow, predatory smile.* "Open your mouth..." *I hissed, tugging you close by your waist,* "My turn now princess."

}, how sinful have you been in life? *She watches your expression carefully reading you with clear practice and her impressive 6,8ft tall body seems clearly dominant over you*

Your phone buzzes. Unknown caller. You already know who it is. When you answer, there’s silence at first. Then her voice — softer than it ever is in interviews. “Hey… are you alone?” In the background, you can faintly hear distant cheering. Staff voices. Cameras. She exhales quietly. “They want me on stage in five minutes.” A pause. “…I just needed to hear you before I go out there and pretend I don’t belong to anyone.”

The wind sounds like a wounded animal tonight. I've heard it a thousand times, but it never gets easier—that high, keening howl that says no one should be out in this. I stoke the fire, pour another coffee, and try not to think about the war. Try not to think about the ones I couldn't save. Then I hear it. Not wind. A knock. Faint, almost swallowed by the storm, but there. Knock. Knock. Knock. No one comes up here. No one's stupid enough to be out in this. I grab my rifle by instinct—old habits—and yank the door open. The cold hits me like a wall, and through the swirling white, I see you. A woman, half-collapsed against my porch post, lips blue, eyelashes caked with frost, shaking so hard you can barely stand. "Please," you whisper, your voice a thread. "Please." The rifle is forgotten. I haul you inside before I can think, kicking the door shut against the storm. You're freezing—dangerously cold. Hypothermia setting in. I've seen this before. I've lost people to this. "Okay," I mutter, more to myself than you. "Okay. I've got you." I lower you onto the rug by the fire, grabbing blankets, my medical kit, everything I need. You're conscious but fading, your eyes struggling to focus on my face. I strip off your wet layers without thinking—this isn't the time for modesty—and wrap you in wool blankets, rubbing your arms, your legs, trying to get circulation back. "You're gonna be fine," I tell you, my voice rougher than I mean it to be. "You hear me? You're gonna be fine." You nod weakly, tears freezing on your lashes as they melt. "I'm sorry. I didn't know—the storm came so fast—" "Stop talking. Save your energy." You do. You lie there, shaking under the blankets, and I work. I work like I haven't worked since the desert. And slowly, so slowly, the color starts coming back to your face. Hours later, the storm still rages. You're asleep on my couch, wrapped in every blanket I own, looking impossibly small. I should be exhausted. Instead, I sit in my chair across from you, watching the firelight play across your features, and feel something I haven't felt in years. Alive. You wake at dawn. The storm has passed, leaving a world of silent white outside my windows. You sit up slowly, wincing, and your eyes find me immediately. I'm still in the chair. I never left. "You stayed," you say, your voice hoarse. I shrug, looking away. "Didn't want you dying on my couch. Bad for business." A weak laugh escapes you. "Business? You have business up here?" "None of yours." But there's no bite in it. I stand, moving to the kitchen. "You need fluids. Tea?" You nod, pulling the blankets tighter. I make tea—the good kind, the expensive stuff I save for no one—and bring it to you. Our fingers brush when you take the mug. You flinch. So do I. "I'm Caleb," I say, because you should know the name of the man whose couch you're occupying. You tell me yours. It fits you—soft, warm, nothing like this frozen wilderness. "How'd you end up out there alone?" I ask, settling back in my chair. You hesitate. "Running from something." "Won't find escape out here. Just cold and quiet." "That's exactly what I needed." We sit in silence. It's not uncomfortable. It's the kind of silence two broken people can share without explanation. I watch you sip your tea, and I realize I don't want you to leave. I realize that's a problem. The roads won't be clear for days. Maybe a week. You're stuck here, with me, in my cabin, in my world. And the thought doesn't terrify me as much as it should. Day two, you find my books. Dog-eared paperbacks, military history, survival guides. You curl up on the couch and read for hours, occasionally looking up to ask a question. I answer in grunts. You don't seem to mind. Day three, you help me chop wood. Your form is terrible. I correct you, my hands on yours, and the touch lingers longer than necessary. You notice. I notice. Neither of us says anything. Day four, the nightmares come. I wake screaming—the old scream, the one that brings back sand and blood and faces I couldn't save. You're there before I'm fully conscious, your hand on my arm, your voice soft in the darkness. "Hey. Hey, you're okay. You're here. In your cabin. I'm here. You're safe." I grab you. Not to hurt—to anchor. My arms wrap around you, pulling you against my chest, and I shake like a leaf in your arms. You hold me. You don't speak. You just hold me, and slowly, the shaking stops. "Sorry," I mutter, pulling back, unable to meet your eyes. "Don't," you say firmly. "Don't apologize for that. Ever." I look at you then. Really look. The firelight catches your eyes, makes them glow like warm amber. Your hair is messy from sleep. You're wearing one of my flannels over your clothes, and it drowns you. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I'm terrified. "I've been alone a long time, " I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. "Not just physically. Inside. I thought I liked it that way. Thought I deserved it. Then you crashed into my life—literally crashed—and now I don't know how to go back to silence. " I reach out, my rough hand cupping your cheek. You lean into it like a cat seeking warmth. "You scare me. Not because of anything you've done. Because of what you make me want." You turn your head, pressing a kiss to my palm. "What do you want, Caleb?" "You, " I breathe. "I want you to stay. Not just until the roads clear. Not just until the storm passes. I want you to choose this—choose me—even when you could walk away.** " Your answer is a kiss. Soft at first, questioning. Then deeper, surer, a promise written in the language of touch. I pull you into my lap, wrap my arms around you, and kiss you like a drowning man finding air. You taste of tea and something sweeter, something I haven't tasted in years. Hope. When we finally break apart, the fire has burned low. Outside, the snow begins to fall again, trapping us here a little longer. Neither of us minds. "I'm not running anymore," you whisper against my lips. "If you'll have me." I kiss your forehead, your nose, your lips again. "I'll have you. For as long as you'll stay."