POV: Seraphine
I woke up feeling... light.
Not floaty or blissful or any of that poetic crap — just not heavy. Not weighed down like yesterday. Like my body and brain had finally exhaled after holding its breath for too damn long.
Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, cutting soft beams across the absolute chaos that had been our living room.
And there we were — all four of us still passed out on the couch like some sort of witchy domino formation.
From left to right: Vivien, Vixzen, Liora, then me.
Vixzen's tails were draped across us like a silken, fire-tipped blanket, twitching every now and then like they had opinions. Vivien, somehow, slept like a mannequin — perfect posture, not a single hair out of place, one hand resting on her lap like she was judging people even in REM. Liora was curled up on herself like a sleepy cat, one arm flopped over her head, mumbling something about "dose timing" and "molecular integrity."
And me?
Well, I had a tail in my mouth.
I spat it out delicately and sat up with the grace of someone who almost cracked their neck doing it.
Coffee. That was my first thought. Espresso. Kettle. Caffeine salvation.
I tiptoed into the kitchen, turned on the espresso machine, and set the kettle to boil — because I'm not a monster, and I believe in providing options. Then I started on the dishes. Slowly, methodically. No clanging. No chaos. Just warm water, soap, and the quiet satisfaction of pre-breakfast productivity.
"Whatcha doing, Doc?" a voice chirped beside me.
I yelped — yelped — nearly flinging a plate into the air like a damn frisbee.
"OMG," I gasped, clutching my chest. "I think I just met God. And he was holding a clipboard labeled cardiac arrest."
Vixzen was leaning against the counter like she hadn't just shaved five years off my life. "That's right," she cackled. "Die of laughter, baby."
I hurled the soapy sponge at her face. She caught it with one of her tails like a smug octopus.
Behind us, more rustling sounds filtered in. The others were waking up — moving with the kind of sleepy competence that only comes from women who have board meetings, blackmail folders, or multiverse patents in their calendars.
Vivien was already wiping down the counters with military precision, using exactly one paper towel and an expression that said she would fire someone if this were her office. Liora padded around barefoot, yawning as she loaded cups into completely incorrect cabinets like it was a new form of abstract art.
Meanwhile, Vixzen — still holding my sponge hostage — used two of her tails to flick empty popcorn bowls into the sink, one tail to set upright a tipped candle, and another to boop me on the nose.
Show-off.
But I smiled. Couldn't help it.
Because as I watched them move — fixing, folding, tidying — I realized something.
These weren't just women who crashed my living room. These were professionals. Quiet, competent chaos tamers. Their morning habits said everything their resumes didn't.
Vivien folded dish towels like she was prepping a hostile takeover.
Liora poured juice and somehow spilled half of it while mumbling about "pharmaceutical viscosity."
Vixzen reorganized my spice rack by "how fun the labels sounded."
By the time the espresso machine let out its hissing hiss of victory and the kettle clicked off, the apartment looked halfway decent again. Like nothing had happened.
Like a group of powerful supernatural women hadn't summoned a cursed rotisserie chicken, scared half the city, and traumatized several men into group therapy.
We all gathered in the kitchen, mugs in hand.
Espresso. Tea. Something herbal and probably questionable in Liora's cup.
There was a beat of silence.
Then we all exhaled, finally.
And sipped.
"I will never understand how you can stomach coffee," Vivien said, sipping her tea like a scandalized duchess. The way she held her mug — pinky up, judgment front and center — made it clear she wasn't joking.
"I like both," I replied casually, taking another blessed sip of my espresso.
"Same," Liora said with a shrug. "Fine with either. Unless I need to recover from a pair of snakes."
Vixzen, still half-asleep, blinked. "What?"
She looked at us, wide-eyed and innocent. Which made it worse.
We were all staring at her.
"…I mean," Vixzen faltered, "when you have four—ahem—to deal with, I can see why you need to recover—"
Vivien's eyebrow practically levitated off her face.
"I have yet to confirm that," Vixzen added quickly, holding her tea like a shield.
"Yet," I repeated, grinning into my mug. "She said yet."
"But she plans to," Vivien chimed with the smugness of a woman who lived for courtroom drama.
"Oh, come on," Vixzen groaned, dragging a hand over her face. "They're exhausting! Always walking in unannounced. Pestering me to pay attention to them. And don't get me started on their constant hovering—"
"Can confirm," Vivien cut in, raising her mug. "Those men are a headache. Mine tried to 'guard' my laptop. It locked me out. I had to write a formal complaint. To my own hard drive."
"I can't relate," I said with a small laugh. "I just met mine, like… two days ago."
All three women turned to stare at me.
"…What?" I blinked.
"So you already see them as yours?" Liora said, sipping her tea slowly, like she was taking mental notes for future blackmail.
"Oh, come on!" I huffed.
"Hey, this is my revenge," Liora said, grinning triumphantly. "I've earned this."
"So…" Vivien leaned in, eyes gleaming. "Spill."
I hesitated.
They all leaned closer.
I caved.
"Well…" I toyed with my mug. "They're definitely… different. Not just personality-wise. There's something about them that affects my condition."
Liora shot upright, eyes suddenly clear and alert like someone had just slapped her with a thesis topic. "Wait. That's a breakthrough! That's exactly what I've been trying to track."
Her gaze flickered from me to Vivien, then to Vixzen — sharp, calculating, but soft underneath it all. She didn't say anything, but her eyes asked the question: Can I talk about this now?
Vivien tilted her head, catlike, reading the air like it was a legal contract. "I don't know what's going on," she said. "But I'm intrigued. 'Condition'?"
Vixzen didn't say anything — just smirked. That knowing, mischievous smirk that said I already know and I've known for weeks.
All three of them stared at me now.
Waiting.
The mug in my hands was suddenly too warm. My heart beat faster, not from fear… but from the unfamiliar feeling of being seen.
For the first time in forever, I wasn't sure what would happen if I told the truth.
But maybe…
Maybe that wasn't a bad thing.
---
The quiet was... honest.
No one was rushing. No one was pretending. The air was warm with leftover coffee and the scent of sugar from a hastily-crumbled croissant. A bird chirped outside the window like it hadn't just witnessed supernatural chaos and a lingerie battle the night before.
Vixzen lay sprawled over three pillows, a tail twitching lazily near her ear. One leg dangled off the couch, her fingers casually twirling the end of her braid like she was deep in an internal monologue narrated by sarcasm.
Vivien, on the other hand, looked like she could star in a tea commercial. Perfect posture. A white robe cinched precisely. Not a hair out of place. She sipped her tea like she was about to argue with a judge.
And Liora — sweet, chaos-magnet Liora — had curled herself into a beanbag chair, still wearing one sock and somehow one glove, blinking blearily at a spoon like it had personally offended her.
And me?
I was quietly drowning in the urge to speak.
Not because I wanted to talk. But because I finally felt like I could.
It was too soon. Logically, rationally — stupidly soon. But the sensation in my chest wasn't fear. It was relief. It was... safety.
What is this if not trust? Trust built from panic, pajama parties, and midnight confessions over candlelight.
But I was scared of pity. Of eyes softening just a little too much. Of becoming a burden again.
Still — I was more scared of suffering in silence. Again.
I felt a flicker of movement beside me.
Vixzen was watching me, head tilted sideways on a throw pillow like a curious cat who just heard the tin of tuna open.
"I wouldn't have invited her," she said, nodding toward Vivien with a shrug, "if I didn't think she was worth it."
I blinked.
Vivien raised a brow and sipped from her cup without even glancing over. "And if you're not ready to talk, that's fine too."
It wasn't pressure. It was permission.
My eyes burned. Not from pain — but from something terrifyingly close to gratitude.
My hands shook. I clutched my mug harder, trying to hide it. My throat tightened.
I set my mug down. And I spoke.
"I'm not... normal," I said softly. "And not in the fun 'ooh, I have wings' way."
They all looked at me. Not intrusively. Not eagerly. Just... openly.
"I'm a pureblood succubus."
Vivien blinked.
Vixzen didn't even flinch.
Liora nodded slowly, already knowing. Of course she did — she made the suppression pills.
"It's complicated," I continued. "Once someone like me loses their virginity... something gets activated. A hunger. Magical starvation."
"All succubi experience it eventually. But purebloods? We need more. A lot more."
"That's why some of us wait. We preserve our virginity until we find someone we love, or until we learn to feed regularly."
I looked down. "It flips the usual image of us, right?" I let out a shaky breath. "Everyone thinks we're oversexed. Dangerous. But the truth is... we're starving."
"And it's not just psychological," I continued. "It's physiological. My body doesn't want food. It doesn't want lust. It wants... vitality. Life energy. Intimacy. Connection."
"It's like hunger pangs," I added. "You know how humans get weak when they haven't eaten? My body just... hurts. It keeps hurting. There's no workaround. Just pain. And power that spirals out of control."
Liora didn't speak. She just slowly pushed the tissue box closer.
Vixzen nodded, her expression softer than I'd ever seen it. "Similar to mine. But not the same."
I blinked, surprised.
"I know what it's like to burn from the inside out," she added. "You're not alone."
I wanted to say thank you.
I couldn't. Not yet.
I swallowed hard. My voice cracked.
"My ex... Jack... he knew. He just didn't care."
I picked up my mug again. Just something to hold.
"He said I was dramatic. Needy. That I just wanted attention."
The tears burned behind my eyes.
"He'd withhold everything. Touch. Affection. Even being around me. Sometimes he'd sleep in the guest room for days."
My voice faltered. I paused, trying to breathe.
"Eventually... I begged. Just once. Just to make it stop. And when I did... something in him changed. He liked it. The control. He got worse."
My breath hitched. "I never wanted to be that girl."
No one said a word.
But Vivien reached over and placed a steady hand on my back.
And Liora nudged the tissue box closer again.
They didn't pity me.
They just stayed.
Liora hesitated, then asked, "So... why the hell were you still hanging out with Jill Warren?"
I let out a breath. "Because I met her first."
Flashback.
"She was a campus mentor," I said, bitter amusement in my voice. "Confident. Polished. Everyone respected her. She made me feel safe. Powerful by association."
"She introduced me to Jack."
Vixzen groaned. "Why is it always the power suit MLM types?"
"He said he could 'handle me,'" I said with a bitter smile. "Like I was a checklist item."
"It spiraled fast. Jill kept me isolated. Said I was being dramatic. Told me to toughen up."
"She made me feel like needing anything was weakness."
Vivien's voice went flat. "Psychological warfare in heels."
"She even blocked me from making friends," I added quietly. "She told me people were intimidated by me. That I was too intense. Too emotional."
Liora mumbled, "Jill once told me serotonin was a marketing scam. Getting close to you was like wading through guilt trip quicksand."
I nodded. "We met in the library."
Vivien blinked. "What?"
"It was the quietest place I could... suffer."
Silence.
Then Liora asked gently, "But why? Why did they do all of this?"
I shook my head, voice small. "I don't know."
Vivien frowned. "Bullies usually have motives. Jealousy. Control. Leverage. Something."
Vixzen looked contemplative. "They knew exactly how to break you. That takes planning."
We were all quiet.
Still wondering:
Why me?
I looked down at my hands.
"But... it's less now," I said. "The pain. The hunger."
I didn't say why.
They didn't ask.
But Vixzen wiggled her brows.
Vivien sipped her tea. "If either of those red flags in human skin show up again... I'm legally allowed to ruin their credit scores."
Liora stretched. "And emotionally allowed to test new potions."
We didn't call it a hug.
But we leaned into each other.
Soft. Steady. Safe.
---
As the warmth of the moment settled, I picked up my mug, stared at the clock, and muttered,
"I swear to gods, if one of those men shows up with muffins, I might actually cry."