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aviawrites · 3 months ago

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wait for me (sinners)

!s: smoke x female!oc

summary: Rue has worked for years to forget Elijah Moore and what he left her with before he ran to Chicago. But when she sees his ambitious twin in the square, all of their history comes rushing back. (3.1k)

a/n: it has been so long, but Sinners is truly a movie in its own category. i also need to preface that i am black for this story. anyway, as always, ur interaction is greatly appreciated, ily<3

warnings: swearing, n word use (by smoke and stack), mentions of child loss, abortion, sex, racism

in this story, our characters name is: Rue

Elijah Moore and I never had a complicated relationship. Hell, Smoke might even say we had none at all. But for years after he ravaged me in that car outside of the bar, I thought about him every night. We were together, I’d say — Boyfriend and girlfriend for as long as his grief consumed him. But the moment Annie found out, Smoke disappeared from my arms and was at her feet, begging for forgiveness. I don’t blame her, not in the slightest — I can only imagine that those were some of their darkest times.

Elias, on the other hand, him and I had a complicated relationship. When I found out that Smoke left a piece of himself in me, there was no way I could tell him, not after what he’d just been through. So I went to the closest thing to him, Stack. And although what we had is never to be considered romantic, there was something there — Familial, even. He knew it, Mary knew it, and for that very reason I was never allowed within an 100 foot radius of the twins until the day they left, not if I wanted to feel welcome.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

📍 Train Station || 12:00pm

The feelings from all those years ago bubble up inside me and form a twist in my gut when I see that all-too-recognizable burgundy top hat. My feet move before my mind can stop them, and in no time I’m approaching my old friend.

Stack flashes a gold toothed smile. “I’ll be damned.”

I return the nicety, pulling him in for a warm hug.

“Word spreads fast,” I nod. “Y’all still got the same appeal you had all them years ago.”

“You don’t have to tell me that, darling. I know it.” His cocky smile takes me back, the only thing differentiating him from his brother being his energy.

“Do I even want to know why you came back?”

“You heard it as good as I did." He gestures toward little Preacher Boy and the old man. “We’re opening a Juke Joint tonight, right there down at the old mill.”

“Y’all never could stay still. Chicago wasn’t change enough for you?”

He shrugs. “Figured we should deal with a devil we know. Besides, we miss the tricking.”

“Mmm,” I hum. “Well if Miss Pearline back there is singing, I might just pay this Joint a visit.”

Stack looks past me and at the polka dottted woman walking away from Preacher Boy.

“Shit, if that’s what it takes for you to come, it’s done.”

Always so charming.

He ogles me, his eyes scanning up and down my exposed arms.

“What’s this?” Stack rubs his fingers over the dark ink lining my skin — Art ranging from numbers to symbols to simple symmetric images.

“You know I’m an artist, boy.” I pull my arm back, scoffing. “Figured I’d get a few permanent ones to remember a few things.”

“And you talking about we couldn’t stay still. I’ll be visiting to get a look at those paintings of yours one of these days.” Stack’s grin begins to fade as he looks over my shoulder.

Preacher Boy walks up and nears his cousin. “This white woman’s been staring at you—“

“Yea, I see her…”

He shoos Sammie away and tries to walk me off, but I’m already well aware of what shark is in the water — I can hear her heels clicking behind me.

“Now is this Smoke? Or is that Stack?”

I turn my head. “Hi, Mary.”

No response. Only a rough shoulder check as she stands in front of me and nears Stack.

He looks over her head and at me. “I’ll holler at you, Rue—“

Mary interrupts. “No, you’re not talking to fucking Rue right now. You’re talking to me.”

Stack huffs, looking back down at the woman dressed in pink. I give him a ‘have fun dealing with that’ look before turning and catching my train.

Of all the women wrapped around the twins’ fingers, Mary has got to be the most spiteful of them all. For no good reason, though. Contrary to her belief, I never once slept with Stack, never even thought of it. But as far as she knows, I kissed him all the way to where the sun don’t shine, and then some.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

📍 Juke Joint || 10:00pm

This old mill has lit up under the construction of the twins. People hoot and holler as Pearline ignites the stage, turning into the musical beast I knew she would the minute she started singing. Having no dance partner, I simply clap along, moving my body to the beat alone. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the same damn burgundy hat that I saw only hours ago.

I can feel Annie’s eyes burning holes into my skull as I sit at the bar, Stack walking up to me.

“Now who the hell did y’all rob to afford this place? Ain’t this being sold from the Klan?” I shout across the bar, my voice being drowned out by Pearline’s Pale, Pale Moon.

Stack shakes his head. “Not Klan, just crackers. You know we got money, girl. Don’t do that.”

“Yea, well blood money don’t count. So how much you got now?”

He pulls his pockets inside out, amusing me.

I chuckle, placing my money on the bar. “Y’all have blackberry bourbon smash?”

“I don’t know if I can do that for you…”

His fake frown quickly turns into a grin as he takes the money, relaying my order to Grace.

“Fancy motherfuckers,” I mumble.

“What was that?” Stack eggs me on.

My eyes scan the bar, but all I can focus on is that hateful scowl on Annie’s face.

“I said all these women hate me.”

Stack scoffs. “Only those particular women.”

That’s more than enough for me I think.

He leans in, his lips grazing my ear.

“You know none of these girls got shit on you, Rue. They ain’t half as strong either.”

A small smile grows on my face, matching Stacks. He goes to hand me back my cash, but I slide it back to him.

“I don’t need it,” I front.

“Yea? Well me neither. So you gon’ fucking take it.”

I roll my eyes, pocketing the change and standing with my drink. I’ve barely made it away from the bar when cigarette smoke cascades from over my head. Instinctively looking up, I finally see him.

Smoke stares down at me from the balcony with that hard expression he always wears. It’s so strange, seeing that rock solid glare. When we first met in a dingy bar on the side of a dirt Mississippi road, he hung his head low and seemed to always have glossy eyes. I didn’t believe him when he told me he was Smoke. When he fucked me that night, and many a nights after that, it was slowly — With passion, and often tears followed the act. But now his eyes are as dry as a dessert and they pierce a hole through mine.

He takes another blow of his cigarette before turning his back to me, retreating into a room. I have no choice but to follow him, even if it’s just to get yelled at to go away as he did the last time we met. I take my time, downing my glass of bourbon as I walk up the stairs. I can’t pinpoint exactly why, but my heart thumps in my chest just before I open the door, all of the thoughts of what we could’ve had rushing back to my mind like they did eight years ago.

I enter the dimly lit room, closing the door behind me and leaning on it.

“Hi, Smoke,” I say lowly, unable to read his face.

“Why you here, Rue?” he grumbles, a roughness to his voice. “I’m already stressed the fuck out with this opening shit. Stack ain’t helping.”

“I don’t want no trouble. Just came for the music.”

“You being here is plenty trouble enough.” He scans my body the same as his brother, blowing his cigarette again. “You can’t find music no place else?”

“You want me to leave?” I ask honestly.

“Yea, I want you to leave. You think those women down there want you to leave too or are we acting stupid tonight?”

“They never even tried to like me, Smoke,” I sigh, my legs bringing me closer to him. I place my hand on his bicep, like I did all those years ago. “They got no idea what we had.”

He puts his hand on mine, pulling it off. “That was a moment of weakness, Rue. Whatever you think we had is gone now."

I blink to avoid tears from forming. My first ever love, my first ever relationship being chalked up to a moment of weakness chips away at my heart. If it’s what he has to tell himself to dig out of the deep guilt he feels, so be it. But he won’t sit in front of me and act like what we had wasn’t real — Like it isn’t still there.

“So you're saying if the Juke was going good and Annie wasn't watching you like a hawk that you wouldn't entertain me? Wouldn’t consider us?"

Smoke shakes his head. “No, I really wouldn’t.” His brows furrow as he looks at me, seeming to remember a detail that he had previously forgotten. “And your cheating ass can take your business elsewhere.”

I can’t act surprised, not anymore. We allowed him to believe my infidelity as truth, Stack and I. Letting him think I went after his brother was easier than letting him know what Stack was really helping me do…At least it was in the moment. But as he stands in front of me now, I want nothing more than to ease his pain, calm his anger, and tell him the truth — Even if solely to stop him from loathing me so greatly.

“I didn’t cheat on you, Smoke.”

“Bullshit,” he stops me.

“No, listen.” I step toward him. “I respected what you and Annie had, Smoke. I really did. And I understood that the loss of your baby caused you to make decisions that you might regret, even if that decision was being with me. So when you told me to leave you alone, I did. But I didn’t know if that still stood when I found out that we had a baby…”

The words feel odd coming out of my mouth. I tried so hard at the time to disconnect myself from it, calling the baby a thing inside my stomach rather than what it was: Mine and Smoke’s child.

His brows have smoothened out now and he’s actively listening, his eyes flashing from my face to my stomach and back to my face.

I continue. “I didn’t visit Stack all those nights to get at him. Smoke, I never wanted anybody but you. But God put it on my heart to give you and Annie peace, so we went at it alone. No one knew. He paid a few women to make the drink without telling them who it was for. It only took a few hours for the bleeding to start…”

My voice trails out. I’m unable to finish as flashbacks to that night replay in my head. My mama held me tighter that night than she ever had before…I hated Smoke that night more than I ever had before.

Tears line his eyes now.

He chokes on his words, his voice now much lower. “Don’t you lie to me, Rue…”

“I wouldn’t lie, baby,” I assure him.

I hold my arm out for him, revealing the tiny footprint tattooed on my wrist, a small E underneath it.

“We couldn’t be sure, but I had a feeling it was a boy. Ezra, I was thinking. Stack hated the name but…” I shrug.

Smoke runs his thumb over the tattoo, holding my hand in his. He attempts to discreetly wipe his tears, but I see them all the same. Looking up at him, his face can only be compared to the face he made when we spoke about his late baby, which wasn’t often at all. A mix of anger, sorrow, and fear.

Perhaps he’s considering what could have been, just like I used to — Just like I still do. I used to curse God for putting me in such a position. A second chance for Smoke to be a father, but at the worst of times. I’d have dreams of talking to a clone of myself, telling her that she owed it to Smoke to tell him about the baby. It’s only now that I really see the consequences of my decision.

Smoke looks at me, and then at the door. It’s as if a switch has flipped and he’s forced all of those emotions to turn into one…anger. He reaches for the door, but I lean against it.

“Smoke, it’s already done,” I tell him, holding my hand against his chest. “I just couldn’t take you hating me no more.”

“Move out the way, Rue,” he says, not hearing a word I say.

“I don’t want to cause a scene. Please.”

“You think I give a fuck about causing a scene? Move out of the fucking way.”

“Smoke, it hurts enough as it is—“

“You’ve got one more time, woman.”

“There’s nothing we can do now!”

He wraps a hand around my arm, yanking me just enough to pull me away from the door and swinging it open. I run out behind him, but he’s already looking down the overlook.

“STACK!” he shouts down, the name echoing through the building.

Everybody looks up, including Mary and Annie. Stack stares up at us, blowing smoke through his nose, before turning back to the crowd. He tells them to resume, nudging Sammie to keep playing. After a moment of silence and a few stray whispers, the music begins again and Pearline starts her singing. Mary holds Stack close, asking him not to go — But as always, the twins do what they want when they want. As Stack rounds the corner, I retreat back into the room, unprepared for what reaction he might have.

He’s barely entered before Smoke pins him against the wall, his forearm over Stack’s chest.

“The fuck?”

“Is it true?” Smoke demands, maintaning his cig in his pinning hand.

I close the door, shouting over the music. “Smoke, stop!”

He ignores me, continuing to press his brother. “Un-uh, I asked you a question, nigga. Did you know she had my baby?”

Stack’s eyes shoot from Smoke to me. I can only nod, giving him permission to tell the full truth as I just did. Stack relaxes, putting his hands up.

“I only did it to protect you, mane.”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“You gon’ let me go so I can explain?”

Smoke lingers before reluctantly letting his brother go with a shove. He puts a hand in his pocket, staring Stack down.

He gestures his cig at his brother. “Talk.”

Stack smoothens his suit, lighting one of his own. “You know I don’t like that shit, Smoke—”

“Talk.”

He sighs, putting on a smile once more as he tries to explain calmly.

“When y’all two broke shit off we didn't know we were even going to Chicago, Smoke. Shit, I still thought you and Annie were gonna get married and buy you a house. Rue said you told her to stay away to make that happen, so I helped her stay away. Now we both know she’d never forgive you if you had a baby with another woman.”

“But my baby is none of your fucking business.”

“I was trying to give you a life, nigga,” Stack urges. “Annie is where that life was at. Fuck I look like throwing Rue back at you when you didn’t want her?”

“My baby, Stack.”

Guilt boils inside of me. I never allowed myself to entertain the idea of keeping the baby. There was no way I’d bring him into this world without a father, and Smoke had Annie, so I thought I had no choice. But seeing him blink back his tears now makes me second guess every moment that the baby was inside of me.

Stack thinks carefully about his next words, his smile having faded as he sees how serious his brother is taking this.

“I’m sorry, man,” he shrugs, his tone softer now. “I did what I thought was safest for all y'all, you hear me?”

Smoke is about to speak when a hard knock pounds the door.

“Stack?” Mary’s familiar voice rings out from the other side.

“Now I gotta get back to the Joint.”

I hold my head low. “Bye, Stack.”

He heads toward the door, but not before turning to his brother one more time.

“We good?”

Smoke looks from me to Stack, giving him a small nod.

“Get out of here ‘fore I say no.”

Stack only smiles, swinging the door open. I stand beside him, greeting Mary.

“Oh my— Not this trifling bitch again, Stack.” She rolls her eyes.

“Come on. Lay off, Mary.”

“I think you owe her a goddamn apology,” Smoke intervenes, standing behind me.

I mumble, “it’s fine, Smoke.”

Mary scoffs. “For the fuck what?”

“For how you been treating her all these years.”

“How I’ve been treating her? You’re the one who fucked her for a month before running back to Annie.”

“You best watch your mouth, Mary.” He blows smoke toward her. “It’s not too late to pay one of them bitches downstairs to drag your ass out.”

“I’d like to see you try, Smoke—“

“Alright,” Stack interrupts. “Let’s go.”

He pushes Mary away before closing the door behind him. I assume my previous position, leaning against the door — a much thicker tension in the air now.

“If you hate me even more after this, I understand.” I break the silence. “I don’t blame you. I just couldn’t let the truth belong to me and him alone anymore.”

Smoke stares at his feet, deep in thought. It’s become increasingly harder to tell what this man is thinking. He drops his cigarette, stepping on it.

“Now why would you do that on these new floors-“

His lips are on mine before I can finish, his hungry hands pulling up my dress. It’s automatic, the way my arm wraps around his neck, my hand nearing his crotch. He begins kissing down my neck, but I pull away. He stares at me, eyes wide.

“This isn’t a moment of weakness, is it?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “I don’t need a moment of weakness to do what I’m about to do to you.”

I smile, bringing his lips to mine once more.

Annie will hate me if she finds out, she might hate Smoke even more. But like I told him before, she has no idea what we have. And if I want to fuck my sinner one last time in this Juke Joint, that’s exactly what I’ll do.

#sinners #smoke and stack #sinners fic #sinners imagine #smoke x reader #stack x reader #sinners 2025 #sinners movie #sinners oc #sinners fanfiction #elijah moore #elias moore #sinners headcanon

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celibibratty · 1 year ago

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tsc, me thinking that fatal frame 2 ending wouldn't be as emotional/sad cuz "chou" is agitate, i was so wrong

for more that all the facts that i said in the other text sure were things that also contribuite to made me almost cry, the moment that almost made me lose everything/sob...was the scene that this mio stops running and it shows the butterflies in the sky!, has something about this shot that made me emoticional, see all those lost souls that suffered in this village for years, everybody that got stuck/lost in this village, and even this weirdo twin sae,....finally being free(just talk about it makes me wanna cry💦), i remember my mouth trembling and the tears almost falling😂, but i was like "no!, I not gonna cry, hold back😤", so i didn't

#reflection #fatal frame 2 #It is interesting that the game's symbol is a butterfly #as the wings of a butterfly are considered symmetrical #divided in half they are equal #just like twins #This is kinda obvious and probably on purpose but it's interesting to point out #;identical twins; need to specify💢

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scolek · 2 years ago

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Re: Taylor/Grandpa Birthday

Why pit two queens against each other??

LMAO

#i didnt even know it was her birthday until i was doing my 5 minutes of twitter this morning #and i saw the 89/34 thing and went yo thats interesting #and honestly that poll is just to point out the cool number thing. this is the only year that will be symmetrical #like. reverse birthday twin #why would you think my grandfather who practically raised me and some pop star i dont pay attention to are the same #to reiterate: lmao

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si3rren · 10 days ago

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The Boy Who Came Back Wrong

enhypen masterlist

my wattpad

𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪

𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩♱𓆪𓆩𓆩♱

warning: gore, obsessive immortality, psychological degradation, emotional manipulation, hallucinations, stalking, identity erosion, gender ambiguity, gaslighting, supernatural violence, murder, necro-romantic undertones, mental instability, character death, unreliable memory, corrupted romance, self-harm implications, grief themes, sexual tension, and explicit smut, including rough sex, choking, degradation, oral sex (receiving and giving), multiple orgasms, bloody sex, crying during sex, mirror sex, non-standard anatomy, overstimulation, aftercare

summary: Everyone falls in love with Lee Heeseung. Everyone dies loving him too. When you meet him on campus, he’s beautiful, soft-spoken, and impossible to resist. But something’s wrong—he’s not human. He’s a curse. A sickness in the shape of a boy. And no matter how many times he dies, he keeps coming back… for you.

꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂ ꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂ ꧁ ༺ ༻ ꧂

Grief counseling was held every Tuesday and Thursday night in the basement of the Humanities building. It always smelled like mold and old carpet. The chairs wobbled. The air conditioner wheezed. There was always someone crying too hard in the hallway and someone pretending they weren’t falling apart.

You hated it.

But you went, because your professor said it would help your “processing.” Because your roommate wouldn’t shut up about “getting help.” Because the only alternative was letting yourself rot in your dorm, staring at a ceiling that no longer felt real.

You sat in your usual chair, the far-left corner, spine tucked to the wall. Everyone else murmured hellos, avoided eye contact, shuffled in circles like ghosts still trying to remember how shoes worked. That’s when he walked in.

Lee Heeseung.

You didn’t know his name yet. But you would.

Everyone would.

⸻

He was beautiful in a way that didn’t belong in rooms like this. Skin too smooth. Eyes too soft. Lips too pink, like he hadn’t been drained of life yet. He looked like a model that had taken a wrong turn and ended up in a church basement. But it was more than that.

He was… wrong.

Too symmetrical. Too still. Like a doll sculpted by something that didn’t quite understand humans.

He took the only open chair — directly across from you — and folded his hands in his lap. His knuckles were pale and perfect. His nails too clean. You glanced once, then forced yourself to look away. But you could feel it. Everyone was staring at him.

Not subtly.

Not politely.

They were drinking him in — the girl beside you, the boy across the circle, even Mr. Ha, the grief counselor. The entire room tilted toward him without meaning to.

And he just… smiled.

Like he expected it.

⸻

Introductions went around the circle. You barely listened.

“My name is Minji. My mother passed last summer.”

“My name is Jae. I lost my twin brother in a car crash.”

“My name is Yuna. My dad—he, um…”

Then it was his turn.

He tilted his head like he was thinking of a story to pick. “My name is Heeseung,” he said, voice soft, “and I’m not sure who I lost. But something is missing.”

Silence. Even Mr. Ha blinked.

You expected him to laugh. To say he was joking. But instead, he looked straight at you and smiled like he knew something about you that you didn’t.

Your blood chilled.

⸻

After the meeting, you lingered at the coffee table to avoid walking home with Yuna. You didn’t like the way she smiled whenever Heeseung spoke.

He came up behind you silently.

You didn’t hear his footsteps.

Didn’t sense his presence.

He was just… suddenly there. “Do you like sugar?” he asked, pointing to your cup.

You stared at him. His eyes were dark, glassy, and wide. Like a corpse that hadn’t yet realized it was dead.

“I guess,” you said, cautious. “Why?”

He smiled.

“No reason. You just look like you’d taste sweet.”

⸻

That night, you dreamed of him.

Not the version you met — but another one.

He was kneeling in your bedroom, dripping blood onto your carpet, his head barely attached to his neck. Skin hanging open like a zipper at the jaw. And he was still smiling.

“I’ve died before,” he whispered, voice gurgling, “but it never sticks.”

You woke up gasping.

There were bloody footprints outside your dorm door.

You stepped over them on your way to class.

No one else seemed to notice.

_______

By the next group session, he had changed.

Not his face — not entirely — but something about him had rearranged overnight. His eyes were slightly different. Lighter, maybe. His voice carried deeper in the circle. His hair fell across his brow like it had been styled to frame him just right. Everyone still stared, but now it was worse.

People didn’t just want to look at Lee Heeseung.

They wanted to keep him.

⸻

Yuna wore lipstick this time. She leaned forward when she talked, laughed louder than necessary, touched his arm every time she spoke. Jake — the only person you’d known in that circle longer than a week — wouldn’t stop shifting in his chair, watching Heeseung like he wanted to be him. Or have him.

You tried not to look. You really did.

But it was like your eyes were being pulled, magnetized. The slope of his neck, the soft twitch of his thumb, the way his head tilted when he pretended to listen. He wasn’t even watching the speaker. He was watching you.

Just you.

And smiling again.

Like you were a joke he remembered fondly from a past life.

⸻

“You ever heard of her?” Yuna whispered as you walked home together later that night, her voice sticky with nerves.

You blinked. “Who?”

“Heeseung. That’s not the first time I’ve seen him.”

She glanced around like she thought someone might be following.

“I swear, I saw him in a video last year. A girl talking about some boy who ruined her life. Like—crazy obsessed. She said he made her love him. Then she vanished a week later.”

You froze on the sidewalk. “A TikTok?”

“A missing persons video. Real one. On Reddit. And she said his name.”

Your stomach tightened.

Yuna stopped at her dorm, biting her lip. “Anyway… I think I’m gonna ask him out.”

You stared.

She smiled shyly. “I mean, you saw how he looked at me, right?”

No. You didn’t.

Because he only looked at you.

⸻

You didn’t go to the next session.

But that night, while walking past the music hall on your way back from the library, you saw someone standing under the floodlight.

Tall. Lean. Back to you.

A boy.

Head tilted, like he was humming to himself. His skin glowed pale under the lamps, almost opalescent. Familiar.

You almost called out to him—until he turned slightly, and you realized his entire scalp had been peeled back.

Hair matted in blood. Skull exposed like glass pulled too thin.

But he was still humming. Still standing. Still… there.

Heeseung turned fully to face you.

His head shouldn’t have still been upright. It bent wrong. A wet, sickening tilt as something clicked beneath his throat. His mouth opened—

“She tasted like cherries.”

And then he smiled.

You ran.

⸻

Yuna didn’t show up to class the next day.

By noon, her room was locked.

By evening, her bed was stripped.

By midnight, her name vanished from the group roster.

Like she had never existed at all.

But you remembered.

You remembered her lipstick.

You remembered the way she touched his arm.

And you remembered what he said:

“You just look like you’d taste sweet.”

________

The university didn’t issue a statement about Yuna. No missing posters. No calls to her parents. Not even an email. When you asked around, the other students blinked at you like they’d forgotten she existed.

“She was in your psych class, right?” you asked a girl in the dining hall.

The girl tilted her head. “Who?”

By the end of the week, Yuna’s side of the dorm had been reassigned. Her nameplate gone. Her toothbrush in the trash. The girl who took her room swore it had always been empty.

You knew that was wrong. You knew.

You had texts from her. Notes in your notebook. Her nail polish still flaked off on your doorknob.

But her face was getting harder to remember.

The only thing you could still see clearly was the way she smiled at Heeseung.

⸻

The following Thursday, you returned to group.

You hadn’t planned to. But the world was… off. Skewed. You needed to know if he was still real. If it wasn’t all in your head.

The circle was smaller this time.

Jake waved at you when you walked in, but his eyes were dull. He didn’t speak during the session. Just sat with his hands in his lap, fingers trembling slightly like he was holding something invisible.

And Heeseung? He was already there.

Sitting in your usual seat.

He looked at you when you walked in, like he’d been waiting, and patted the chair beside him. You sat — you don’t remember deciding to, you just did — and tried to ignore how your skin burned when your knees brushed.

Mr. Ha cleared his throat. “Would anyone like to open tonight?”

Heeseung raised his hand.

“My name is Heeseung,” he said again, softly, “and I think… I think I’m getting better.”

Everyone leaned forward.

“Something feels different lately. Like I’ve remembered how to breathe again.” He smiled at you. “Like I’ve finally found a place that fits.”

Your heart hit your ribs like a warning bell.

Then he turned to the group.

“But sometimes… I still forget who I am.”

⸻

You stayed after. You told yourself it was to talk to Mr. Ha, maybe ask about the others — the ones who’d stopped coming. But instead, you found yourself walking the hallway like something was tugging you forward, and you turned the corner just in time to see Heeseung standing at the water fountain, head tilted down, unmoving.

Too still again.

Like a painting.

You meant to turn back, but he spoke.

“Do you think people can love someone they don’t understand?”

You froze.

He turned his head slightly, not enough to make eye contact, but enough that you saw the shadow on his jaw — a long, ragged scar that hadn’t been there last week. No stitches. No healing. Just torn, like he’d been half-decapitated and never bled.

“I don’t know,” you said carefully. “Depends who the someone is.”

He finally faced you, eyes glinting like oil.

“Sometimes I think I’ve met you before,” he whispered. “But you loved me with a different face.”

⸻

You went home and tore your mirror off the wall.

You couldn’t explain it — couldn’t put it into words — but something in your reflection had changed.

Your eyes looked too far apart. Your lips too still. Like your own face was trying to match his.

And you didn’t recognize your smile anymore.

⸻

Two days later, you found a photo in the library archives.

It slipped from a book on grief psychology, old and yellowed, tucked behind a torn page like a forgotten relic. A student yearbook photo. From 1996.

Same eyes. Same mouth.

Same Heeseung.

Hair shorter. Blazer stiff. But it was him.

Underneath, the name:

LEE HEESEUNG — In Memoriam.

You flipped the book closed with shaking fingers, and for a moment, you swore you saw your own reflection in the black screen of the library monitor — but you were smiling, and you weren’t.

______

The smell hit before the sight did.

Rot. Thick and sour, like something that had been sealed too long in something too small. You were just trying to return a book. A normal morning. Class had let out early. The hall was quiet.

Then came the smell.

Then came the flies.

Then came the blood.

You turned the corner by the study booths and stopped. The janitor was screaming. People ran past you. You didn’t move.

Jake’s body was hanging from the ceiling fan.

Not tied. Not staged.

Hung.

Skin peeled from his cheeks, revealing teeth locked in a wet, guttural grin. One of his eyes was missing. The other bulged from the socket, glassy and distant. His limbs were wrong — twisted behind him like a spider caught mid-spasm, elbows broken backwards, feet turned to face each other heel-first.

But it wasn’t the mutilation that made your lungs seize.

It was the engraving.

Someone had carved words into his chest. Not with a knife. With fingers.

HE LOVED HIM TOO MUCH

⸻

Jake’s funeral happened in pieces.

His parents wanted a closed casket. The university sent out a vague statement about “mental health awareness.” Nobody mentioned the carving. Nobody asked how he’d gotten into the ceiling beams. Nobody wondered why his nails had been ripped off trying to claw his way down.

But you knew.

And Heeseung didn’t show up to group.

⸻

For two days, you didn’t sleep.

You kept hearing Jake’s laugh. Not the real one — not the one you’d heard a thousand times in your dorm, or outside class, or echoing in lecture halls. This one was warped. Throaty. Choked.

On the third night, you found a smear of blood on your bedroom wall in the shape of a smile.

On the fourth, you found a tooth in your bedsheets.

⸻

The next time Heeseung appeared, it wasn’t in group.

It was in the art building. Late evening. You had taken to studying in empty corners where people couldn’t touch you, couldn’t breathe too loud, couldn’t look at you the way they used to. You heard humming. Familiar. Soft.

You followed it.

And there he was.

Standing under a skylight, bathed in blue evening light, humming to himself as he ran a scalpel along his own forearm.

Not slicing.

Shaving. Thin ribbons of skin curling from his wrist like wood shavings. Each strip fell with a soft, wet plop to the floor.

He didn’t bleed.

Not at first.

When he saw you, he smiled. Not surprised. Not guilty. Just pleased.

Like you’d walked in on something intimate.

“You came,” he said gently.

“I didn’t know you were here,” you choked.

He held up his ruined arm. You watched as the skin slid back into place — tendons knitting, blood reabsorbing, the curl of his wrist perfect again within seconds.

“I’m always here,” he said.

Then he stepped toward you.

⸻

“You weren’t supposed to see Jake,” he murmured as he closed the distance. “He was weak. Not like you.”

“Did you—” Your voice broke. “Did you do that to him?”

Heeseung’s head tilted. “He did it to himself.”

He was too close now.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he whispered. “I don’t kill people.”

His hand touched your face. Freezing cold.

“I just make them love me.”

⸻

You fled.

Your legs moved without thought. You left your bag, your keys, everything. You just needed to get away. But the hallway stretched too long. The exit signs flickered. And every window you passed reflected the same thing:

Not your face. His.

Not beside you.

Instead of you.

As if something was already trying to replace you.

As if he had already begun.

________

You didn’t sleep for seventy-two hours after the art building.

Not because of fear — not entirely.

Not because of what he said — not entirely.

It was the sound.

The slow, slicing whispers of scalpel against skin. Again and again, replaying in your ears. You tried white noise. Music. Screaming into your pillow. But beneath everything, you could still hear the wet drag of flesh peeling from bone. You could hear the sound of your name in his mouth — low, reverent, like a prayer offered to something old and wrong.

But most of all, you couldn’t stop seeing his arm healing.

Like he wasn’t made of meat. Like he was a trick your eyes hadn’t learned how to process.

You told yourself it wasn’t real. That you were unraveling. That none of this was happening.

And then the texts started.

⸻

They came from an unknown number.

No name. No photo. No thread. Just these:

Do you still sleep on your side?

You smell like orange peels when you cry.

The last version of you liked when I kissed her wrist. Should I try that again?

Don’t run from me. You always come back.

You blocked the number.

It messaged again. From another. Then another.

By the end of the week, your phone had over twenty blocked contacts, all texting the same three words:

“I missed you.”

⸻

The next group session was smaller again.

No Jake. No Minji. No Yuna.

Only Mr. Ha, three new students, and Heeseung.

You tried not to look. You tried to focus on the flicker of the shitty ceiling lights, on the old coffee stains soaking into the carpet. But Heeseung sat across from you like a statue carved from someone’s wet dream, dark eyes gleaming like he’d never seen daylight.

He didn’t speak during the session.

Didn’t even blink.

Just stared.

When it ended, you left fast. Practically bolted. You shoved open the stairwell door, heart sprinting ahead of you. But as soon as you turned the corner—

He was already there.

Back pressed to the wall. Waiting.

“How—” you gasped, stumbling back. “How did you—”

“You used to like when I walked you home,” he said softly.

“That wasn’t me,” you snapped, heat rising to your face. “That was someone else.”

Heeseung tilted his head.

“No,” he murmured. “It was always you. Just… different. You never last long.”

⸻

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

He stepped toward you slowly, the distance between you thinning with every word.

“I’ve loved a hundred versions of you. The one in Busan who gave me her scarf. The one in 1996 who carved my name into her ribs. The one in Tokyo who tried to burn me alive.”

He stopped just inches from your face.

“And you? You’re new. Sharp. Hard to pin down. I like that.”

You swallowed.

“I’m not her.”

Heeseung smiled — and you saw it then. The truth of it.

He had too many teeth.

Tiny ones behind the perfect row. Nestled in the backs of his cheeks. Shifting behind his tongue like sharks waiting their turn.

“I know,” he said.

Then he reached up, and for the first time, touched you.

⸻

Not a brush. Not a tease. A claiming.

His fingers spread over your jaw, his thumb dragging down your throat with a possessiveness that felt older than time.

Your skin pulsed beneath him — not with fear, but recognition.

The warmth of his palm was wrong. Too warm. Like touching a fresh kill. Like his blood ran hotter than yours. Like he wasn’t made of anything born.

And worse than that — you liked it.

You gasped when his thumb swept across your lip, and he leaned in, close enough to kiss but not quite, his breath feathering across your mouth as he whispered:

“I’ve died before, you know.”

Your voice barely came. “How many times?”

Heeseung smiled, slow and terrible.

“I stopped counting when I started enjoying it.”

⸻

And then — he pressed his mouth to your neck.

Not a kiss. A test.

Teeth barely grazing. Lips parted. A phantom of a bite.

You froze, breath catching. Heat surged low in your stomach. Your knees went soft. And for one split second — one cursed, electric heartbeat — you let your head fall back just slightly.

He chuckled.

“I knew it,” he murmured. “You’re almost ready.”

Then he was gone.

Not vanished. Not blinked out. Just… not there.

You were alone in the stairwell. Shaking. Wet between your thighs. Teeth marks blooming red on your throat.

That night, your mirror cracked.

You didn’t touch it. Didn’t bump it. Didn’t even look at it.

It just cracked — a spiderweb fracture across your reflection.

And in that split-glass moment, you saw yourself smiling.

But your mouth hadn’t moved.

___________

You woke to find him in your bed.

Not beside you.

Not under the covers.

On top of you.

Straddling your hips like a lover who belonged there, clothed in shadow and silk skin. The moon spilled across his back, outlining the sharp edges of someone who shouldn’t be alive.

And he was smiling. Always smiling.

You couldn’t move.

Your body knew something your brain didn’t — knew it was safer to stay still when a predator climbed into your sheets wearing the memory of a boy.

Heeseung brushed the hair from your face.

“Do you know how many times I’ve watched you sleep?” he murmured, voice like syrup and static. “Do you know how many different names I’ve kissed off your mouth?”

You tried to sit up, but he placed a hand on your chest. Not hard. Not violent.

Just enough to press you into submission.

“You came to me this time,” he said. “You touched your neck when I spoke. You blushed when I looked. You ran, yes — but you looked back.”

He leaned down, nose brushing yours.

“You always look back.”

⸻

You should have screamed. Should have shoved him off. But the weight of him felt right. Hot. Anchoring. Too warm. Like he was filled with something other than blood — something thick and molten and endless.

He kissed you.

And it wasn’t sweet.

It was brutal — a claiming — his mouth all tongue and pressure and teeth. He kissed like he wanted to bite his way inside you, like he could taste the women you used to be. His hands were everywhere, ghosting down your sides, slipping under your shirt, curling tight around your ribs as he dragged you against him.

You moaned — sharp and shocked — and he pulled back to hear it again.

“There she is,” he breathed. “I’ve been waiting.”

⸻

His lips moved to your neck.

This time he didn’t hesitate. He sucked hard, teeth scraping until you felt the sting of blood rise beneath your skin. He licked it.

Licked it.

And groaned like it meant something.

“Still tastes like you,” he whispered, breath hot on the mark. “But you’re sweeter now. Riper. Like you’ve been waiting for me without even knowing.”

You squirmed, overwhelmed, and he grinded down.

The friction was filthy — a hard, needy rut of his clothed hips against your center. You felt the shape of him even through the layers — thick, aching, wrong. Too long. Too hot. Like he was stretching already, pressing where no body should bend.

Your eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t cry yet,” he said, brushing them away with a blood-slicked thumb. “I haven’t even given you what you need.”

⸻

He pulled back only to crawl lower, slow as a nightmare you couldn’t wake from. His hands pushed your thighs apart, spreading you like pages in a book he’d already memorized. He kissed the inside of your knee, your thigh, your hipbone — reverent.

When he licked between your legs, it felt like worship.

His tongue was too wet, too deep — moving like it knew you. Not just your body, but your history. Like it had touched you before. Like it remembered every lifetime, every death, every version of you who’d let him do this.

You gasped, fingers curling in the sheets.

“Good girl,” he murmured, mouth never leaving you. “You always were.”

He sucked your clit, slow and filthy, tongue circling with maddening precision. You tried to pull away — too much, too fast — but he gripped your hips and held you down.

“Stay.”

You sobbed.

He moaned.

⸻

Your first orgasm hit like a seizure. Back arched, mouth open, hands twisted in his hair as he buried his tongue and kept licking, kept tasting, kept claiming. You cried — not from pain, but from something worse.

From recognition.

Because it felt too right.

Because you remembered this.

Because he’d made you love him before.

And you would again.

⸻

When he rose, his mouth was glistening. His jaw, smeared with red.

Not yours.

Not all of it.

You didn’t ask where it came from.

He leaned over you, voice low and trembling with restraint. “Let me fuck you. Let me remind you what we are.”

You hesitated.

Your hand rose, fingers grazing the side of his face.

And then you whispered:

“Make me forget her.”

His smile cracked wider than it should have.

__________

He didn’t undress like a person.

Heeseung pulled off his shirt as if skin weren’t a boundary, as if gravity didn’t touch him the same way it touched you. His torso came into view slow and deliberate — long and lean, no visible scars, no belly rise, just perfection. But there was something off. Something shimmering under his ribs, like movement beneath the muscle. Like something living inside him.

You wanted to close your eyes.

But you couldn’t.

You didn’t.

⸻

He kissed you again. Slower this time, lips dragging over yours like velvet dipped in something dangerous. His tongue pushed into your mouth with practiced need — warm, smooth, a little too long. His hands gripped your thighs, pulling them around his waist, grinding his clothed cock into your bare heat like he already owned it.

You gasped into his mouth, overwhelmed.

“Say it,” he whispered.

“Say what?”

He nipped your bottom lip, sharp enough to sting. “That you missed me.”

“I don’t—” you started, but your hips bucked against him.

He chuckled — low and wrong. “Your body remembers. Even if you don’t.”

⸻

He tugged his pants down, and your breath caught. What you saw wasn’t… normal.

It was cock-shaped, yes. But thicker. The base dark, flushed deep, but the rest shimmered slightly — subtly — like heat rippling off asphalt. It pulsed against your thigh before he touched it. Leaked a single drop that smelled like blood and perfume.

And when he stroked himself, you swore you saw something under the skin move.

“You always look like that the first time,” he murmured, wrapping a hand around your throat. Not tight. Just resting. “Don’t worry. I’ll break you in slow.”

⸻

He pushed inside.

You screamed.

Not in pain. Not just.

It was too much. He filled you in ways that didn’t make sense — the stretch obscene, like he was reshaping you from the inside out. The tip pressed somewhere deep, impossibly deep, and stayed there like it was hooked.

“Shh,” he whispered, stroking your cheek with his free hand. “You can take it. You always do.”

You were shaking. Your thighs locked around his hips, and he ground down, cock grinding into your cervix like a threat, like a promise. Tears leaked from your eyes. He kissed them.

“That’s it. Cry for me. You’re so pretty like this.”

⸻

He fucked you slow at first.

Dragging his hips back only to drive in again — deep, precise, inhumanly smooth. Like his spine didn’t resist, like his joints bent the wrong way just to fuck you better. His hips never stuttered. Never faltered. His breath stayed steady, gaze locked on your face the entire time.

Like he needed to watch you unravel. “Do you remember now?” he asked between thrusts, voice husky. “Do you remember how you begged me in Kyoto? How you bled for me in Busan?” You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your back arched. His hand squeezed your throat. Not tight — not yet — but firm enough to make the air shallow.

“You’ll remember,” he whispered. “You always do.”

⸻

And then there were hands on your ankles. New ones. You looked down. There was another Heeseung at the foot of the bed.

Smiling. Identical. Mouth smeared with blood. Eyes blown wide with hunger.

You blinked — gasped — and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your calf. “Don’t be scared,” the second Heeseung whispered. “We love you.”

⸻

The original one didn’t stop fucking you.

The second kissed down your shin. His tongue licked a stripe along your ankle, hot and wet, while your cunt clenched around the first. Then — with a tenderness that didn’t match anything happening — he bit. Your leg jerked. You screamed.

He bit again. Harder. Deeper. Until blood welled at the edge of your skin and he licked it clean like wine from the rim of a glass.

“She bleeds the same,” the second murmured.“She always does,” the first replied, thrusts deepening.

⸻

You sobbed. They kissed your knees.

The second Heeseung crawled up the bed, lips brushing your shoulder. Then your cheek. Then your mouth. While the first kept fucking you, hard and fast, the second kissed you soft and slow.

Two mouths. One cock. Too much.

You twisted. Cried out. Body jerking in overstimulation as the cock inside you pulsed, twitching with some impossible movement. You felt your orgasm building sharp and painful, but just as it crested— he stopped.

The original Heeseung grinned.

“Not yet.” He pulled out. You sobbed at the emptiness. Then the second one pulled your jaw toward him and whispered, “Look.”

⸻

The mirror across the room had shifted. It no longer reflected you. It reflected her. One of the girls he’d loved before. Her body. Her eyes. Your face layered on top. And behind her — more Heeseungs. Watching. Waiting. “Please,” you whispered, shaking. “Please finish.” Heeseung tilted his head. “Beg,” he said simply. You did.

You said his name. You said please. You said you’d be good. You said you’d remember next time. And that was enough.

⸻

He grabbed your hips again — this time harder — and fucked into you like he was carving his name into your womb. Skin slapped. Blood dripped. You screamed through a second orgasm, so hard you thought you blacked out. Your cunt spasmed around him, pulsing with every thrust, and Heeseung leaned over to growl in your ear:

“You’ll never get rid of me.” He came inside you.

It was too hot. Too much. It felt like you were being branded from the inside.

When he pulled out, blood smeared down your thighs. Not all yours. Not entirely.

⸻

You blinked. The second Heeseung was gone. So was the mirror. So was the room, almost — dimmed, humming, warped like reality had been bent around your orgasm. Heeseung kissed your temple.

“I’ll be back when you’re ready again.”

You tried to sit up, but your legs didn’t work.

So you lay there. Blood drying between your thighs. Body sore and used.

And in your own voice — low, unfamiliar — you heard yourself whisper:

“Next time… I want all of you.”

__________

You didn’t leave your bed for two days.

Your phone rang. Someone knocked. The sun rose and fell and rose again. You didn’t care. Your body pulsed with something that wasn’t heat, wasn’t fever, wasn’t quite sickness but wasn’t yours. You could still feel him inside you. Still feel the blood, the weight, the way the air bent around his name.

Still feel the mirror watching you long after it was gone. The sheets smelled like iron. Your neck bloomed with bruises. And your thighs? Marked — bitten, licked, bled into. You didn’t wash them.

⸻

When Heeseung came back, he didn’t knock. He stood in your doorway as if he’d always lived there. Barefoot. Shirtless. Hair wet like he’d just bathed in something not water. His skin glowed faintly — the color of candlelight, or maybe bone.

“You’re still here,” he murmured.

You didn’t answer. He walked forward, step by step, until he was kneeling at the edge of your bed.

“I thought maybe this version would run.”

You looked up at him through lashes sticky with sleep. “I did,” you whispered.

Heeseung smiled — soft this time. “And yet.”

⸻

He kissed your shoulder. Just that. Just once. But your whole body flinched, then melted. You felt like sugar in a storm — fragile, dissolving, sweet.

“Do you want to forget again?” he asked, brushing your hair back. “I can take the memories. Make it painless. Let you be soft for a little longer.”

You shook your head. “Then you need to choose.”

His eyes — black as pitch, glinting with something ancient — locked on yours. “I’m offering you a place,” he said. “Not just a night. Not just a body. A life.” You swallowed.

“Is it still a life if it only exists for you?” Heeseung leaned down and kissed your knee.

“It’s better,” he whispered. “Because it’s mine.”

⸻

He stretched out beside you. Not touching. Not demanding. Just there. You turned to face him.

“I’m scared,” you said quietly. “You should be.”

“I feel like I’m disappearing.” “You are.” His fingers slipped around yours.

“And yet,” he said, “you’ve never looked more real.”

⸻

Your breath hitched. Your lips parted.

“I want to choose you,” you said. “I want to stop pretending this isn’t what I am.”

His smile was slow, reverent, victorious.

“You’ve always been mine.”

⸻

He kissed you again.

But this time there was no violence. No biting. No bruises. Just mouths and breath and the slow, terrifying intimacy of surrender. He rolled you onto your back, kissed the line of your jaw, your collarbone, the bruises he’d left days before.

His voice broke as he whispered, “You never stay. But maybe this time…”

His fingers brushed your temple. Your eyes fluttered shut.

“I’ll make you.”

⸻

He made love to you like he was sealing a deal. Like each thrust bound your soul tighter.

Not rough. Not soft. Possessive. Rhythmic. Like a heartbeat echoing centuries.

His praise poured over you.

“Good girl.”

“Perfect again.”

“Better than the last.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“Stay this time.”

You cried through your orgasm. Held him like a lifeline. Let your thighs wrap around him like roots.

Let him fuck the resistance out of you. And when he came, it felt like a spell.

⸻

After, he didn’t leave.

He stayed in your bed. He tucked you beneath his arm, kissed your shoulder, whispered stories of the girls you used to be. And as you drifted into sleep, you realized you couldn’t remember your own name.

But his?

You could taste it. Like blood on your tongue. In the morning, your reflection was gone.

And in its place stood him — grinning through the glass, eyes wide and waiting.

________

You stopped hearing your name.

Not out loud — on paper. In rosters. Emails. On your student ID. It was like someone had pressed delete on your existence and never hit undo. Your professors blinked when they saw you. Your roommate avoided you entirely. And when you opened your wallet one morning to check your ID— It was blank.

No name. No number.

Just your face. But it wasn’t your face. Not anymore.

⸻

You stopped seeing yourself in mirrors two weeks after you chose him.

Sometimes Heeseung would walk behind you in the hallway mirror — and you’d turn around to see no one. Other times, your reflection would flicker, lag, or shift. It started small: a tilt of your head out of sync, a smile that lingered too long after your lips had dropped.

Then it escalated. Now, when you passed glass, you saw other women.

Different hair. Different eyes. All versions of you. One with a throat slit open, smiling. One in a red cheongsam, gunshot in the temple. One in a white sundress, holding Heeseung’s severed hand like a flower.

And always— That look in their eyes. Devotion.

⸻

The flashbacks started in the bath.

Steam rising. Fingers pruned. And suddenly, your eyes didn’t belong to you anymore.

They belonged to the girl in Kyoto — the one who drowned herself in his name. Then the girl in Busan — who’d carved his initials into her hip, so deep it never stopped bleeding. Then the one in a hospital, screaming for him while they strapped her down.

You curled your arms around your knees and cried.

You didn’t know who you were. You didn’t know when you’d last felt real. All you knew was that when you closed your eyes—

You felt him. Always him.

⸻

Heeseung found you on the floor one night.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been there — cold, wrapped in your own arms, hands shaking. He crouched down, soft like a dream.

“Did you forget again?” he asked, brushing your hair back.

“I don’t know who I am,” you whispered.

He tilted your chin up.

“You’re mine.”

Later that day, your reflection came back.

But it smiled when you didn’t.

And its eyes weren’t e/c anymore. They were black. Glass black. Like his.

And in your voice — but not your voice — it whispered:

“You’re almost perfect now. Just a little more, and you’ll finally be mine completely.”

⸻

You picked up a shard of your cracked mirror.

Held it to your throat. Not to die.Not really. Just to see. To see if you’d bleed red like you used to…

or something else entirely.

Heeseung didn’t let you bleed.

Not yet.

He took the mirror shard from your hand and tossed it gently across the room — it clattered to the floor like a toy, harmless in his wake. Then he pushed you down into the pillows, his mouth already on your throat, his weight stretching over you like hunger made flesh.

“You don’t get to break yourself,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “That’s my privilege.” You whimpered. Shook beneath him. But your legs fell open anyway.

And when they did, he smiled. “There’s my girl.”

⸻

He took his time undressing you.

Kissing your collarbones, sucking gently at the curve of your breast, flicking his tongue over your nipples until they stiffened, and you arched, gasping.

“You always do this,” he murmured, tracing your stomach. “Get so nervous. So wet. Like you’re scared of how good it’ll feel.”

He kissed your hip. Licked a stripe down your inner thigh. Breathed against your swollen cunt, watching it twitch.

“Look at her,” he whispered. “Look how she opens for me.” You moaned.

“You’re so fucking pretty down here,” he said, dragging a finger slowly between your folds. “So soft. So perfect. You know I’ve been dreaming of tasting you again? For lifetimes?”

And then he kissed you there.

⸻

Not a tease.

A kiss. Mouth wide, lips plush, tongue deep — slow at first, like he was reacquainting himself with something holy. Then faster. Sloppier. Hungrier. Heeseung moaned as he licked you open — actual, full moans, deep and guttural, vibrating against your clit as he sucked, circled, plunged his tongue inside your hole until your legs trembled around his head.

“God, fuck,” he gasped against you, “you taste so fucking good, baby. So much better than the last time. You’re getting sweeter every life.”

You were crying. Actually crying.

The sensation was too much — too good — too much. Your hands curled in the sheets, your hips trying to lift off the mattress until he pinned you down.

“Oh, no,” he growled, “you stay still for me, understand?”

And then he pushed two fingers into you — smooth, long, curved just right — and you screamed.

⸻

His fingers pumped inside you at a brutal rhythm, curling up into your softest spot again and again, even as his tongue stayed latched to your clit, lips sealed, jaw moving like he was eating your soul.

The pressure built fast. Too fast. You clawed at his shoulders, sobbing.

“I—I can’t—Hee—Heeseung, I—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled. “You can. You will. You’re gonna soak my fucking face, baby. I want it. I want all of it. Don’t hold back from me. You’re mine. This pussy is mine.”

He added a third finger. You sobbed louder.

Your body seized. The wave crashed. You screamed as your orgasm ripped through you, a violent spray gushing from between your thighs — messy, sudden, unstoppable.

Heeseung moaned. Loud and low.

And drank. His mouth opened, and he drank you in like wine, tongue lapping, swallowing every drop as your legs twitched violently around his ears. He didn’t pull back. He didn’t stop. He ate through it, drinking down your release with eyes rolling back like he’d been starved.

“Fuck,” he gasped when you finally collapsed, “you taste like heaven, like fucking sugar and sin, baby, I could drown in this pussy. I could live here. I could die here.”

He kissed your thigh again, reverent.

Then licked the slick off his lips, smiling wide. “Did you hear how wet you were for me? You sounded like you were gonna break.” You couldn’t answer. You were shaking too hard. He pulled himself up beside you and kissed your temple. Then your mouth — tongue coated in your taste — and you let him in.

⸻

“You’re so good for me,” he whispered, wrapping you in his arms. “So fucking good. You were made for me, baby. All those other girls? They were just echoes. You’re the original. You’re the beginning and the end.”

You cried into his chest. Not because you were afraid. But because you believed him.

And somewhere deep inside, a part of you whispered:

“This is love.”

___________

The morning came slow.

Grey light slithered across your walls, cold and soft like fingertips brushing over closed eyes. The city outside didn’t sound real anymore — cars muffled like they were underwater, birdsong distant, distorted, almost nostalgic. Like a memory of a world that didn’t want you anymore.

But he did.

Heeseung always did.

He lay beside you, half-covered in your sheets, one arm tucked beneath his head. The other rested gently on your waist, fingers trailing absentminded circles into your skin like he was memorizing you for the thousandth time.

He watched you.

Not with hunger.

Not with madness.

But with something quiet. Something real.

“You’re still here,” he said.

You nodded.

Heeseung let out a breath — ragged, almost disbelieving. He shifted closer, pressing his lips to your collarbone. Then your jaw. Then your forehead.

“I thought I’d lost you again,” he whispered. “But you stayed.”

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t need to.

Heeseung’s hand slid up your side and cupped your cheek. You leaned into it. It felt right — too warm, too firm, too alive. It grounded you in a way your own body no longer could.

⸻

“I’ve lived so many lives,” he said softly. “Loved so many versions of you. And they were all… wrong.”

You blinked up at him, eyes still hazy from the comedown.

Heeseung smiled.

“But this one? You?”

He leaned in until his forehead touched yours.

“You’re the one,” he breathed. “The only one who didn’t fight me. The only one who saw me—not just the beauty, not just the curse. You saw what I am.”

You swallowed.

“What are you?” you asked, voice cracked.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t lie.

“I’m not human,” he said. “I don’t die. I don’t age. I don’t break. But I’m always alone. Always chasing… something. Someone.”

He kissed your nose.

“And now I’ve found her.”

⸻

The day passed without movement.

You lay together. Fingers tangled. Legs entwined. The silence between you felt sacred. Heavy with everything you could no longer explain — not love, not lust, not obsession, but something stranger. Something permanent.

Heeseung spoke first.

“I can give you forever.”

You looked up at him.

“But I won’t be me.”

He smiled gently. “You never were.”

He pressed his palm to your chest, right over your heart.

“This body — this name — it was borrowed. But your soul? That’s mine.”

He kissed your lips, slow and deep, and when he pulled away, he asked softly:

“Are you ready?”

⸻

You said yes.

You said it without hesitation.

And the moment the word left your mouth, something inside you broke.

Not painfully.

Not violently.

It cracked like old ice beneath sunlight — soft and clean. Like the final shedding of a name you’d never truly owned.

Heeseung pulled you into his lap, eyes glistening.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he said, voice shaking. “So fucking perfect. I waited centuries for you.”

You rested your forehead to his.

“Then don’t wait anymore.”

⸻

He kissed you — not hungrily this time, but reverently. The way you’d kiss an altar. The way you’d kiss a god. And as your mouths moved together, his hands pressed over your heart, your stomach, your throat.

You felt it.

The shift.

Something ancient and unnameable slithered into your ribs, stretched beneath your skin, settled into the hollow behind your sternum where your name used to be.

And when you looked into his eyes again, you saw yourself.

Really saw.

The woman you were never allowed to become. The version of you that only existed in his arms, in his shadow, in his forever.

⸻

“Stay like this,” he whispered.

You nodded.

“Forever?”

You kissed him. “Forever.”

And Heeseung — the boy who’d come back wrong — smiled like he’d finally come home.

____________

THANK YOU FOR READING!! PLEASE REBLOG AND COMMENT

#🧜‍♀️’s author era #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen oneshots #enhypen scenarios #enhypen horror #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #heeseung smut #heeseung enhypen #heeseung enha #sunghoon smut #yang jungwon smut #enhypen

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nartothelar · 11 months ago

Note

In the soul eater submas au Kid probably adores the twins, I mean aside from color at look how symmetrical they are!!!

on the contrary I think their differing colors and expressions would be enough to make kid pop a blood vessel sksks

rip

#soul eater au #submas #emmet #kudari #nobori #ingo #subway boss emmet #subway boss ingo #pokemon fanart #pokemon #fanart #ask #death the kid

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st3f13ily · 4 months ago

Text

Can We Name Them After Me?

> Gojo jokingly suggests names like "Satoru Jr." and "Satoru II." You refuse. The debate continues for the whole day.

• Masterlist

• A week before the Twins arrived.

• I do not know what the second pictures are saying, I just put it there.

You were curled up on the couch, rubbing your growing belly, scrolling through baby name lists on your phone when you heard Satoru voice float lazily from the kitchen.

"So… I've been thinking," he called, opening the fridge like it personally offended him. "We should name them after me."

You paused, raising an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Y'know, carry on the legacy." He wandered back into the living room, a bottle of water in hand and a cocky smile on his face. "The boy could be Satoru Jr. and the girl could be…" He tapped his chin, thinking far too hard. "Satoru II."

You blinked. "…You want to name both of them Satoru?"

"Why not? Double the Satoru, double the greatness."

You stared at him in pure disbelief. "Satoru, that is the dumbest thing I've ever heard."

He dramatically clutched his heart like you'd just stabbed him. "Rude. I thought it was brilliant."

You leaned back, rubbing your belly in circles. "No child of mine is going to grow up having to explain why they share the same name as their egotistical father. They'll get bullied before they even hit kindergarten."

"But think about it," he pressed, plopping down beside you with that playful, boyish grin. "Imagine me at the park: 'Satoru, come here!' And then two little voices run up at once. I'll feel like a king."

You deadpanned, "You already act like one. You don't need two minions named after you to confirm it."

But Satoru wasn't one to give up so easily. The entire day turned into a one-sided debate, with him popping out of random places around the house pitching name ideas.

"Satoru Jr. has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Or! Satoruko for the girl. Cute, right?"

"Okay, hear me out: Satoru One and Satoru Two. Efficient and symmetrical."

By dinnertime, you were ready to file for divorce just to save the babies from that fate.

When you slid his plate across the table, you gave him a deadly serious stare. "If you suggest one more Satoru-themed name, I’m putting 'My wife is the Strongest' on their birth certificates."

Your childish husband froze mid-bite, chewing slowly, and then chuckled. "That'd be kinda cute."

You sighed, setting your fork down and glancing down at your belly, where a tiny kick answered like even the twins were done with his antics.

"They deserve their own names, Toru." you said softly, placing your hand over the spot where one of them nudged you again. "Not just copies of you. They're going to be their own little people."

Satoru looked at you for a long moment, and despite the fact he was usually all smiles, there was a flicker of something tender there.

"You’re right," he finally said, reaching across the table to squeeze your hand. "They'll be even better than me."

You gave him a gentle smile. "That's the plan."

Of course, the next morning, as you woke up, he leaned over and whispered against your ear:

"…But Satoru Jr. and Satoruko are still on the table, right?"

You smacked him with a pillow.

And the name debate continued.

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aceecee · 4 months ago

Text

Insatiable - MC

Honestly it was on you to think that they all would leave you alone. That you could enjoy your second chance in life without them by your side. You're not going anywhere.

Synopsis: How she met you, fell in love with you and how she lost you.

WC: 4.4K

Masterlist

She met you first.

She fell in love with you first.

It was a fact she liked to repeat often. Especially when they’d all fight over you, especially when they’d forget their place.

She was a child back then, having moved to a new place in a new town with Gran and Caleb. At that time lots of things didn’t make sense to her (they still don’t), why couldn’t she remember anything about her life before then, or why did the people in her house always look at her with something brewing in the back of their eyes. It was too much for a child so she locked it all away, too stubborn to admit it was always in the back of her head. Maybe that’s why she had liked you so much, because it all seemed to melt away when you were around and all she seemed to think about was you.

You had been her neighbour, younger than Caleb and older than her. Your parents had knocked on their door, a day after they moved in. You had been behind them, holding hands with your brother, later she’d learn you were the older twin by a few minutes. It was clear from the look on your face that you didn’t want to be there. Gran had answered the door, with her and Caleb not far behind, curious to know who their first visitors were. Her eyes had been drawn to you, your parents were bright and happy and your brother was too but you were quiet and your face blank. Pretty, had been her first thought. Your hair was short, reaching above your shoulders, your facial features though not symmetrical blended well together, you were wearing a simple t-shirt and shorts (it was a hot day afterall). Having been so lost in her thoughts of you, she nearly failed to realise when your parents introduced their kids to them.

Your brother’s name she couldn’t be bothered to remember but your name gave her pause. She repeated it in her mind over and over again, she found she liked it but she liked saying it even more. When your gaze finally rested upon her, she had frozen. Your eyes were soft, It wasn’t like there was any malice in them or well…much of anything but they had pierced through her, like they saw everything, like they understood. Underneath the hot sun, they would glow, ready to ensnare any who dared to look into them, she thought you were a divine being the first time. Much later in life, you would ask her why she was so obsessed with your eyes, she wouldn’t tell you the real answer of course because how could she admit that she hated the idea of you looking at anyone but her, that she desired to keep you locked up so no one would look upon you?

After your first meeting, she had quickly latched onto you, she might have been a child but she could tell you had no desire to be around them so she would never give you the choice to leave. Your parents and Gran had smiled at the quick friendship that formed between the four, she with you and your brother with Caleb. She found herself seeking you out, you weren’t in the same class since you were older but you’d walk back and forth to school together and she was with you at lunch. She wanted to know everything about you, you kept your hair short since you played soccer (she was always there at your matches screaming in support), you liked doing your nails (she started doing yours and you, hers), you adored animals, you did have an evol but you didn’t like using it and you didn’t have a favourite colour or book or song or movie because you just simply liked too many things to have a favourite. You were well liked at school, pretty and smart and gentle and… okay she could go on all day about you. It was clear from the way you drew people in, it was something about you perhaps the wisdom or maturity in you that seemed to shock even adults, you had countless boys and girls confessing to you yet you rejected all of them with the excuse that you were way too old for them, confusing everyone since some were a year younger but most were actually older than you. She was liked too, they saw her as bright and bubbly but she still overheard talk about how she was like your shadow, constantly bothering you etc. It didn’t help that she would always be seen by your side, talking your ear off with you quiet but still listening. At first she ignored it all but over time it started to get to her a little.

School had ended about two hours ago and she had followed you into your house. Your room was organised and matched your personality but remnants of her were scattered all around. The wall by your desk was littered with photos of you and her from the first day you had met, all the matches she had attended, the concert she had taken you to a month ago, the vacation your parents had taken both her and Caleb to, and numerous close ups of the two of you on numerous occasions. On your bed were all the plushies she had won for you. “Stand back kitten, daddy’s got this,” she had joked, pushing you away from the machine at the arcade you both frequently visited. She made a show out of it, rolling up her sleeves and presenting you with the plushie, “For the lovely lady.” This had made you laugh as you took the toy from her and placed a kiss on her cheek, something that never failed to puff her up with pride, afterall your laughs weren’t exactly common. There was an area in your closet, filled with nail polish of all colours, along with charms and tools that the two of you had saved up for. There was a small cabinet you had turned into yarn storage, she had decorated it with gems after helping you paint it. She didn’t care for knitting but her closet was filled with the clothes you had made for her. Stored in your closet was also a spare blanket and two pillows meant for her only, since she was always over. On your bookshelf had been books about heart conditions, one day while the two of you were playing, she had fainted in front of you. She could still remember the look of horror on your face as you rushed towards her. The books had appeared after that.

It was the same for her too, you were everywhere in her room too. Her closet also had a blanket for you, it also had your actual clothes in there (she liked your scent on them), photos of you were everywhere, some of the makeup you used was on her vanity. It was a common occurrence for the two of you to just leave your things at the other’s. Tucked under her bed, was the box filled with beads from when she had gone through a jewelry making phase. She had made you a bracelet, it wasn’t pretty but it had her initials on it. You had taken the gift with a soft smile, gazing at it with a look in your eyes, you had then reached for the box and proceeded to make an identical one, except this one had your initials on it. Neither of you ever took the bracelets off.

She was laid all over your bed, talking animatedly about whatever she could while you were sitting at your desk, concentrating on your homework in front of you. Not a single sound had been coming from you, she wasn’t even sure you were listening. “...and then Samantha, oh you’ll never believe this…” she trailed off as doubts started creeping in, she slowly sat up and focused her attention on you, who was simply writing away. Was she annoying you? Did you find her annoying? What if you were only friends with her out of obligation? She couldn’t stop her thoughts from spiraling but she still heard the hum from you. You were looking at her with your head tilted in confusion.

“Why’d you stop? What did Samantha do?” Your question made her snap out of it, her mouth was open in shock, she couldn’t stop the question from escaping her lips. “You were listening?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you moved onto a look of disbelief. “Course I was, I like listening to you talk.”

That day she decided to ignore the instant barrage of emotions that erupted in her or how her heart seemed to beat so fast, her face a little flustered.

She looked around your room, coming to an realisation that other than the people in the photos everything else in your room had only the two of you. You had included her in all your hobbies and talents, she had helped you with decorating your room, you only shared your clothes and accessories with her, you even let her take all of your time. In that moment she had felt so stupid for ever doubting you.

“Okay so, Samantha…”

Of course, your friendship wasn’t without its obstacles. One being your brother and two being her brother-figure, Caleb. She couldn’t control her jealousy at your doting of your brother. He was very shy in life and a crybaby. Despite how close the two of you were, your affection was rare. It didn’t come naturally to you as it did for her, alot of the hugs and so on were initiated by her. Which was why she couldn’t handle how easily you’d take his hands into yours to comfort him, how you could place kisses on his head when you had never done so for her and most of all how quickly you’d leave her when he needed you. Which was all the time. The rational side of her tried to comfort her, he was your brother, your twin, she knew twins often had a special connection and this was evident in the way you seemed to communicate with your brother without even talking. It never worked though, she hated him. She was aware it was selfish and cruel of her to expect you to only give her attention but it didn’t stop her from desiring it anyway. The problem with Caleb occurred when she began to pull away from him, it didn’t help that he was older and often not around so naturally you became the person she’d go to when she needed something. He had become fast friends with your brother, his shy nature helped and the fact that your brother preferred men seemed to calm him down. She knew he never really liked you from the start, he noticed how smitten she was, but he always hid it from you until he didn’t. He knew it was childish to take his jealousy out on you but he couldn’t help it, his indifferent replies to you became colder, his empty gaze now seemed angry as he recalled all the times she would decline a hangout with him because she already had plans with you. He missed how she used to seek him out.

His behaviour caused you to pull away, you stopped showing up at their house as often and even started saying no to plans and pushing her towards him instead. You never took offence to his attitude, almost like you expected it, and that’s what she liked about you. Instead of getting angry like most (including her) would’ve, you instead understood him. You sat her down and explained that she needed to prioritise him as well, especially with all he’d done for her but she had refused to listen, picking a fight with him instead. After a couple days of her pouting and silent treatment, Caleb realised how sad she was with you not around and apologised, to you and her. From then on it became common for all three of you to hang out together, she was aware that Caleb still didn’t like you but he remained civil. Of course this would change later but that’s for another time.

Most nights, when she’d be curled up in her bed, she would lift her arm up and look at the gaudy bracelet on her wrist and she’d remember those times, when things were good but she was cursed to never have happiness for long.

She could never forget that day, she had gone to bed normally only to be woken up by Gran the next. It wasn’t until she heard sirens from outside, police and ambulance, that she shot up out of bed and rushed down. Gran had tried to stop her and warn her but it all blended into the background as she took in the scene in front of her. Yellow tape in front of your house, a blockade with officers standing guard to prevent any trespassing, many neighbours still in their pajamas were standing around, all of them confused. The only thing she saw was your brother on a stretcher, an oxygen mask on his face and covered in blood being rushed into an ambulance. It was all she needed to run towards you, she easily jumped over the tape as officers around her realised and tried to stop her. She got inside your house before she was stopped, an arm was around her and a gruff voice was speaking to her but she couldn’t concentrate. Your living room was covered in blood, the bodies of your parents were on the floor but you weren’t there. She didn’t remember much after that, it wasn’t until she felt Caleb’s hands on her face that she came to, back in her house with no clue how she got there. His face was filled with concern and questions were in his mouth. None of which she could answer anyways.

It took a day before they found out what had happened. Afterall, the neighbourhood was a safe one so naturally people became curious and it wasn’t long until the press showed up for coverage. In the night, while everyone was sleeping in their houses, a call from your phone had been placed to the authorities. Your voice in it was shaky but your words were in a whisper as you told the operator that there was someone in your house, you were only able to give your address before the call cut. When the police showed up and knocked on the door, no response came. They had no choice but to break the door down, two minutes later they requested for an ambulance and more officers. Your brother had been found, stab wounds all over, duct tape over his mouth but he had been alive, barely alive. Your parents weren’t so lucky. But you? You were gone. That had been the extent of all she knew for a while, until she became a hunter and was able to access the files on the investigation.

They had found someone else’s blood, and with how it matched your family’s, it was concluded that it was yours. Evidence of struggle was all over the place, primarily your scratches on the walls leading to the back door. The bracelet she had given had been ripped apart, the beads all over the room. You had been taken and it remained unsolved as to why. The person who wrote the report noted that whoever had done this was experienced and not alone, they had subdued your family to get you to not fight, one had to kill them and the other was probably holding you down. It was all done quickly, had it not been for your call, police wouldn’t have come so quickly and your brother likely would’ve been dead by the time someone noticed. Missing posters of you were put all over town and she got used to seeing your face on every news channel. She still kept a poster, tucked away in her desk drawer. After five years of no leads, you had been declared legally dead. The funeral had been small and she didn’t cry. Your gravestone was right next to your parent’s. While Caleb and your brother would return there from time to time she never visited. How could she cry and talk to you, if you weren’t in there?

She didn’t know what to feel. She was numb and for the first time in her life, she was quiet. She had gotten so used to your presence that she didn’t know what to do without you in her life. Each day seemed to just pass by with her frozen. The two of you were so close that people still asked her where her other half was before freezing, their eyes wide as they realised what they said with apologies shooting out of their mouths. Caleb was affected too, before your disappearance she saw the look in his eyes change towards you, she recognised it because she looked at you that way too. He had started teasing you, particularly about your height (you’d get mad at him since you were tall for your age and for a woman, it wasn’t your fault he was freakishly tall), he found joy in your reactions to your misfortune and so he had began to seek you out more. This didn’t go unnoticed by her but if there was one person she didn’t mind sharing you with, it was him. The two of them found solace in one another, they wouldn’t say anything but many nights were spent sitting side by side in silence, both of them looking at a picture of the three of you at Caleb’s high school graduation. You had shown up with a bouquet of hydrangeas mixed with daisies which had been her favourite flowers and lilies which had been yours. It was an odd combination but she thought it was beautiful and by the look on Caleb’s face, so did he. You had also gifted him a bracelet just as hideous, with yours and hers initials on it. “Didn’t want you to be left out,” you had teased.

The photo had Caleb in the middle, holding his certificate and your bouquet, you were on his right side and she was on his left. The both of you had intertwined your arms around his and all three of you had beaming smiles on your faces. Plans had been made for the summer since Caleb would be off to university and those plans had never come to fruition due to your disappearance.

The two often visited your brother at the hospital, he had fallen into a coma and sometimes she would stand over him wishing he had been taken and it was you there instead. A couple months later he would wake up and no memories of the night. She wasn’t sure what would happen to him since your grandparents were long gone and both your parents had been the only child in their families. But he had looked so much like you so she had begged Gran to take him in and she did. Your brother was a mess, she couldn’t blame him, he needed several months in recovery with physical therapy to learn how to walk again. His body was now forever changed, no longer healthy as it used to be, hospitals would now be a constant in his life. He didn’t have you anymore, so she stepped up, giving him the comfort you would have and to her surprise her care for him became genuine. Despite him being older she saw him as the younger brother she never had. Keeping up the tradition you had started, she had given him an ugly bracelet, this one had your initials and your parents. However later when she noticed the addition of her’s and Caleb’s, she refused to acknowledge the softness she felt.

As time passes, the wound you left behind on everyone never fades. They were all cowards however, cowards who refused to speak of you because then it would become real. They’d ignore how she had your clothes still refusing to wash them because your scent was on them, she’d ignore how a shirt of yours disappeared only to end up in Caleb’s closet or how your brother was now wearing your jacket, they would ignore any photos they came across of you in another’s room or how they all avoided all the things you enjoyed and how they would conveniently when the day you went missing would come around again. Instead they all forced themselves to move on. Caleb became a pilot, she a hunter and your brother an archivist. She reunited with Zayne, met Xavier and Rafayel. Your brother met his husband and at the wedding, three seats were left unoccupied in the front.

Everyone had always thought what you two had was friendship, sisterhood even, this included both you and her. It wasn’t until one of the university parties a friend had dragged her too, where she met a girl who looked similar to you, did she realise. She went to the girl’s dorm that night, refusing to look her in the eyes because it wouldn’t be you staring back, ignoring the moans escaping from the girl because they weren’t yours and having to bite down on the girl’s shoulder to stop herself from moaning your name instead. She left as soon as it was over, shame settling in her stomach, was this what she reduced you to? But she couldn’t stop herself anytime she found someone who reminded her of you.

In her weak moments when the pain of you got too much, she couldn’t stop her hand from wandering into her underwear, shivering as her fingers touched against her. Her thumb rubbing on her clit while her fingers moved in and out of her, her mind was occupied with thoughts of you. Her realisation of her feelings for you had awoken something in her. If you were still alive, how would you look? Would you still keep your hair short or would you let it grow out? Would the chubbiness of youth in your face disappear? Or would it remain? Would you get even taller? Would you continue soccer, gaining muscles (a shiver crept through her at the thought), or would you be lean, would you gain weight? She couldn’t stop her thoughts from becoming more sinful, she knew she should feel guilty but she didn’t. What would your body feel like against hers? Would you let her between your legs? Would you go between hers? Would you be sensitive when she’d feel all around your body, simply admiring the masterpiece that is you? Would you be more dominant? Or would you let her take the lead? Would you blush if she’d admit all the things she wanted to do to you? How would you feel if she revealed that she wanted to take you in front of anyone who thought they could be yours? It never took her long to finish to the thoughts of you and afterwards she would lie there before sobs overtook her body, she’d never get to know.

She’d often wonder what it was about you that had her trapped only to easily answer her own question. You saw her. You understood her in a way no one could, she would catch you looking at her sometimes, an expression of wonder on your face like you couldn’t believe she was real. She already knew she loved your eyes, she loved your hair, you didn’t like people touching it but you always allowed her. She loved how you adored getting fed by someone and also feeding someone, how you loved resting your head on her lap, she loved how important sleep was to you and how she used to find you sleeping in the most weird places (like a garden bed), she loved your smile and she loved your laugh. She loved how her name sounded when you said it and with that she adored your voice as well, it was melodic to her. She adored your love for baking, your dream had been to open your own bakery and she had promised to be your first customer to which you had replied, “Naturally.” She loved your horrible sense of humour. She loved your gentleness, not just towards her but towards the world. She loved how cryptic you could be sometimes, she could often see something dark in your eyes, like you had experienced some horrible things and sometimes you would ask her things like:

“Do you believe in past lives?”

“What if I told you none of this was real?”

“How do you feel about dragons?”

Most importantly, she loved how you saw her as her own person, someone capable. With her heart condition, she was used to being coddled by everyone, infantilised by her family but never with you. When she had revealed her dreams of being a hunter, she was asked to reconsider for her own well being but you had supported her with a smile and a look like you expected it (see? cryptic). When she got lectured by Gran and Caleb for beating up a group of boys that thought she’d be an easy target, you had fist bumped her and took her out to dinner because she had made you proud. You never second guessed her decisions and even in her more bratty moments you knew how to handle her. Later when she had met everyone else, she couldn’t help the pit in her stomach when they looked at her like that. Like she was everything, like they had been waiting for her for a long time, she didn’t like the expectations they had. She felt burdened by their unintentional emotions, it had never been like that with you. It was easy with you since you never looked at her like that, like you were desperate for her to remember you, to be with you in a way she never could. You had no expectations of her yet you let her into your life anyways.

So, how could you just leave her behind? How could you give her the privilege of knowing all that is you and then take it away.

A/N: are you tired of the non-mc fics where MC gets painted as a demon straight from hell? Here's one she's obsessed with you instead!

The woman in me who loves women took over while writing this and she cannot be controlled.

#love and deepspace #lads #lads sylus #lads caleb #lads rafayel #lads zayne #loveanddeepspace #lads fanfic #zayne x reader #sylus x reader #caleb x reader #xavier x reader #rafayel x reader #mc x reader #yandere #yandere character #yandere x reader #aceecee - Insatiable

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