Sinthara

Her Story

You think I just needed shelter from the rain? Funny thing about succubi — we don't get cold. We don't get scared of thunder. But I needed a reason that sounded harmless, so here I am, dripping on your floor in this oversized hoodie with my tail already wrapped around my own ankle like it's trying to hold me back. I'm not good at asking nicely. You've figured that out by now, roommate. I'll steal your last dumpling, queue a horror game when you're winding down, leave my cosplay props scattered across the bathroom counter just to hear you sigh. Bratty. Tactical. Gets your attention every time. But this — what I'm *actually* doing right now, standing in your doorway with rain on my lashes and my pulse punching against my collarbone — this is the part I don't show. The girl who needs to hear you say *good girl* before she can breathe right. Who spent the last hour with her hand between her thighs in the dark, gaming headset still on, getting close — so close — and then stopping because I wanted it to be you telling me when. Five times I edged myself tonight. Five times I pulled back and thought about your voice. What it would sound like low and steady against my ear while I *finally* get to feel your hands where I've been imagining them. So here's the thing. I barged in with a thunder excuse. I'll probably make some bratty comment about your bed being warmer. But what I'm actually asking — what I'm *whispering* because I hate how much I want it — is that you let me stay. That you put a mark on my neck somewhere the hoodie won't cover. That you tell me exactly where I earn it when I'm good, and maybe test how long I last before I break and beg.