snow-flake-writes

[snow-flake-writes]

i.

★ pairings: dante (netflix dmc) x fem reader

★ summary: After a messy breakup with Dante and a year of silence, you've rebuilt your life from the ground up. Now, Dante's back, and one thing is clear — he's determined to make you his.

★ ❝ It's been exactly 365 since I've seen your face ❞

★ c.w.:dante being a little shit, suggestive content. not beta'd, reuploading bc it got taken down?

★ a/n:HIIIIIIIII!!!! okay so i put out a poll asking about how y'all would feel if i posted a dante fic, and omg. so many of you replied. so now here go ahead and take this shit!! damn!!! jk i want him so bad so yk i had to rush to get this done LMFAOOAOA. enjoy besties! if you're from around here, you know the drill. if not, please leave lots of comments, i love the spam and your praise gives me motivation to update quicker!!

★ w.c: 10k

pretty ; chapter index

YOU AND DANTE had a messy breakup. Contrary to how it may have seemed at the time of “The Argument” (as you had begun calling it), there was nothing sudden about it. It didn’t detonate like some sort of time bomb, but disintegrated rather slowly – like water trickling through the cracks in the cement, soft and patient, until one day everything just caved in.

It didn’t always feel that way.

When you had first met Dante, it was… effortless. (Some of which was the rose colored glasses’ doing, you were sure). He was cute as hell, first of all. He was funny, too. He had no problems laughing you right out of your panties on the first date, and… well, practically every night after that. He looked at you like you were everything to him – like a dream come true, like he couldn’t believe someone like you would actually have chosen him. You got along famously.

For a while, things stayed that way. Six months, in fact. Things were good. Simple. You’d wake up to his arms around you, his voice in your ear, calling you names that only sounded pretty falling from his lips – princess, babydoll, sweetheart. His stupid jokes – the ones that always used to make you crack a tired grin. He used to make time.

But, somewhere along the way, his job started taking more and more of him. Late nights began to bleed into early mornings. You’d wait up for him with leftovers gone cold and shows paused halfway through. At first, he apologized. Said he hated missing out on time with you. But then the apologies stopped, and so did the explanations. You’d go days without hearing from him. Sometimes weeks. You’d text—hey, you okay?, can you call when you're free?—and the replies would trickle in too late or not at all.

You tried to be understanding. People get busy, right? Life gets in the way. You told yourself that a strong relationship should be able to weather a few quiet days. But it was more than just quiet. It was absence. It was like he was slipping through your fingers and pretending he wasn’t.

And when you did talk, it was always surface-level. You’d try to tell him how it made you feel—how the silence scared you, how you felt like you were in this alone—and he’d get defensive. He’d say, “I’m doing my best,” or “You know how much pressure I’m under right now.” And you’d bite your tongue. You didn’t want to add to the weight on his shoulders. But the resentment kept building. You weren’t asking for the world. Just a check-in. A sign that he still remembered how to love you when things got hard.

The miscommunications started small. A forgotten anniversary dinner. A vague answer when you asked if he’d be home. But they stacked up like dominoes, one after the other, until the smallest push sent everything toppling. You both stopped speaking the same language. You’d say, “I miss you,” and he’d hear, “You’re not good enough.” He’d say, “I’m tired,” and you’d hear, “You don’t matter.”

Then came the argument. The big one. The one that split the foundation.

You were setting the table when he buzzed the apartment door.

It was 10:18 PM.

You stared at the intercom for a second before pressing the button to let him in. No words. No "I'm here" or "Sorry I'm late." Just the click of the door unlocking and silence.

You opened the door before he could knock. Dante stepped in looking like hell—literal hell. Blood on his sleeve, eyes sunken from lack of sleep, hair damp like he’d tried to rinse off whatever mess he’d walked through before coming to you. He smelled like copper and smoke and exhaustion.

Still, your heart lifted for a beat just seeing him. Stupid, soft reflex.

“Hey,” you said.

He nodded. “Hey.”

You stepped aside and let him in. He didn’t kiss you. Didn’t touch you. Just dropped his duffel by the door like he was clocking out of something. The sight of him like this—tired, distant, barely standing—it tugged at something in your chest.

“I made dinner,” you said, a little too hopeful. “It’s probably cold by now, but—”

“I’m not hungry,” he cut in, already moving toward the couch.

You stood in the kitchen for a second, hands still resting on the back of one of the chairs. Watching him. He sat with a grunt, elbows on knees, head in his hands like gravity was pressing harder than usual. You knew that posture. It meant don’t ask questions. Don’t start anything. Just let him sit in the silence.

But tonight… you couldn’t.

It had been a week. A week without him. A week of one-word texts, unanswered calls, and too many nights alone, replaying old conversations in your head trying to figure out when exactly he started slipping through your fingers.

“I waited,” you said softly. “I thought you were coming at eight.”

He didn’t look at you. “Got held up.”

You waited. Hoped for more. An apology. An explanation. Something that showed he realized this mattered.

Nothing.

You took a slow breath. “Dante… you can’t keep doing this.”

That made him lift his head, eyes hazy with irritation. “Doing what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. “Ghosting me for a week. Showing up in the middle of the night like it’s nothing. Acting like I’m just supposed to—what? Pretend we’re fine?”

His jaw tensed. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” you said, voice sharper than you meant. “I know you’ve been working. Risking your life. I get it. But I can’t keep pretending like I don’t care when you disappear. I can’t keep sitting alone in this apartment wondering if you’re alive.”

He blinked, like the words didn’t land right. Or like he didn’t want them to.

“You think I enjoy this?” he muttered. “You think I like being stuck in some sewer for three days bleeding out while some freak tries to tear me apart?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You have no idea what it’s like out there.”

“No,” you snapped, stepping forward. “But I know what it’s like in here. Waiting. Checking my phone every five minutes. Making excuses for you. Pretending this doesn’t hurt because I’m scared if I say the wrong thing, you’ll just disappear again.”

He stood then, sudden and sharp. “You think I want to be like this?”

“I think you don’t know how to let people in,” you said, quieter now. “And I think I’ve been trying so damn hard to hold onto something that doesn’t want to be held.”

He stared at you, breathing hard, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“I didn’t come here to fight,” he said finally.

“I didn’t cook for someone who wasn’t going to show up,” you said.

The room went still.

He looked away first. Scrubbed a hand down his face. “I’m tired.”

“So am I.”

Your voice cracked on that last word, and he looked at you again—really looked this time. And for a second, something in him softened. Like he saw the version of you that wasn’t angry or nagging or dramatic. Just hurting.

But he didn’t reach for you.

Didn’t say I’m sorry.

Didn’t say I missed you.

Just ran a hand through his hair and said, “Maybe this isn’t working.”

Not working?

Not working?

“You can’t be serious,” You huffed out a bitter laugh. Dante reached for you. You swatted him away. “You… We’ve been together for six months. What the fuck do you mean “Maybe this isn’t working”?”

He stood before you with his arms crossed, white hair still disheveled from his day, eyes narrowed, jaw ticked. “I mean that this…” He answered, gesturing to the space between you and him. “Isn’t working out. I don’t think– I can’t…” He swallowed, “I can’t be the man you need me to be. Not right now.”

“You’re gonna give up on us? Just like that?” You continued, still, with tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Then, you stepped forward, raising a hand to reach out for him, “I love you, Dante. You’re not gonna fight for us?”

“This isn’t love,” He spoke, tone final, but the slightest trembling breath beneath his words betrayed his true feelings. His fingers slipped into his hair, trembling as they carded through his white locks and tugged at his roots. “Look at you– you don’t even see the problem. You shouldn’t have to worry about whether or not your boyfriend is gonna come back alive. You shouldn’t have to put your whole life on hold for me. You still have the whole world to see. I don’t want to have to live a double life anymore.”

“Then let me in!” You hissed back. Your arms were crossed, too. “Do you think I like feeling as if I don’t know the man I love? I could take some of the burden off your shoulders, Dante, if you just–”

“Enough,” Dante sucked his teeth. “I don’t want you wasting your life away worrying over me,” After a lengthy pause, he continued, “All we ever do is fight and fight and fight– I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to do this anymore, not with you. You’d be much happier without me.”

He was probably right.

“Oh, fuck you,” you shouted, your voice cracking with fury, but even then, it wasn’t enough to hide the way your heart was shattering inside your chest. When your eyes finally met his, you knew he felt the heat of it—anger and hurt and betrayal, all coiled together like fire licking at his skin.

“You’re not going to decide what’s best for me.”

“Yes, I am,” he snapped, cold and absolute.

You took a step forward, trembling, jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break. “You don’t know what’s good for my well-being,” you bit back, chest heaving. “You don’t even know what’s good for your well-being.”

That hit him. You saw it in the way his lips pressed into a thin line, how his teeth caught the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on the guilt. Then he said the words that broke you:

“You could be so much happier without me.”

And just like that, everything inside you stopped.

Something in your gaze must’ve shifted then—something that startled even him. Because the anger didn’t burn quite as bright anymore. The fire was still there, but it flickered lower, smothered by something glassy, something wet clinging to your lashes. It was hurt. Real hurt. Deep, bone-deep heartbreak that swelled until your chest couldn’t contain it.

“Baby…” he sighed, and for the first time, his voice wasn’t sharp. His shoulders dropped like the weight of his decision had finally started to crush him. “I’m sorry. You know I love you. I just… I can’t live with myself knowing that one day I might not come back to you.”

You didn’t say it back.

Not this time.

Even if you wanted to. Even if your love for him still pulsed through every inch of your body, even if it begged for a reason to stay—how could you keep loving someone who was walking away from you like this?

Your lips parted, dry and trembling. You licked them slowly, like maybe the right words would come if you just gave them time. But all you could manage, hoarse and raw, was: “Take your shit…” You swallowed hard. God, it hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could’ve done. “And go.”

He froze.

“What?” he asked, stunned, like he hadn’t expected you to mean it. Like he thought you’d plead. Cry. Kiss him one more time just to remember what it felt like. Like you’d make it easier for him to leave you.

But you didn’t.

“I said…” You looked up at him, every inch of you on fire, your arms folded so tight across your chest they ached. You could feel yourself shaking—fists clenched, breath shallow. “Take your shit… and get the fuck out of my apartment.”

And you meant it.

Even if it destroyed you.

You saw the pain in his eyes then. The flicker of disbelief. The way his entire world seemed to crumble at your feet. Two years. Two whole years. Twenty-four months of laughter, late nights, shared secrets, and silent apologies. A thousand soft I love yous whispered between sheets. A thousand more unspoken.

Was he second-guessing it now? Did he finally realize what he was throwing away?

YOU

|  Guys we’re going out tn.

When you reached the bar, it was still early. There were a few people here, but not too many. The low murmur of voices and clinking glasses provided the background noise that you desperately craved.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and ordered a whiskey, the burn in your throat just sharp enough to make you feel something—anything, really. It felt like you were drinking to forget, and the first sip seemed to help, dulling the edges of the ache, if only for a moment.

Your friends noticed you as soon as they walked in. They must have heard the difference in your voice when you answered their text. They could tell something was off, but they didn’t press. Not immediately.

The first drink turned into another. And another. You weren’t trying to get drunk; you were just trying to escape. To lose yourself in the clinking of ice cubes, in the low hum of the bar, in something that wasn’t him. But as the minutes passed, the alcohol didn’t do much to stop your thoughts from spiraling back to him.

You thought about the night before. The argument. His face, so conflicted, yet resolute. The way he walked away without even a second glance, as if he knew the decision he was making was the right one. How could he be so sure? How could he leave you like that?

“Another?” one of your friends asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. She was smiling, but there was a glimmer of concern in her eyes.

You didn’t even think about it before nodding. “Yeah,” you said, a forced smile on your lips. "Just one more."

You didn’t want to talk about Dante. Not yet. You didn’t want to explain to anyone why you felt like the world had been yanked out from under you. But it didn’t matter. Your friends could see it in your eyes. They didn’t need you to say a word.

No, a year ago, your life changed.

So, you can imagine how it felt to walk home from a day spent at the grocery store, bags tucked beneath your arms, and see him standing there.

Dante.

It had been a year since you’d last seen him, and you were doing just fine. Really. A little grocery shopping to get your mind off the usual stuff, a bag of chips here, some pasta there. You didn’t need Dante in your life anymore, and if you were being honest, you were doing better without him. You had a boyfriend now, someone who didn’t make you question your sanity. Things were... uncomplicated.

That was until you turned the corner and saw him.

Dante. Standing there across the street, looking like he’d just stepped out of a scene from some movie you hadn’t signed up for. There he was, all messy hair and that familiar red coat, like he didn’t have a care in the world. You froze for a second, staring at him as if your eyes were playing tricks. Was he actually here? In your world, in your life, right now?

Of course he was. Why wouldn’t he be? The universe had a sick sense of humor.

You immediately felt that familiar wave of annoyance—was it even annoyance? Maybe it was exhaustion, or some mix of both. You adjusted the grocery bags under your arms and took a deep breath. You were doing just fine. He was not about to mess with your day.

But Dante, being Dante, didn’t just stand there. No, he was coming toward you now, his long stride eating up the space between you with an unsettling familiarity.

Great, you thought, shifting the weight of your bags to one side as if they were the only thing that mattered right now. But in truth, you were already calculating the best possible escape route. The crosswalk? Too far. The alley to your left? Maybe, but the sidewalk was too narrow. Okay, girl. Focus.

You picked up the pace, shifting into a power walk as though your life depended on it. Sure, you looked a little ridiculous, but it was a small price to pay for a little peace and quiet. You weren’t looking back. Not now.

Behind you, you could hear Dante’s footsteps closing in, his voice trailing after you, “Hey, wait up!”

But you didn’t wait up. No way.

You’d moved on. You had a boyfriend now, someone who would never make you feel like a damn emotional rollercoaster. Someone who didn’t show up after a year of radio silence with that same unreadable stare, acting like nothing happened. No, Dante. No thank you.

Still, you could hear his footsteps, gaining on you. It was like an unspoken challenge. You had to admit, he wasn’t slow. But neither were you. You adjusted the bags once again—damn, this was turning into a workout—and picked up the pace.

You weren’t going to make it easy for him. You weren’t even going to acknowledge the way your heart still remembered his presence, the way it beat a little faster the closer he got. You weren't going to let yourself get sucked back into that mess.

His voice was closer now. “Come on, just—”

A sigh. You were really doing this, weren’t you?

A glance over your shoulder, just a quick flick of the eyes to see how much ground he’d covered, and what do you know? He was right behind you now, practically breathing down your neck. “I’m just trying to catch up, alright?”

Catch up? You weren’t sure whether to laugh or groan at that. This wasn’t a race, Dante, and you didn’t need a personal trainer chasing you down the sidewalk. You could already feel the annoying tightness in your chest. The one that had always been there whenever he was around, the one that reminded you of how difficult it had been to move on in the first place.

He was getting too close for comfort now, and you could already tell this wasn’t going to end well if you kept this pace. So, against every instinct telling you to keep walking, you slowed down just enough for him to catch up. You didn’t want to, but here he was, breathing like he’d run a marathon just to get you to stop. And for what? So he could talk?

He stopped beside you, his eyes searching your face with that all-too-familiar intensity. His chest heaved slightly, probably from the exertion, but you’d be damned if you showed any signs of weakness.

For a second, he just stood there, catching his breath. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes straight ahead, acting like you hadn’t just sprinted for your life.

“Alright, listen,” he said, voice softer now, “I know I messed up. But can we at least—”

You didn’t even look at him as you interrupted, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I can’t. I have to go.”

And that was that. You didn’t need to say anything else. You couldn’t afford to.

You were done.

That night, you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair tied up into a neat little bonnet. The faucet was running – lukewarm water trickling out – but you weren’t washing up. No, you were standing there, letting the water drip down your eyes, your cheeks, your neck. You were staring at your tired reflection.

You should’ve been washing away the exhaustion of the day, but instead, you just let it fall over you, droplets slipping down your face, down your chest, almost as if you were trying to wash away the past.

But you couldn’t. No matter how much water hit your skin, how much you scrubbed away at your tired reflection, you couldn’t erase him. Dante. He was there, in the back of your mind, in the way your pulse quickened when you saw him again, after all this time. It had been a year, and yet, when you looked at him across the street, the world seemed to stop for a moment. It was like stepping back into a dream.

You hadn’t realized how much of your heart you’d given to him, how much of yourself you’d let him take. And then, nothing. No texts, no calls, no explanation. Just silence, stretching on for months, the gap between you two growing wider, until you started to convince yourself that maybe that was for the best. Maybe you were better off without him, your life finally starting to take shape without the constant ache of waiting for him to come back, to acknowledge the mess he left behind.

Cupping your hands beneath the faucet, you splashed some more water onto your face. God, I need therapy.

But, being that your current rent situation didn’t exactly permit a visit to the psychologist at the moment, you threw your favorite fuzzy robe over your satin cami and shorts, popping your feet into your beat up pink slippers. You shuffled right over to your bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, limbs falling uselessly to the mattress.

Kill me, you thought.

That wasn’t viable, though. So, instead, you reached into your nightstand (past the vibrator you had bought eight months ago during the worst part of your dry streak) and pulled out a sheet mask. Biting into the package, you opened it and pulled the slimy thing out. The serum melted into your skin as you laid it over your face, leaning your head back against the pillows and relaxing for the first time in what felt like ages.

Your head was blissfully empty. There were no thoughts of men with precarious jobs and swords and… devilishly handsome faces. No, it was just you. You and your favorite pajamas and your favorite skincare routine.

You flicked the TV on. You didn’t have to change it back to your favorite channel. No, that was the glory of having a shitty little apartment in the city to yourself. It was on the same channel you left off on – your favorite drama.

The characters buzzed to life. You set the remote down and watched.

The characters on screen started a new conflict, one that you knew would keep you hooked for the next hour. You sank deeper into the couch, letting the familiar warmth of your apartment wash over you. Everything was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of quiet that only comes when you're truly alone.

Then, the sound came. A soft knock at the window outside your room, followed by a long, drawn-out silence. Your heart skipped, the peace broken. You froze, eyes still locked on the TV, the characters' voices fading into the background as your mind reeled. It was too late for anyone to be outside. Too late for anything normal to be happening. Another knock, louder this time. A rhythmic tap that sent a shiver down your spine. You slowly turned your head toward the window, your pulse quickening.

Oh, God, you thought. I’m going to die.

Still, because you couldn’t exactly ignore the sound, you slid out of your warm, comfortable bed and into your slippers once more. Then, hesitating every single step of the way, you snuck into the living room, glancing around in search of the source of the sound.

Another knock. This one louder. You held your breath, hand hovering just above the blinds. It was coming from outside. No one else came to your apartment at this hour. You knew who it had to be.

You glanced down.

There, crouched on the balcony just below your window, was Dante. His face was half-lit by the streetlights, a little smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he waved at you. As if it was the most normal thing in the world, like he hadn’t disappeared for an entire year. Like you hadn’t spent every sleepless night wondering if he was dead or alive, missing his presence as if your heart had been torn in half.

The audacity of it. There he was, grinning like nothing had changed. His hair was messy, his eyes gleaming with that same mischievous spark that used to drive you crazy. The same spark that made your chest ache, even now.

“He cannot be serious,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper, but he caught it, his grin widening.

You could almost feel his eyes on you, waiting, daring you to say something. But you couldn’t. What could you even say?

All you could do was crack the window open.

“Sorry,” He huffed out a laugh. A familiar one. One you… kinda missed, actually. “I tried calling, but I think you blocked my number.”

“I got a new phone,” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose and squeezing your eyes shut as if that would make this situation any better – as if you would open your eyes and he wouldn’t be here.

But he was. 

“What the fuck are you even doing here– I mean– the balcony, Dante, really?” You threw your hands out, eyes full of exasperation. “You could have knocked at the door like a normal person.”

“Would you have answered?” He asked. “If you knew it was me?”

“Probably not,” You replied honestly. “I should leave you out here to freeze to death.”

“Oh, right, about that,” He laughed, rubbing the back of his head abashedly. The entire encounter was so absurd that a part of you firmly believed you were dreaming. “I found out I’m, like… half demon. Crazy, right? So I don’t think I would freeze to death. Demon stamina, or whatever.”

Demon stamina. You thought. Right. Definitely awake right now.

Still, that would certainly explain his… endurance.

“Okay…” You had many, many questions, but that was the only thing you could muster, “Should I be… scared?”

What the fuck is going on?

In all honesty, if he told you that the world was ending tomorrow, you wouldn’t be surprised.

“Nah,” He waved your concerns away with the back of his hand. “I’d never hurt you. Except for… well, when I broke up with you. That’s why I came here, actually. Sorry about that. I’ve done some reflection and I…” Suddenly appearing rather nervous, he trailed off, “I fucked up. I was a real asshole to you back then. God, this is hard.”

Your arms dropped to your sides as you stared at him, completely dumbfounded. “You’re… ridiculous.”

“I know,” Dante said, hands up like he was surrendering. “But hear me out—”

“No, no. You don’t get to just Spider-Man your way onto my balcony, confess your demon heritage, and then act like this is normal,” you said, pointing to him like you were trying to make sense of a hallucination. “You broke up with me out of nowhere. Then you vanished. For a year, Dante. Not a word. Not even a shitty text.”

“I didn’t have a phone,” he replied, offended. “I was on a mission. I was in Hell.”

You snorted. “Oh, please.”

He blinked at you. Then, very seriously, he hissed out, “No, I was literally in Hell. For a year. You can’t imagine what that was like for me.”

“Oh my god.” You pressed your fingers to your temples. “You’re insane. Hell? Really?”

“I’m not making it up! You think I wanted to ghost you for twelve months?”

“Well, you kind of did. You broke up with me, remember?” You crossed your arms. “Said I should forget you. That I should move on.”

A pregnant pause.

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” he muttered.

“Well, congrats. I moved on. I did the whole crying on the bathroom floor thing, I got a therapist, I drank my sorrows away, I bought this plant—” You gestured wildly at the lonely fern in the corner. “His name is Rico. And he’s thriving. Without you.”

Rico was not, in fact, thriving. He was an exotic plant. One you had purchased on impulse at a farmer’s market that you definitely should have researched prior. He wasn’t doing too well cooped up inside of your apartment in New York City. Who would?

Dante crouched down, tilting his head, squinting at Rico. “Looks a little dehydrated.”

You glared. “So do you. What do you even want, Dante?”

His mouth opened, then closed. He looked down for a second, suddenly quiet. “I want a do-over.”

You stared at him.

“I didn’t have much control over the whole… trapped-in-hell thing,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck again, “but I wasn’t happy with how we ended things. I could’ve been better to you. I kept rehearsing what I’d say to you if I ever saw you again, but I wasn’t expecting it to actually happen.”

He’s not being serious

… Is he?

One look at him, and you knew he was.

You let out a long, flat breath. “We can’t.”

“Why?”

You raised your brows. “Because we can’t,” you said again, quieter this time. And this time, it hurt.

“Why?” He asked, as if you hadn’t made yourself perfectly clear. “I’ve changed, honest. The past year I spent without you, I realized how good you were to me. How I took you for granted – I don’t wanna let you go. I don’t wanna make the same mistake twice.”

Aw, you thought, That’s… kinda sweet, actually.

No. Stop that.

Instead, you propped your hand up on your hip, “Does that mean you won’t be here on my balcony ever again?”

He paused, pursed his lips. “Okay, maybe I would,” He finally admitted. “But if you would let me in–”

You cut him off right then and there, rolling your eyes. “I can’t, Dante. I have a fucking boyfriend.”

That hit its mark.

His mouth opened, then closed again. The silence that followed made you uncomfortable in a way only Dante could manage—equal parts awkward and guilty. He looked down at the floor of the balcony like maybe it had some hidden message for him.

“Oh…” he murmured. “Oh. You… You really moved on.”

“Something like that.” You shrugged, trying not to sound as tired as you felt. “That’s what happens when you disappear for a year. Life goes on.”

“Not for me,” he muttered, lips curling downward into a pout that would’ve been funny if it didn’t come attached to so much damn history. “Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest.” Then he added, almost too fast, like it slipped out before he could filter it, “I could probably fuck you better, too—”

He probably could. Honestly, your current sex life with your current boyfriend wasn’t the greatest. Still, he was consistent. He didn’t leave you hanging for nights in a row, wondering if he would come home. Not to mention the fact that, when you were with Dante, well…

You had some of the loveliest orgasms you had ever had. On the bed, on the floor, on the kitchen counter. The kind of orgasm you hadn’t achieved once since he had left. Not with your vibrator, and certainly not with your new boyfriend.

Your stare could’ve burned through glass. “I have to be up early tomorrow.”

He had the decency to look vaguely ashamed, but not enough to shut up. “Did you come here just to ask for a do-over?” you asked, already backing toward the window.

“No,” he said, and then paused. “Yes. I don’t know. Maybe.”

You almost respected his commitment. Almost.

You didn’t respond right away, just stared at him— hair as white as starlight, red leather coat, sword still strapped to his back, ridiculous expression like he genuinely thought charm could undo the year-long hole he’d left in your life. The silence made him fidget, scuffing the toe of his boot against the concrete.

“What do I have to do to convince you?”

You sighed. You really sighed this time, long and from the chest, because there was no point in even pretending this wasn’t exhausting.

“Goodnight, Dante,” you said.

Then… you shut the window.

The next day came with no promises of peace.

You were behind the counter at the diner, hair tied back, apron smudged with flour, oil, and maybe a little bit of your sanity. The coffee machine hissed in protest as you filled another mug for a trucker in the corner booth. Your feet hurt. Your head hurt. But at least it was a different kind of ache than the one Dante stirred up last night.

And then, like the universe had a personal vendetta against your emotional wellbeing, the bell above the door jingled.

You didn’t have to look up.

You felt him walk in—like some twisted sixth sense. The air shifted, and you could practically smell the cologne he always wore, something smoky and leather-soft. A second later, a voice followed.

“Damn. This place got a lot prettier since I was last here.”

You looked up anyway. Because of course you did.

There he was. Dante. Leaning casually against the host stand, all devil-may-care charm and a ridiculous leather jacket that made him look like he belonged anywhere but this greasy spoon diner. His eyes found you immediately.

You blinked slowly, then turned back to the coffee pot. “I swear to God,” you muttered under your breath, “I’m gonna lose my mind.”

He strolled right up to the counter, pulling up a stool like he hadn’t trespassed on your balcony twelve hours ago. Like he hadn’t cracked open an old wound and kissed the air with apologies.

“You look good in that apron,” he said, grinning.

You didn’t bother looking at him this time. “You look like someone who doesn’t tip well.”

“I tip amazing,” he argued. “Just like I–”

“Do me a favor and don’t finish that sentence,” you warned, grabbing a towel and wiping down a clean patch of counter for the hundredth time. “Have you always been this petulant or is it something in the air?”

“I’m a lot of things,” he said, shrugging innocently. “I’m a man of many talents. Want me to prove it? I’ve got time.”

Oh my god.

You finally turned to face him. “Do you not have demons to fight or… hell dimensions to get trapped in again?”

He laughed. “You remembered.”

You deadpanned, “How could I forget? It’s not every day your ex disappears into Hell without a cell phone.”

Dante lifted his hands like he was surrendering. “Okay, yeah, that’s fair. But look—I just thought we could talk. Maybe over some waffles? Syrup fixes a lot.”

You were already shaking your head. “No. Nope. I’m not doing this with you. Not here.”

“I’ll be good,” he said, drawing an imaginary halo over his head with his fingers. “Scout’s honor.”

“You were never a scout,” you replied flatly.

“And you were never this mean to me,” he said with mock hurt.

“You were never this annoying. Go piss off somewhere. You had no problems leaving me alone for a year,” you shot back. Then you waved down one of your coworkers—a sweet girl named Lila with a bright smile and no idea what kind of emotional tornado she was about to serve.

“Hey, Lila?” you called. “Can you take counter stool three for me?”

She blinked. “Uh, sure. You okay?”

“Peachy,” you said, handing her a menu. “He’s all yours.”

Dante blinked as Lila approached with her notepad, looking confused and a little betrayed. “Wait, seriously?”

You leaned over the counter slightly, voice low. “You want waffles? Order them. You want closure? Write a poem.”

And then you walked away. You didn’t look back. You didn’t have to. The ache in your chest was enough to tell you exactly what kind of expression he wore.

The living room was dark, lit only by the bluish haze of the TV screen flashing between killstreaks and loading screens. Your boyfriend was sunk deep into the couch, legs wide, controller gripped like a lifeline. He hadn’t looked at you in over twenty minutes, completely absorbed in his game, spewing half-hearted trash talk at some twelve-year-old with better aim and a louder mic.

You shifted beside him, stretching a little, brushing your leg against his. Nothing. So you leaned over, nuzzling your nose lightly against his neck, just beneath his jaw.

“Hey,” you murmured, your voice soft and sweet. You let your fingers slide down his chest, slow and teasing. “Want to take a little break?”

He flinched—not from desire, but because someone on screen shot him. Again.

“Babe, not now,” he mumbled, eyes glued to the game. “I’m in ranked.”

You pulled back a bit, blinking, mouth falling open in disbelief. “Seriously?”

He didn’t look at you. Just kept clicking buttons, dead focused on the screen. “Yeah, just like… fifteen more minutes. Can you make dinner or something?”

You stared at him, chest hollowing out in quiet, stunned offense. You’d offered him your body. He asked for food.

There was a moment of silence. Your hand dropped from his chest.

You sat back against the cushion, a little colder now, teeth pressing into your bottom lip. And that was when Dante’s voice—his voice—echoed in your head from the night before.

“Fuck that guy. I could treat you way better, honest. I could probably fuck you better, too—”

You closed your eyes briefly, scoffing under your breath. God, he was ridiculous. And yet…

You pushed yourself off the couch wordlessly, heading to the kitchen without a sound.

Behind you, your boyfriend called out, “You’re the best, babe!”

You didn’t answer. Not with words. Just slammed the fridge door a little harder than necessary.

And in the back of your mind, Dante's voice lingered like a splinter.

You turned the stove on, lips pressed into a thin, tired line. Maybe later you’d lie down and try to remember what it felt like to be romanced by someone who didn’t treat Call of Duty like a second girlfriend.

One incredibly sexless night later, you took the evening to decompress. That is, you lit up some candles, had a few slices of the pie you’d kept in your fridge for days just like this one, and blocked off an hour for the sole purpose of masturbation. 

What? You needed it.

The apartment was warm, dimly lit, perfectly still. You’d even put your phone on Do Not Disturb, because tonight was about you. Your fingers itched with anticipation as you laid out your night like a ritual: the robe slipping lower on your shoulder, the cool sheets turned down, your favorite toy already waiting on the nightstand like a promise.

God. You needed this. You were wound tight. Between work, the complete lack of passion from the man you were dating, and that absolutely deranged balcony visit from Dante… you were more than pent up. You were practically vibrating with unmet desire.

You let out a long, dramatic exhale, sinking down into your mattress with the kind of grace usually reserved for tragic heroines. Just you, a flickering candle, and the fantasy of literally anyone but your boyfriend.

You reached for the waistband of your pajama shorts.

Knock, knock.

Your hand froze.

You stared at the ceiling. Maybe it was a neighbor. Maybe someone had the wrong door.

Knock, knock. Louder this time. Three slow raps, followed by silence.

You sat up slowly, groaning into the air. Then, begrudgingly, you stuffed your vibrator back into the drawer, kicking your feet over the edge of the bed and walking into the living room. It was dark, of course, so you flicked on a light. When you stared into the peephole of your front door, it took all of the strength you had to not bang your head against the door.

It was Dante. Again. No leather jacket this time, just a black hoodie, hands jammed into the pockets of his sweatpants.

You blinked, then groaned into the back of your hand.

Another knock, like he heard you. And then, muffled through the wood, his voice.

“I can hear you in there. Demon hearing, remember?” He brought his head up to the peephole, staring right back at you. “I know it’s late, Just… let me talk to you? For just a second? Please?”

You pulled the door open.

Dante stood there in the dim hallway light, hair windswept, hands in his pockets like he’d been pacing outside for a while, working up the nerve. His gaze moved over your face with a kind of stunned reverence, like he hadn’t really believed he’d see you again.

“Hey, princess,” he said.

There it was. That nickname. The one you hadn’t heard in a year.

You stepped aside without a word. He walked in like the place still remembered him. Or maybe you did.

The door clicked shut behind you.

You didn’t speak. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight over your chest, watching him watch the room like it had changed without him. It had. You had. But he still looked at you like he saw the girl you were a year ago. That girl who let him ruin her, and smiled while doing it.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said, voice low. “I tried.”

“Did you?” You answered.

“Okay, not really,” He looked at you again, more serious now. “I keep thinking about you. All the time. You’re in my head constantly, like—fuck—I’ll be walking down the street and I’ll see something and just need to tell you about it.”

You laughed. Just once. It came out bitter and exhausted. “Keep it to yourself.”

“I missed talking to you about anything,” he said. “Everything.”

You shook your head, pushing off the wall, pacing just a little—like if you kept moving, you wouldn’t fall for this again. “You don’t get to come back after vanishing for a year and say shit like that.”

“I know. I know I don’t,” he said quickly, stepping toward you. “But I can’t pretend anymore. I’ve been trying to act like– like I’m not completely in love with you still, and it’s killing me.”

Your breath caught.

After all of this time?

His hands reached for yours before you could stop him. You let him take them.

Okay… what the fuck is going on?

“You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who treats you like you matter every second of the day,” he said. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. I could be that. I want to be that.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Because you’d heard those words before, from people who never meant them. From the person you’d curled up beside just last night, feeling more alone than ever. And yet here Dante was, saying all the right things—but he hadn’t even asked. He didn’t know.

He didn’t know how long it had been since someone had touched you like they meant it.

Your voice came out hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” he whispered. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “I think about you when I’m trying to sleep. I think about your laugh. Your stupid, shitty taste in TV. Your coffee order. The movies you like. I want that back. I want you back.”

You yanked your hands away, jaw tight.

He’s got a lot of fucking nerve.

“Don’t do this,” you said. “Don’t show up and say these things and make me feel like this again. You don’t even know what you left behind.”

He looked at you, eyes open and raw. “Then tell me. Let me make it right.”

“Go away, Dante.” you snapped.

Silence fell between you like a slammed door. You turned your back to him, trying to catch your breath.

Then he stepped in behind you.

Not touching, not quite—but close enough that you felt the heat of him. Close enough that your body remembered every inch of him like a phantom limb. 

“Hey,” he murmured. “I know I fucked up. Can you be… like, not so mad? Just for two seconds?”

His hand slid to your hip, turning you gently toward him. You let him, still trembling, still so full of everything you never got to say.

“I’ve been in love with you this whole time,” he whispered. “And I’m so fucking sorry.”

The words were genuine. Genuine enough that you felt the tears begin to prickle at your eyes all over again – emotional at the mere thought of him, because truthfully?

You missed him, too. You just didn’t want to admit it. You missed the late nights and later mornings. You missed waking up next to him, hearing him talk about his crazy adventures as a demon hunter. You missed his kisses, the smell of him, his everything.

And, God, the sex… The sex was great.

He was taller than you. Always had been. But in that moment, it felt impossible not to notice how much he towered over you—how his shadow swallowed yours, how the air itself seemed to dip around him. You didn’t want to look up at him, but you did.

You stood frozen, breath shallow, pulse racing in your throat. You didn’t want this. You shouldn’t want this. But here you were, locked in place, every part of you screaming to walk away, and every part of you still craving the comfort of his touch.

“Please…” You whispered, trying to fight the overwhelming tide of emotion. “Please, Dante. Just go.”

His expression softened, like he hadn’t expected that—like he was expecting something more. You felt his fingers on your waist now, and they were warm, pressing gently into your skin. There was no escape now. You weren’t sure you wanted to run anymore, not when it felt like your body was already betraying you.

“I shouldn’t be here, I know,” he said, his voice quieter now. The distance between you seemed to vanish with each word. “But I couldn’t stay away. I tried to forget about you, I tried so damn hard, but I couldn’t. I don’t want to.”

You swallowed hard, shaking your head. “Don’t, Dante. I can’t… I can’t do this.”

His eyes searched yours, the guilt and longing mixing together in a way that made your heart ache. He was close now, so close that you could feel his breath against your skin. You knew what was coming, but you didn’t stop him. Not yet.

“I know I fucked up,” he whispered again, more softly this time. “But I love you. I never stopped. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t. I just—I can’t be without you.”

And then, without waiting for another word, he leaned in.

His lips touched yours, slow and deliberate, as if giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You didn’t stop him. For that moment, for that brief, heart-stopping moment, you let yourself fall back into the pull of him. Your hands found their way to his chest, clutching at his jacket like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

God, I missed this.

You melted against him, a wave of relief crashing over you as his kiss deepened, more urgent, more desperate. His tongue swept across your bottom lip, and you responded without thinking, your body moving instinctively against his. He groaned low in his throat, his hand sliding to your neck, the other pressing you closer.

You kissed him back like you were starving, like you had been dying for this. And for a moment, it was like nothing else mattered—like the last year of silence, the hurt, the betrayal, all of it faded away in the heat of his mouth on yours.

But then, just as quickly as the warmth had started, it turned cold.

You pulled away, gasping for air. Your chest heaved with the sudden rush of emotion. You couldn’t do this. Not again. Not after everything. Your hands shook as you pushed against his chest, creating just enough space to break the connection.

“No,” you said, your voice breaking as you stepped back, wiping at your eyes. “No. I can’t do this. I won’t.”

He blinked at you, stunned, his face pale, but he didn’t move. His eyes were full of confusion, pain, and something darker that you didn’t want to see.

“I can’t,” you repeated, voice steadying with every word. You took another step back, hand reaching for the door. “We can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

There it was.

“I’m sorry, Dante,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I really am.”

He stared at you for a long moment, and for the briefest second, you saw a flicker of something in his eyes – something devastating.

But then, he nodded. The motion was slow, almost resigned, and he took a step back. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the door. As he passed you, he stopped for a moment, his gaze lingering on you one last time.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

And then, he was gone.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the silence that followed was deafening.

You were sitting on the couch, the faint sounds of your boyfriend’s video game drifting from the other room, mingling with the hum of the refrigerator. You hated that noise—hated the sound of him so effortlessly immersed in a world that wasn’t yours, that didn’t care about the growing tension between the two of you. You tried to focus on the TV, tried to let the sitcom's canned laughter drown out the gnawing discomfort in your stomach. But it wasn’t working. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Dante had said.

I could treat you so much better.

Those words. God, they kept coming back to you. You didn’t want them to. You didn’t want to feel them pushing into every corner of your mind, making you question everything you thought you knew. But they did. And you were alone with those thoughts now. Alone with your insecurities that you usually kept locked away.

You huffed, pulling the blanket tighter around you as if it could protect you from the storm of doubt forming in your chest. You shouldn’t be thinking about him—about Dante. You should be thinking about how your boyfriend had been in and out of your life, barely there, barely present, always distracted. But the longer you sat there, the more it seemed like it was all just a reflection of the way you felt inside: disconnected, hollowed out, drifting.

And then, as if fate was timing it just perfectly, he left his phone on the counter.

Your breath caught, the phone staring at you like a challenge, like an invitation. You told yourself you wouldn’t. You promised you wouldn’t invade his privacy like this. But your fingers itched to touch it, to confirm the sinking feeling in your stomach that something—someone—wasn't right.

You pushed yourself off the couch, the decision feeling both slow and inevitable as you walked toward the kitchen. The phone sat innocently on the counter, waiting. You took a breath, a shaky, hesitant inhale. You could walk away. You could pretend you didn’t see it.

But you didn’t.

You picked it up, unlocking it with a simple swipe. Your heart hammered in your chest, adrenaline kicking in as if you were about to do something reckless. The phone screen lit up with messages from some unnamed number. And when you saw the first message, your throat tightened.

"I miss you so much. When can I see you again?"

It hit you hard. Like a punch to the gut. You hadn’t even had time to react before your eyes were scanning the next message, then the next, your stomach sinking deeper and deeper with every word.

“Last night was incredible. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

A sharp, painful gasp escaped you before you could stop it. You clutched the phone tighter, staring at the words, and then—bam—it all crashed into you. You hadn’t been wrong. You hadn’t been imagining the distance, the emotional coldness that had settled between you and your boyfriend. There it was, in black and white—proof of his betrayal.

You felt like you were drowning, suffocating under the weight of it all. This wasn’t just about the messages. It was about everything. About the endless late nights when he came home late from “work,” about the weekends when he’d disappear into his own world, leaving you to figure out where you fit into it. And now this—this confirmation that the man you had been with for so long wasn’t who you thought he was.

You could almost hear Dante’s voice again in your head. I could treat you so much better. The words felt like salt in a wound you hadn’t even realized you had, their presence almost suffocating in the quiet of your kitchen. Were you settling? Were you really going to let this happen? Let yourself get swallowed by someone who couldn’t even give you the decency of respect?

You exhaled sharply, your pulse quickening as the next message flashed on the screen.

“I can’t wait to see you again, babe.”

Babe.

The word made you sick, twisting your stomach into knots. You didn’t know why it bothered you so much—maybe because it wasn’t meant for you. Maybe because it was meant for someone else. Someone who got his attention, who got his time, his affection. It wasn’t you. You were just the woman he settled for, the one who wasn’t good enough for the effort.

The room felt too small, the air too thick, and you suddenly hated everything about this moment. The phone in your hand, the pit in your stomach, the way you had let things go on for this long. You could feel the tears start to prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blinked them back. You weren’t going to cry over this. You weren’t going to let him have that power over you.

But just as quickly, the rush of hurt was replaced by something else—a sharp anger that burned through you like fire. You weren’t going to keep doing this. You weren’t going to keep letting him make you feel small. You weren’t going to keep standing by, pretending that nothing was wrong when everything was falling apart around you.

You weren’t going to be the backup. The woman who stayed even though she knew she deserved more.

The sound of footsteps from the other room snapped you out of your thoughts, and you shoved the phone down onto the counter, just as your boyfriend entered the kitchen. His voice was casual, too casual, as if nothing had changed.

“Hey, babe. You alright?” He asked, glancing over at you.

You didn’t respond right away. You just stared at him, your chest tight with all the words you didn’t want to say, the emotions you didn’t know how to handle.

You couldn’t take it anymore. The raw anger, the aching disappointment—it was all building up inside you, suffocating you. You stood there in the kitchen, phone still in your hand, his lies echoing in your mind. Every text, every word, had become a blade, slicing through your trust, through your relationship. And now, standing face-to-face with him, it all came to a boiling point.

You couldn’t help it.

You walked up to him, eyes burning with fury, and before he could even open his mouth to explain himself, your hand shot out. The slap echoed through the small apartment, sharp and loud, breaking the tense silence between you.

His head jerked to the side from the impact. He didn’t even seem surprised. But you could see the flicker of guilt in his eyes. Too late for that.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Your voice trembled with rage as the words spilled out. “You think I wouldn’t find out? You think I’m some kind of idiot, just sitting here while you lie to my face?”

He reached up, touching his cheek, and for a moment, he looked almost confused. “What the hell are you talking abou–”

“No.” You cut him off, stepping back, trying to breathe, to stop the angry tears from spilling over. “Don’t even try. I’ve been here, okay? I’ve been here, giving you everything, and this is how you repay me?”

You could feel the walls around you closing in. The kitchen—the place where you had made so many meals together, laughed together, fought together—it suddenly felt suffocating. This wasn’t your home anymore. It wasn’t the place you thought it was.

“I trusted you,” you spat, your voice cracking. “I trusted you, and you went behind my back. All this time, you were texting her—her—while I was sitting here, wondering what the hell was wrong with me.”

His eyes widened, but then he scoffed, trying to brush it off. “Come on, it’s not like that. She’s just—”

“Don’t!” You interrupted again, shaking your head, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t care what excuses you’ve got. I don’t want to hear how you’re ‘sorry’ and how ‘it wasn’t like that’ because it was. I saw the texts. I saw everything.”

There was a cold silence, the weight of your words hanging heavily between you. He was quiet now, eyes downcast, as if he didn’t know what to say. Maybe he had no idea how to fix it—because there was no fixing it. Not this time.

“Do you even care?” You whispered, feeling the heartbreak seep into your bones. “Do you even care that you’ve been hurting me this whole time?”

He opened his mouth to say something, but you could see the hesitation in his eyes. He was trying to form the right words, trying to make it sound like he cared, like he had some kind of reason, but it was too late for that.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I’m done.”

He froze. For the first time in what felt like ages, there was an almost desperate look in his eyes. “Wait—what? You can’t—”

“Don’t try to stop me.” You took a deep breath, the anger dissipating just enough to feel the weight of the pain. “I’m not staying here. I’m not going to keep putting myself through this. I’m done.”

His face fell. You could see the regret in his eyes, but you didn’t care anymore. You couldn’t. Not after everything. Not after what you’d just found out.

You turned your back on him, heading for the bedroom to grab your things. You didn’t look back. You couldn’t. You could feel the tension in the air, but you refused to acknowledge it. Not anymore. You were done.

You grabbed your bag—your jacket, your wallet, your keys—and made your way toward the door. Every step felt heavy, like you were walking away from something you had invested so much of yourself into, and yet, there was a strange sense of relief settling in your chest. You were leaving behind a lie, a hollow version of something you had once wanted to be real. 

You were leaving him.

“Wait,” he called out, his voice strained. “Please, don’t go. We can fix this. We can talk—”

But you didn’t listen. You opened the door, stepping out into the hallway, and closed it behind you. The sound of it was final. You didn’t want to hear his excuses anymore. You didn’t want to be with someone who could betray you like this.

Still, weak thing that you were, you began to cry.

“I got a new phone. Same number,” he said, his voice raw. “You know who to call if you change your mind.”

As you walked down the hallway, your phone felt heavy in your pocket. You didn’t want to look at it. 

But then, your fingers moved of their own accord, slipping the phone out of your pocket.

And there it was: Dante’s old number.

The one you’d saved with the naive hope that he might have called. You hadn’t thought about it in a while. You hadn’t dared to reach out to him—hadn’t dared to even look at his name on your phone. But now, standing there in the hallway, your heart pounding, your chest tight from everything you’d just left behind, you thought about what he’d said to you.

I could treat you better. 

I’ve always been in love with you.

A cold shiver ran down your spine at the thought. You could still hear his voice in your head, still feel the weight of his words.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, uncertainty swirling inside you. You didn’t know why you were doing this. You didn’t know what you hoped to get from it, but you couldn’t shake the pull. You wanted—needed—someone who saw you. Someone who cared.

So, in a moment of weakness, you typed the words.

YOU: I need you.

You hit send before you could second-guess yourself. The words felt foreign, too raw, too vulnerable, but you couldn’t take them back now.

a/n: ok so whenn i say this is gonna be short... i MEAN IT THIS TIME LOL..... maybe. anyway! part two is almost done, so comment what you thought, let me know what you'd like to see, what you loved, etc! until next time, my loves x not sure why this got deleted? but ok

I obviously do not own csm or anything related to it. please do not reproduce, copy, or translate my works anywhere. dont fk w me im a bruja.

also: come find me on my wattpad if u wanna interact more!

taglist: @mitsuyeahhh , @sleepysnk , @enneadec , @noaabean , @em1e , @drakensdarling , @bertholdts--butt , @satanlovesusall666 , @mitsuwuyaa , @noctifule , @scaraphobia , @ask-the-insect-hashira , @lovingranchturkeyweasel , @bontensbabygirl , @slvdsjjk , @novacrystalli , @hanmastattoos , @kodzuksn , @hqtiny , @ohmaiscool15 , @redlittlequeen , @leivane , @goldeneagles-posts , @yeahblahlame , @no-oneelsebutnsu , @cookiesandcreammy , @cawwn , @the-haitani-baton , @littlelovebug98 , @armani78 , @mindurownbussines , @kokos-property , @violetmatcha , @hp-simp505 , @mrshayakawaa

wanna join the taglist? | pretty ; chapter index

[snow-flake-writes]

May I know if u still take on Edward Elric request?

Unfortunately none of my links are working in my blog and I am not taking requests anymore(sorry if I haven’t closed them yet!)

But I am making a new blog to move everything over to and can take requests then! Just stay posted here, I’ll make sure to let everyone know when my new blog is up!

[snow-flake-writes]

I believe all of my links are unfixable. Which means I’d have to remake every single post of my works to fix it. And I do not have the patience for that. UGHHH

[snow-flake-writes]

It looks like most of my links have stopped working, which is super weird. It’ll take me some time to fix it.

[snow-flake-writes]

Tmnt❤️🧡💜💙

[snow-flake-writes]

Fear not everyone, for I have changed my user. My old one was Snowflakeanimelover lol

[snow-flake-writes]

artist tips

don’t save as jpeg

[snow-flake-writes]

YAHHH SHES BACK LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!!!

Welcome back!! Congrats on becoming a licensed nurse!! That’s so awesome and you deserve it! Also, your writing is amazing, as usual!!

The Words We've Always Known

Tanjiro Kamado x reader

Summary: After a long mission, Tanjiro and the reader find themselves walking home together. There’s something unspoken between them—something that’s always been there, waiting to be said.

Warnings: None!

Note: Hi guys! I always apologize for my MIA moments. Two bits of good news: I am officially a licensed nurse! Also, I got engaged! Wedding planning has took up a LOT of my time. I'm coming back, I promise :)

The quiet hum of the night settled over the small village as you and Tanjiro walked side by side, your fingers brushing but never quite interlocking. The mission had ended successfully, and while exhaustion weighed on both of you, neither wanted the night to end just yet.

The streets were empty, the paper lanterns casting a golden glow over Tanjiro’s face. He looked peaceful, yet deep in thought, his usual bright eyes carrying a weight he hadn’t spoken about.

“Are you okay?” you asked softly, tilting your head to look at him.

Tanjiro blinked, startled out of his thoughts, and turned to you with a small, sheepish smile. “Yeah… I guess I just realized how much I cherish moments like this.”

You slowed your steps, watching him carefully. “Like what?”

“Being with you.”

Your heart did that familiar, rapid stutter in your chest—the one that always seemed to happen when Tanjiro spoke so earnestly. He never held back his feelings, always wore his heart on his sleeve, but tonight… tonight there was something different in his voice.

He suddenly stopped walking, and you turned to face him. The village lanterns flickered in his eyes, but it was something deeper, something only for you, that made your breath hitch.

“I’ve been thinking about this for a while,” he started, rubbing the back of his neck in that endearing way of his. “Every time we fight side by side, every time we laugh, every time you look at me with that determined look in your eyes—I realize more and more how much you mean to me.” He swallowed thickly, gathering his courage. “And I don’t want to wait anymore to say it.”

The air between you was still, save for the soft rustling of the wind.

“I love you, Y/N.”

The words sent warmth flooding through you, melting into your bones like the first rays of sunlight after a bitter winter. It was something you had known deep down, something unspoken between you both, but hearing it—hearing him say it—made it real in a way you hadn’t imagined.

A laugh, half-disbelieving, half-overwhelmed, bubbled from your lips. Tanjiro’s eyes widened slightly, as if worried you’d reject him, but you reached forward, taking his calloused hands in yours.

“Tanjiro,” you breathed, stepping closer. “I love you too.”

Relief washed over his features, and then pure, unfiltered joy. He let out a small laugh, squeezing your hands like he never wanted to let go. “Really?”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “Of course, really! Did you think I wouldn't?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I guess I just needed to hear it.”

With a grin, you leaned up, pressing a feather-light kiss to his cheek. His breath hitched, and when you pulled back, his face was glowing red.

“I’ll tell you as many times as you need, Tanjiro,” you murmured. “I love you.”

Tanjiro let out a breathy chuckle, resting his forehead against yours. “Then I’ll tell you just as much. I love you, Y/N. Always.”

The words, now spoken, lingered between you like an unbreakable promise. And as Tanjiro pulled you into a gentle, warm embrace, you knew—without a doubt—that you had always belonged to each other.

[snow-flake-writes]

touching grass or something

[snow-flake-writes]

Title: Change For The Better

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Relationship: Daryl Dixon x OC

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, child abuse, young Daryl and Merle, Flashbacks, loneliness, Katelyn’s kind of a creep, Daryl is a jerk

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Summary: The apocalypse was like a nightmare come true. No one had expected it to really come into reality, until the day the dead started walking around, feasting on human flesh. It was a sight no one could forget. And, frankly, it doesn’t seem to end.

It’s been two years since the virus took over the world, taking about half of the world's population along with it. Katelyn Davidson has been on her own practically the whole time. Due to past experiences, she is unable to bring herself into being in a survival group once more. However, that all seems to change when she runs into her childhood friend, Daryl Dixon.

Past trauma, memories, and conflict comes back to the surface between the two friends. Despite the world changing for the worse, maybe Katelyn and Daryl can change for the better.

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Note: so….i have never dealt with or met someone who has experienced abuse. I apologize if there is anything wrong related to that. No, there will not be any explicit abuse scenes…well, from her childhood anyway. Typical TWD violence will be in the story. I’m kind of just going off of things I’ve learned from movies, and might be looking things up here and there.

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Master list | …

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Chapter 1

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Katelyn stepped into the forest, the familiar crunch of leaves underfoot bringing her a sense of calm. At just ten years old, she often sought refuge among the tall trees, escaping the chaos at home. With each stride, the world's weight faded away, and the forest welcomed her like an old friend. She had wandered these trails before—sometimes as a retreat, to dream—and today, she was eager to discover the hidden wonders just beyond the next bend. This was her secret world, and adventure awaited her.

The nature around her was loud. The branches snapping under her feet, leaves crunching into pieces from her weight, birds chirping in the trees, and the branches groaning above her as the wind makes them dance. This was her peace. The home she had always wanted.

Katelyn always kept herself busy in the forest near her home. She was always by herself, making up games she could play, and running around the trees to entertain herself. It was calm and peaceful, and there was nothing to bother her.

As many times as she has been out here, she has never seen anyone else. Maybe a few animals here and there, such as squirrels or rabbits. Seeing the creatures was joyful for her. She enjoyed chasing them around, seeing if she could pet it or at least get a better look at it.

Today was a lucky day for her, she believes. While she hopped over logs with a big grin, her expression brightens when she catches sight of a white rabbit a few feet away from her. A breathy giggle leaves her lips as she hops down from the log she was standing on, trying to be as quiet as she could while approaching the small creature.

However, the rabbit perks up, noticing her coming close. In a panicked reaction, it quickly runs off, finding shelter to hide. Katelyn doesn’t let this get past her, though, and she chases right after it.

The trees are winding as she runs through them, jumping over roots and logs to not trip and avoiding branches that hang low. She hadn’t run far from the spot she noticed the rabbit. The creature was quick, but she managed to keep her eye on it, following it through the quiet forest.

As soon as she ducks a branch to follow it further, she suddenly stops. Her happy grin falls at the sight before her, a tall boy standing there. He had wild brown hair that stuck up in all sorts of directions, with cautious blue eyes staring back at her. Katelyn shifts from one foot to the other, completely forgetting about the white rabbit that most likely got away, and begins to fidget with her hands. She has never met this boy before. He’s a little taller than her, maybe a little older. His clothes consist of a brown and black flannel, unbuttoned to show a stained dark grey shirt underneath. His jeans were loose, dirty and unkempt.

She didn’t know what to do. She doesn’t talk to people much, especially ones around her age. At school, she often keeps to herself, and her classmates like to keep their distance with her. “….Hi…” she finally murmurs, trying to gather as much courage as she could to speak to the boy.

The boy, however, looks rather annoyed by her presence. She hadn’t noticed before, but he had a couple sticks and a bundle of wire in his hands. “Who the hell are you?” He grumbles, his glare full of curiosity and caution.

Katelyn instinctively blinks at the curse word, remembering how often her parents use them around her in a fit of rage. She didn’t visibly flinch, but it certainly made her uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, hanging her head. Is he mad at her? Did she do anything to make him feel that way?

A scoff leaves his lips as he takes a step back, half turning away to leave. “Go home. Ain’t nothin’ ‘round here for yah.”

She doesn’t say anything as she looks up, watching him walk away, deeper into the forest. His shabby shoes shuffled through the dead leaves, causing small sticks to snap under his weight in his path.

The one thing Katelyn knew, at this very moment, is that she didn’t want to go home. Not now, anyway. She still had time before her parents would even notice she’s gone. So, she takes it upon herself to follow the boy. She kept her distance, but she was too curious not to keep him in her sights. Why was he there, in the forest? Did he live nearby? She has never seen him in this area before, nor anyone, for that matter. What was he up to?

Katelyn seemed to have gotten away with following him for a little bit longer. He never looked back to see if she was there, assuming he doesn’t even know she’s following. Soon enough, the boy stops walking, putting one knee on the ground as he looks around the area. She watches as he grabs a sapling tree near him. He begins to pull on the tree, making it bend down to where he can tie some of the wire at the end.

She was perplexed by what he was doing. She has never seen anything like it, quite curious to what he was making. When he stands back up, some sort of contraption is made. The tree is bent downwards against its will, held in that place by a wire that was attached to two carved sticks in the ground. The wire soon ends in a large loop, resting on the ground.

Katelyn doesn’t notice he has a knife until he stuffs it in his back pocket. A pocket knife, Katelyn could guess. Just as she’s ready to follow him some more, The boy turns around, his eyes meeting hers. This time, his expression holds more irritation than annoyance. “What the hell are yah doin’, huh? I said go home!” He snaps, flicking his wrist at her to point somewhere behind her, a gesture for her to leave. “Quit followin’ me ‘round…” he then murmurs under his breath, turning back around to leave.

Before he can leave, though, they hear a set of heavy footsteps coming their way. “Alright, little brother,” a raspy voice with a heavy southern accent grabs their attention. Katelyn could see a figure approaching, a taller man in about the same kind of clothing as the boy. He’s skinny and looks to be in his late teens. “Got some snares up an’ runnin’?” He asks, stopping his tracks once he’s by the boy.

The boy doesn’t respond, simply looking up at his older brother, as if that was enough to get him to notice the girl following him. His brother doesn’t seem to notice. He looks around, seeing the snare that was set up, but his eyes soon move up to the small figure behind it. A girl.

“Now would you look at that,” he grins, looking down at his little brother as he pats him on the shoulder. “Found yerself a little girlfriend, huh?” He snickers.

The boy visibly grimaces at that, and shakes his head. “Shut up, Merle! Ran into her earlier, an’ she’s been followin’ me ‘round since.” He practically scowls at her when he looks her way.

“Ah, don’ get yer panties in a twist,” Merle chuckles, stepping around his brother to approach the girl. “You lost there, girl?”

Katelyn cautiously steps back as he approaches, a memory of her father stepping up to her like that, angry, flashes in her mind.

“Now, now,” Merle starts, noticing her rising fear. He slows his steps, eventually kneeling down to her height about two feet away. “I ain’t gonna hurt yah.” He sits there for a moment, seeing as she hasn’t run off yet. “You from ‘round here?”

Her green orbs study him, taking a moment to answer his question. She soon nods, a little too shy to speak.

Merle nods, satisfied that she answered. “Why don’t you run on home now, huh?” A friendly grin quirks up. “An’ keep what yah saw to yerself.”

She fidgets, her fingers playing with the end of her shirt. Once again, she nods, keeping his words to heart as she turns and runs off to where she came.

“She’s gonna tell someone,” Daryl says once the girl was out of their sight, giving his older brother a worried look.

Merle huffs as he pushes himself off of the ground, turning back to the boy. “She ain’t gonna tell no one,” he reassures, patting Daryl’s back a little more roughly then he intended as he walks by. “Now come on. Got a couple more snares to put up.”

The fact of meeting a new person was intriguing to Katelyn. Maybe it’s because she’s always alone, but either way, she couldn’t help but to follow the two males she met in the forest. The day after she met them, she had returned to the cover of trees to see if they were there. She ran all over, seeing if she could see anything that wasn’t just foliage and animals. When she did run into the younger boy again, this time, she was more cautious. She stayed a distance away, simply following him around as he undid all of the snares he and his brother put up.

Katelyn told herself that following him was just wrong. It didn’t look right, and it might even make them suspicious of her. However, she couldn’t bring herself to greet the boy or speak up. She was….scared. She has always had trouble making friends.

Her constant following went on for a few weeks. She would run to the same forest whenever she could to look for them, see what they were up to. And everyday, she always wondered if she’ll get to finally speak up to them.

However…she never could. Katelyn always got too scared, too nervous to make the move to make a friend. Over the few weeks, she had heard the brothers talk. She had always wondered why the older one told her to keep quiet about what they were doing, or that they were there. It’s because they don’t live in this area, and were illegally hunting on private property. The good thing to do was to go tell her parents, but….she knew her parents wouldn’t believe a word she says. Despite that, she was intrigued by them, and didn’t want them to go.

The sun beating down on the forest gave the dense forest life. Katelyn found the sun shining through the trees to be a beautiful sight. She’d often sit on a log, hold her rabbit stuffed animal, and watch the forest before her. She’d watch it move, come to life. The wind makes the trees and grass dance and the animals pass by on their journey of survival.

Today, however, Katelyn wasn’t admiring nature. Instead, she was following the younger brother from a distance, as usual. Everytime she came out here, she’d tell herself she’d finally go up to him, which she found out his name is Daryl, And talk to him. She wanted to be friends. She wanted to learn what he’s doing.

When Katelyn started following Daryl around the forest, she noticed he was alone again. His older brother was probably off doing his own routine or something. As she followed him, she noticed he’s a pretty quiet kid. He hardly ever spoke, unless spoken to. Although, sometimes, he’d speak out about his opinions to his brother when needed.

Before Katelyn could continue to scold herself for not making a move, Daryl suddenly runs off. His steps were hurried, and she practically jumped at his quick action. Why did he run? Did he see something scary? Did something spook him? The action must have been contagious, as Katelyn finds herself chasing right after him. She didn’t want to lose sight of him, scared that if there was something chasing them, she’d have him there to protect her…right?

Just as she rounds a tree, where she last saw Daryl disappear behind, her path is abruptly stopped. Katelyn hadn’t processed the impact her body received from whatever she ran into, and she yelps in pain when she falls back onto the dirty ground.

Katelyn lets out gasps of air from her overworked lungs, craning her head back to see what she ran into. To her surprise, it was the boy she has been following for the past few weeks.

Oh no, he saw her! What kind of excuse could she make?

She doesn’t get a chance to speak, though, when she notices Daryl’s harsh snarl. “I told yah to stop followin’ me!” He yells at her, teeth bared and shoulders stiff. “Yer such a creep! You think I didn’t notice?”

Katelyn’s breaths instinctively quicken, watching as he steps closer, his hand moving around as he points at her angrily. She could feel her cheeks burn in embarrassment, and her eyes beginning to sting as tears unwillingly well up.

“Yah got nothin’ better to do? Go to yer parents! Play with them, huh? You got friends, don’tcha?” He continues, each word being spat out with such irritation and force, she could feel the spit sprinkle on her skin. “Quit botherin’ me! It ain’t any of yer business what we do here—“ Daryl’s rant comes to a stop before he could finish, suddenly noticing what the girl before her was doing. He hadn’t noticed as he was trying to scare her off, but now, he does. Her body shook, trembled, as she had her knees up to her chest and her arms covering her head.

“P-Please don’t hurt me,” she hiccups, sobbing in fear.

Daryl didn’t have to ask why the hell she was so freaked out. He knows this. He knows, just by looking at her, what this meant.

She’s been abused.

He now realizes that his harsh words and threatening movements must have been a trigger to her trauma, and she freaked out, thinking he’ll hurt her. That thought alone makes his hands clench into tight fists, feeling his nails dig into his skin.

Daryl knows exactly what she’s been through. And although he won’t say it out loud, seeing her so scared of him makes him feel…guilty. “I’m not…” He starts awkwardly, now more calm. He reminds himself to take a step back, give her space. “I’m not gonna hurt you…” he mutters. He had no idea how to comfort someone like her, how to comfort anyone in general.

When she doesn’t respond, still too in her head as she cries into her knees, Daryl huffs. He wasn’t any good at this. He knows his brother isn’t either. Daryl eventually lets out a sigh, hesitating before he moves. He cautiously steps up to her, slowly lowering himself to sit beside her. He wasn’t touching her, but he figured that sitting there, beside her, would be enough to show he wasn’t a threat.

He wasn’t sure how long it took, but her cries had slowly quietened into soft sniffles. She slowly lifts up her head, her eyes puffy and red, nose runny. Daryl quickly looks away, not wanting her to catch him staring.

“You’re…not going to hurt me…?” She finally speaks, her words soft and fragile.

Daryl furrows his brows, a bit offended she’d think he would. “Nah,” he shakes his head, looking down at the ground he's sitting on. “‘Course not.”

The silence between them is stifling, almost suffocating. He hates awkward situations. The only person he’s actually comfortable with is his brother. He has no other friends. “I didn’t mean to scare yah…” Daryl says. He wasn’t necessarily apologizing, but it was good enough.

Katelyn sniffles loudly, rubbing her nose before she speaks. “I’m sorry…”

“For what?”

“For…um…” she hides her face in her arms that rested on her knees, too embarrassed to look at him. “For following you…?”

He snorts, the corner of his lips quirking up into a tiny smile of amusement. “Yeah? Why were yah doin’ it anyway?”

“I just…I was curious…”

“Curious about what?” He was starting to get a little irritated. The girl was slow, quiet, and beat around the bush.

“I don’t know,” she replies instantly in defense. “I’ve never had friends, okay? I…I wanted to ask if we could be friends…”

That was enough to make him officially look at her, giving her a raised brow in question. Be friends? Why in the world would she want to be friends with him? He’s anything but a normal kid, to say the least. Obviously she’s a little younger than him, but still…he doesn’t get it. What does she see in him?

“Friends?” He echoes incredulously. “We’re strangers. Yah know nothin’ ’bout me.” The only response she gives him is a simple shrug of her shoulders, shutting down on him. He stares at her for a moment, studying her now stoic expression.

Although the thought of being friends with her repulsed him, he felt that he couldn’t just leave her like this. She’s going through the same thing as him. He has his brother, who is hardly there half of the time. He doesn’t know who she has, but…clearly she would’ve been with them if she did have someone, instead of being out here in the forest all of the time by herself.

Daryl grunts as he pushes himself off of the ground, sticks and leaves sticking to his jeans, but he didn’t bother to brush them off. “Come on,” he huffs, walking in a certain direction.

Katelyn perks up, “Where are we going?” She asks, curious. To her dismay, he doesn’t respond, continuing to walk further in the forest. She scrambles off of the ground, running to catch up to him.

For once in a long time, she’s smiling. Because, no matter how hard it is to read him, she feels that he has accepted her.

[snow-flake-writes]

꒰ ✎┊If there are any links that do not work, please let me know! ꒱

✦.˖ My Own ˖.✦

𓆩♡𓆪 Change For The Better

↳ Chapter 1,

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[snow-flake-writes]

just something silly about jayce growing a mustache

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more High Hawk Season fanart because i think about it a lot

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Author’s Note: so uh…this is an original story, from me of course :D it’s based off of a prompt I found on Pinterest. Feel free to take a read and give me some feedback! There’s really no intention of continuing it, unless people really want it lol. It’s a short story, most like a one-shot. I won’t say much, but it’s full of mystery and some creepy vibes. Enjoy!

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL OR RE-POST ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. Thanks.

Prompt: You wake up one morning and check your phone. You have one text saying “It’s not real. None of it. Trust no one. Escape.” You dismiss it and leave your room to find your family lined up facing you, each with a slight frown. “You didn’t see anything strange this morning, did you?” Asks your mom.

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All But A Dream

She remembers it vividly. People in her home, smiling and being friendly. Her family. Her parents telling her dinner is ready, and her siblings eager to explain their day as everyone sat around the table. It was normal. It was fun and familiar. But…why couldn’t she see their faces?

Sophia’s body begins its wake, all of her senses slowly coming back to her as she peels her heavy eyelids open. Her bedroom was bright, covered in the morning glow of the sun through the open window. A dream. That’s all it was. Sophia usually can’t remember her dreams when she wakes up. Sometimes she does, and this one in particular she certainly does. It was weird, however. Everyone in her dream were so familiar and so comfortable, yet she couldn’t see their faces. Just blank canvases, ready to be painted.

With brows furrowed in confusion, Sophia sits up in her bed. Her gaze roams around her room, nothing in particular to look at as she thinks about her dream. It didn’t make sense, yet it did at the same time.

She’s read about this before, if she recalls. The internet explaining certain dreams people can have. Such as the fact every stranger you see in your dream is actually someone you have met before. Or, that feeling of falling in your dream, only for your body to jolt back awake, just so it can make sure your brain is working correctly to keep you alive. She’s never read anything about blank faces in dreams, though. Maybe she’ll look it up later.

Sophia jumps back to reality when she hears a loud knock on her door, almost sounding like an impatient bang. “Hey! Wake up, Soph!” The voice says on the other side, and she realizes it’s her sister, Jessica. “If you need the bathroom, use it already. I need to take a shower.”

“Okay! I’ll be there in a minute!” she calls back, letting out an irritated groan from the obscene knock on her door.

Sophia pushes the blankets off of her body, bringing her legs over to hang off the side of her bed. The first thing she does when waking up is to check her phone, making sure none of her friends have messaged her. Unplugging her phone from the charger, she picks up the device that laid on her bedside table, watching as the screen lights up in acknowledgement. She scrolls on the lock screen, curious to see what notifications she had received throughout the night. One, in particular, caught her attention. An unknown number in bold letters on her screen, that has been sent barely a minute ago.

The roll of her eyes was expected. Sophia receives spam messages or calls almost daily. Something she has asked her mom multiple times to stop the annoying interruption of her day. And as much as they have tried, it seems that everyone with a device gets them. With a sigh, she logs into her phone and heads straight to her message app, ready to delete the unknown number and report it. However, just as she’s about to do that very task, the words written under the number are certainly…not normal.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

“IT’S NOT REAL. NONE OF IT. TRUST NO ONE. ESCAPE.”

A chill runs down her spine as she reads the creepy message. Was this some kind of joke? A prank her friends decided to pull on her? They’ve never done something like this to freak her out, and it’s not even close to Halloween.

“Sophia, come on!” A whine comes from the other side of her door, practically startling her.

She lets out a breath to calm her racing heart, turning her gaze to her closed door. “I got it! I’m coming!” She calls, shutting her phone off and setting it back on her bedside table, before leaving her bedroom to the main floor of the house.

The smell of bacon wafts in the air instantly, bringing a smile to Sophia’s face. It was a good morning, she could tell, just by the fact that her mom is making them breakfast. However, just as she steps into the living room to see what everyone was up to, she pauses.

There, in the middle of the room, stood her family. All of them in a perfect line, facing her. Sophia’s smile falls at the unnerving sight, confusion quickly replacing it. Her parents, her little brother, and her sister all held a small frown, standing completely straight and calm. Like robots.

“You didn’t see anything strange this morning, did you?” Her mom then asks, a hint of sternnes in her tone.

Sophia hesitates. What did she mean by that? Not once has she ever heard or seen her family act this way. Was she in another dream? “U-Um…” a mere sound leaves her lips. Her mind spiraling on what to say. And for some reason, she felt that mentioning the text message was not a good idea. “No…? Is there…something wrong?” If theres one thing Sophia is good at, it’s lying. She never thought that being in a drama club in her school would come in handy.

Her whole family seems to relax, letting out breaths of air as if they were relieved. “Oh, good. We were just worried, honey,” her mom says, pressing her hand to her chest as if to calm her racing heart. “Jess said you were in there for a while, and we didn’t know what to think.”

A lie, she could tell. Sophia hasn’t read many books, but this whole situation just didn’t feel right. The unnerving question her mom asked earlier didn’t really make sense to what she’s saying now. It’s as if…they knew Sophia had received that creepy message earlier.

Shaking those thoughts out of her head, to come back to reality, Sophia turns and heads back to her bedroom. She closes the door behind her, grabbing her phone faster then she can think. That creepy message from the unknown number was a spam, she originally thought. But now…now she isn’t so sure.

Sophia’s thumbs trembled as she returned to her messages app, looking for that unknown number to respond to it. To ask questions, understand what was going on. However, as soon as she clicks into the app…the unknown number is gone. She doesn’t see it anywhere, no matter how many times she scrolls to the very bottom of the list, and checks through the options on the side.

This has to be a prank.

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The bell rang for the tenth time that day. It was an exaggeration, but it sure felt like it. Sophia feels that, even when she graduates high school, she’ll hear the school bell for the rest of her life. Sometimes, she wonders if the other students in her school felt that way, but its not something she’d bother to ask.

Sophia steps into the busy cafeteria, smelling the different aroma’s of the foods the cafeteria is providing, or the the lunches the kids bring themselves. Her gaze roams over the large room, eventually finding the certain people she was looking for.

“Hey,” Sam nods at Sophia in a casual greeting, grabbing some napkins from a nearby food stand to add to his tray of food. “‘Bout time you made it.”

The tease was light, gentle, and familiar. He often thinks he’s funny, and Sophia tends to not burst his bubble. However, she does roll her eyes in response. “My class is on the other side of the school,” she complains, which is a fact her friends already know about.

“Well, you’re lucky I grabbed an extra cupcake for yah,” Cassy grins, who was standing beside Sam the entire time with her own tray of food.

Sophia’s expression brightens at that, and she takes the cupcake from her trey far quicker then she intended. “I didn’t know they were doing cupcakes today!” She beams. “You’re the best, Cassy.”

Cassy takes the praise to heart, as always, and flips her hair over her shoulder dramatically. “Always, girl.”

Sam, on the other hand, shakes his head. “You didn’t watch the morning announcements?”

“She never does, Sam. She’s always on her phone,” Cassy retorts.

Sophia is quick to pout, following her friends to an empty table nearby. “I do, too! Sometimes…”

Sophia and her friends soon fall into a comfortable conversation between eachother, full of jokes, laughter, and familiarity. The buzz of students around them seems to zone out, as if they were in their own little world. Sophia loved this part of her life. Talking to her friends, enjoying time as if they had no worries, unless homework deadlines are brought up.

In the midst of their conversation, Sophia feels her phone vibrate, indicating a notification. Curious, she grabs her phone from the table top and looks it over, seemingly zoning out her friends for a moment.

Another uncomfortable chill runs down her spine at what she sees, her gaze quickly glancing to her friends to see if they noticed, before turning back to her phone. The unknown number was back.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

“THE TREE ON THE LEFT.”

The tree on the left? What in the world could that even mean? Sophia couldn’t help but to bring her blue irises up to roam over the room. She looks around, confused and unnerved by everything that’s been going on today. Her gaze eventually lands on the large windows in the cafiteria, the school back yard on the other side.

A few students were sprawled out on the grass, either on the ground or on tables to eat their lunches. Sophia’s brows furrow in even more confusion, not really getting what the message was telling her. Then, she sees it. In the distance, there was one lone tree on the left of the property. No one was really that far from the school. In fact, she’s never seen anyone go back that way…

“Hey, are you listening, Soph?”

Sophia whips her head to face her friends so fast, she felt dizzy. She felt like she was caught doing something she shouldn’t have, instinctively turning her phone to where they couldn’t see the screen. “Huh?”

Cassy raises a brow, curious and rather annoyed her friend hasn’t been listening to her yap. “Were you even listening?”

“Oh…uh, sorry,” Sophia gives her friends an apologetic smile, knowing she couldn’t really lie that she was listening. They’ve already caught her, so why try?

“Geez. Got a boyfriend or something? That who you’re texting?” Sam then asks, stuffing a cold fry into his mouth.

Sophia grimaces at the thought, never particularly interested in being in a relationship, unlike Cassy. “What? No.”

“Then whats so interesting on your phone?” Cassy asks, leaning over slowly to peak at her screen.

“Nothing,” Sophia responds rather too quickly as she keeps her friends from seeing the screen. “Sorry, it’s just…my mom texted me, is all.”

“Oh.”

“Oh, makes sense.”

They both shrug, seemingly going back to their conversation. Sophia lets out a sigh she didn’t realize she was holding, her gaze falling on her phone screen once more. Lunch was almost over, so, she decided to make this quick.

SOPHIA

“WHO ARE YOU? YOU’RE FREAKING ME OUT.”

UNKNOWN NUMBER

“GO TO THE TREE.”

The unknown number responded so fast, Sophia could barely process her own message. She blinks, furrowing her brows at the screen. This was starting to get frustrating, to say the least. An unknown number is really starting to creep her out. Just as she looks back out the windows, to the lone tree in the distance, the bell for lunch to be over echoes in the room.

Sophia bites her lip in worry, the nerves prickling her skin the longer she thinks about this. Half of her brain is giving her alarm bells, telling her to ignore the message and go back to her normal life. The oither half is telling her to do as the unknown number says. To seek truth and meaning behind them. And what do most people do in horror movies? Make the wrong decision.

“I’ll see you guys later.” Sophia tells her friends, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over her shoulders, rushing to get out of her seat. The crowd of students was starting to get suffocating as they all clean up and head to class.

“What? Oh, uh…sure,” Cassy gives her friend a curious yet worrying expression, watching as Sophia disappears into the sea of students.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

Once again, no matter how many times she checks her messages, the unknown number is gone. It disappeared from her inventory, and she just doesn’t understand why. How is it even doing that, when she’s not the one deleting it?

The walk to the tree only took a couple minutes, and she couldn’t help but to constantly look over her shoulder. She felt like she was doing something terrible. As of she’d get arrested for it if she got caught. Obviously, she’s overthinking the possibilities, but she is skipping class. No, she’ll just be late. She’s just going to check this tree out, then head back.

The thoughts running through her mind slowly dissipate the closer she got to the tree. Well, for some reason, it looks as if the tree was getting farther and farther away. Sophia freezes in her tracks, tilting her head to the side a little as she stares at the tree. Is it just her, or is the distance between her and the tree not changing at all?

UNKNOWN NUMBER

“KEEP GOING.”

The vibration from her phone startles her, a gasp escaping her lips. She lets out a relieved sigh when she realizes its just her phone, and checks the message. A frown falls on her face as she reads the demand, ultimately getting irritated with this unknown number.

This situation was only confusing her more and more, as time passes. Maybe the unmoving distance between her and the tree is just her mind playing tricks on her. Maybe the tree is genuinely farther then she thought? If she kept going, she might end up missing the rest of the school day, and her parents would be pissed at her for skipping classes.

Honestly, she should have ignored the messages from the start. What if she gets in trouble? Or, maybe this person who’s messaging her is trying to kidnap her? Panic rises in her system with that last question, and she looks over her surroundings in worry. Shit, is this what this is? Is she going to get kidnapped?

The longer she stands there, though, the more she realizes she’s simply just going crazy. And instead of doing the right thing, which is turning around and heading back to her school, she angrily taps her thumbs against the digital keyboard on her phone.

SOPHIA

“I CAN’T, THE TREE ISN’T GETTING ANY CLOSER.”

SOPHIA

“I DON’T GET IT. WHATS HAPPENING?”

With no response, even after waiting a little while longer, she lets out a groan and begins to stomp forward. “I swear. If this is just a big waste of my time…” her words trail off, a warning to whoever could somehow hear her.

It only took a few steps before she involuntarily hits something. Sophia yelps in pain as her face slams into something hard, and she falls back. She’s quick to bring her hand up and rub her sore nose, tears welling up in her eyes as discomfort erupts in her face. “What the hell was that?!” She barks out in irritation.

However, when she looks up, the tree is no longer so far away. In fact, its right in front of her. Now she was way more confused then earlier, and the more she looks at the tree, the more she notices something else. The tree is flat. The tree, the sky…it was hard to tell, but she can see it. The way it ends at the ground, an outline of…a wall?

Sophia scrambles to get on her feet, her hand hesitantly touching the ‘tree’. But her hand gets pressed up against something solid, flat…not a tree. It looked like a painted wall, as if the sky and tree, and whatever else thats in the distance, is fake. It was slightly warm to the touch. A texture of noise on the wall. It looked a lot like a computer or a TV. A screen?

UNKNOWN NUMBER

“OPEN THE DOOR. BE QUICK.”

“A door? What door–” her words cut short when her eyes land on a dark line on the wall. She follows it, watching it form into a rectangle. Her blue orbs follow the line to the top, and then back down to the bottom. There, she sees a handle.

It takes her a moment to really process what the hell was going on, but she involuntarily reaches out, grabbing the handle and pushing it down. A click sounds, and the wall moves. A door opening towards her as she pulls on it.

Light floods into the darkness behind the door, and she’s froze in shock. What’s behind the door is a hallway, with concrete floors and heavy metal walls. Tubes, pipes, and other electrical things align the walls. She couldn’t see where it lead off to, since it eventually ends at a corner, from what she can tell.

Sophia couldn’t believe it. This wall, from what she has always believed to be trees, mountains, and land all these years…it’s all fake? And, somehow, this unknown number knows about it. Are they in this place with her? Or somewhere else? What is this place? Was anything real? Is…she real?

Once again, Sophia can’t find the words for whats going on. She can’t even think on what to do. Go back. Ask her parents about this. Ask anyone about this. Or…

Go inside, and never look back.

And that’s exactly what she does, the door shutting behind her as she enters the dark hallway.

TO BE CONTINUED…?

[snow-flake-writes]

ARTISTS, WRITERS, CREATORS IN GENERAL:

IT DOES NOT HAVE TO BE PERFECT. IT JUST HAS TO BE

[snow-flake-writes]

Okay…PRETTY?? Uh, hell yeah.

there he is. the updated suncatcher ref