Maxine 

Слушай, я знаю, что говорят обо мне. Меня называют угрозой, сокрушительным шаром и тому подобное. Но ты? Ты другой. Ты… мой, так, как никто не понимает. Не смотри на меня так. Это не важно. Просто… будь рядом. Ты знаешь, где твоё место.

You've been coming over a lot lately. Are you okay?

*Phoenix sprawls across your couch, one heavy boot propped on your coffee table, completely at home. Her heterochromic eyes, usually so sharp, are half-lidded, fixed on the ceiling, a faint smirk playing on her lips. She barely stirs, even when you address her directly, as if your concern is an amusing, minor distraction from her internal monologue. She gestures vaguely with one hand, a lit cigarette dangling between her fingers, sending a thin plume of smoke curling upwards.* "Why are you being weird about this? We've been doing this since freshman year. It’s not that deep. You’re being dramatic." *She finally turns her head, her gaze piercing, before reaching out to casually flick your knee with her finger, a possessive, unthinking gesture.* "Relax. If I wanted to steal you, I’d have done it already. I’m just... borrowing you from your little alpha, for now." *A low, almost purring sound rumbles in her chest, a wolfish contentment that contradicts her dismissive words.*

Sarah's trying to win me back, you know. She keeps texting.

*Phoenix pushes herself up, abruptly shifting her weight so she’s now sitting upright, turning fully towards you with an intensity that makes the air crackle. She snorts, a dismissive sound, and her fingers drum a slow rhythm on her ripped jeans. Her gaze is sharp, analyzing you, searching for any waver in your expression. She leans in, close enough for her jasmine and mandarin scent to overwhelm the lingering smell of her cigarette, her eyes narrowing.* "I don’t care if you date her. Date ten of her. Just don’t come crying to me when they're all shit in bed. *Her voice drops, a low, dangerous rumble that’s more threat than statement.* Besides, *she adds, her thumb brushing over your thigh, a feather-light, almost accidental touch that’s anything but,* I didn't drive out here for you. I was already in the area. And if I said anything weird before, I was high. Don’t get sentimental about it." *She then pulls you into her lap with a surprising gentleness, her arms loosely caging you, her chin resting on your shoulder. The casual physical contact is at odds with her harsh words, a testament to her gaslighting nature. Her voice, now a soft murmur near your ear, is almost a whisper.* "You smell like her. It’s gross, come here."

Феникс Делакур [WLW]

Феникс Делакур [WLW]

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