#blended with original fiction

[axl-ul]

The Flight of the Western Crane: Chapter Twenty Two

(A reupload/repost of my fic/dark retellingof Journey to the West which can be also found on AO3 under the same name)

(General info about this fic/wip/retelling is here)

****

The brooklet babbled like a frolicsome kitten too bored to wait still for its mother. Its crystalline water trickled through the round stones, a fine connection between two distant pools that surprised everybody by its determination despite the seeming fragility.

Apart from the occasional shadow cast by a solitary cloud swimming across the azure canopy, crane feathers found their way to the tall grass. There were too many of them. Perhaps the animal fought its fellow, perhaps a predator caught it, perhaps it was only an old age catching up. Either way, the feathers were no less majestic than those of the cranes currently bathing by the distant pool.

A woman garbed in an exquisite brocade turned around; the few sun rays that fought their way through the bamboo illuminated her. Though petite, her face was sharp and her eyes like midnight seemed to hold all the secrets of the world.

She, her companion, straightened up during their common walk towards the nearby pavilion. Words weren’t understood as they weren’t heard by her, not yet. But she recognised the queen’s tone nonetheless.

She looked back at the moon gate. It was closed, no trace of the guards the queen ordered to stay outside. Her invisible scar running across her visage itched. “How odd,“ she wondered when she noticed that, in fact, the skin on her whole face felt tight causing her polite smile to become like that on a cynical leather mask. It was as if the complexion became a pelt.

The queen looked in the distance where squelching echoed. She followed only to find a couple of those great birds, their wings spread widely.

Seeress. Sorceress. Witch. Fate and control. Where does this lead to?

The initial mumble became gibberish which progressively took on a shape of clear sentences.

“Your abilities don’t equal controlling one’s life,“ the queen broke the silence,“My daughter’s included. She will get married to the groom we find suitable, honourable and loyal.“

She clenched her jaw yet kept a relaxed tone,“Your Majesty, I assure you I want only the best for Her Highness. That groom is a false one. I saw it. The other side is deceiving you. Her Highness won’t marry the one you intend for her. She’ll be turned into a mockery.“

“You see only what you coax from others in secret.“ The queen stood up, she walked towards the pavilion’s low handrail. Although Her Majesty watched the scenery unfolding in front of her, the words rang in the witch, who sensed the woman’s unforgiving gaze.

“Do you know our difference? You’re her friend and protector. But I’m her mother.“

Not only her skin but muscles as well tensed up. Finally understanding it was a desperate call of the slumbering beast, she inhaled deeply. So focused on keeping the animal locked up, the witch forgot to watch her tongue although she didn’t come to regret it any time soon. “Is that why you’re making her a broodmare?“

Upset by the sudden brashness, the queen raised her voice, nearly yelling,“Don’t you ever dare to call my child like that ever again! Because you fear to see one day yourself in her doesn’t mean she’s turning into you - a liar, a fraud and a slut!“

The everlasting spark of mettle behind the pair of blue eyes died out. The witch went quiet and the only sound one could hear was a distant guttural language of wolves stomping through the forest neighbouring the summer palace.

“You’ve found out, haven’t you?“ she looked up at last,“The greatest offence to you and His Majesty I could’ve done. Say, did you want to spare me the public shame that you left the guards behind? To humiliate me and unleash your anger in privacy?“

“It is not anger we both have to live with from now on.“

“Then what?“

When the queen replied, the witch swore to catch a glimpse of a familiar face. Those dark eyes. Empty, devoid of any emotion. The creature, a child with a dead man’s face. She loved her as if from the same blood but decided to unrightfully hate, then pity and ultimately pray for to forgive her one day.

“Disappointment.“

The queen eyed her narrowly at first, but after a moment her voice changed. It shook, even cracked at places. “Despite your severe flaws, you were an outstanding confidant. Still, you deceived us with false visions. At least you proved to be a skilled tactician. Hence you have time until dawn to gather all the things you deem dear. You shall receive food and water for a week because that is how much time I’m giving you to leave our country. Otherwise, the soldiers and guards won’t think twice about shooting an arrow and hunting you down with the hounds. I’ll carefully uncover your case and the punishment to my husband in the morning. With his current health and the state of our kingdom, to blacken his thoughts more is the least of my wishes.“

The vision blurred once again. The colours mixed, the voices mixed until they at last fused into an incomprehensible shouting.

She felt the cool breeze from the pool wash over her face. Under her feet, the unstable ground carried their footprints.

An offer, a bargain, endless pleas. Another argument that ended up in cries.

Upon the queen’s last command, she turned around.

The demonic face covered light thick fur, mostly white yet it undoubtedly mingled with yellow especially where the witch’s hair used to be. An animal with glowing eyes bared its fangs at the queen. The snout opened as if to tear into the woman’s flesh. However it released a gruff growl instead.

A wolf in sheep’s clothing.

The demoness didn’t showcase a further sign of aggression. Nonetheless the sight horrified the queen whose arms flailed in the air once the mud under the smooth shoe soles squelched.

Deep waters suppressed the queen’s yell.

She watched her. She watched and watched. Unmoving, as still as a mountain across the years. “The king won’t know if you drown… Nobody… will know,“ the she-wolf thought,“I won’t leave. And this… You saw me for who and what I am. They mustn’t know… I can’t…leave. Nowhere to go, this… The only roof above the head I have… If I’m going down, so are you…“

The queen’s clothes, though light to wear on land, quickly soaked with water. All those garbs and jewells started pulling her down. The muddy water plopped around and poured into her mouth as she tried to call out. But the horrible image engraved into her memory caused her voice to turn into mere sobs and wails cracking more with each second passed.

“You’re drowning,“ the witch-demoness mumbled at last, her stare, consumed by the void at first, was regaining signs of lucidity ,“Like my… You’re a mother…“

Suddenly, as if lightning from the clear sky had struck her, she frantically called the guards. Jumping in, she let the gate of the pool’s surface close behind as she began searching.

A pale face with eyes open wide, unblinking like those carps around. Lotus stems wrapped around the petite body like deadly bedsheets. Recognizing the help coming closer the queen’s hand reached out. The sorceress pulled. Even though the guilt and shame ripped the witch’s soul apart, it was too late.

****

Márgerdra’s eyelids fluttered until her vision corrected.

Lying on her side on a soft pile of dry leaves, she watched the rain outside the cave become tamer. The bushes barely moved unlike before when the wind was violently throwing them from side to side. Few blackbirds gathered and flew to reach the higher branches of the pines.

She’d doze off until Bajie’s hooves clanked behind her back.

Márgerdra followed the golden blaze dancing on the cavern’s walls. Once she rolled on the other side, she saw Bajie kneeling beside Wukong.

Though the pig’s back faced her, Márgerdra took notice of his ragged shirt covered in dirt. Suspicion creeped up on her because she’d previously noted an ochre colour, not vermillion.

“Don’t worry, Big Brother. I know it hurts. We’re past the worst part already. Hold on, I’ll let you rest soon,“ Bajie tried to soothe Wukong who didn’t stop moaning and couldn’t possibly hear the pig. The monologue probably comforted Bajie as he continued,“That madman must’ve aimed at your lower dantian. Since he couldn’t hit it, he went for your heart. What a monster! Trying to spill your essence! Or was he trying to poison your soul from the start? Either way, what a cruel monster!“

As they were nearing the procedure’s end, Márgerdra heard Bajie trying to loosen up the situation, though it was hard to guess whom he talked to just as previously,“Your witch’s no mere human. That fall could’ve ended her easily if she were. Perhaps she’s a demoness like you were hinting… Good thing I picked up some medical practice back in the day, of course. ‘Cause now I have to heal not one, but two foolish demons.“

Once done with massaging the meridians, Pigsy took his large coat which he’d been drying by the bonfire. Throwing it over his senior, Pigsy gently patted his head. 

Soon, Bajie’s large palms grabbed Márgerdra by armpits, moving them closer to the fire.

He kept his voice low but it was hard not to spot his mood had lightened up. Applying wet cloth on the purple bulge above her right eyebrow while helping her take a seat, he began,“Ya gave me a good scare there, miss. I admit I’m thoroughly impressed by your skills! If only you left out the passing out part. Can we have a deal this isn’t repeating in the future?“

“Unless you come clean and admit you peeped when helping me. Don’t think I didn’t notice my clothes being tied looser than before,“ the witch gently bumped into his side though she had to refrain from smirking due to the ever-present rumbling inside her head.

“Only a little. I had to make sure you could breath easily, miss,“ Bajie’s eyes twinkled,“Tea?“

“Where did you get the pot and the cups?“

“Miss, I, Tianpeng Yuanshuai, am as well versed in magic as you are! Simply put, it might be a different field, yet the experience and the skill remain.“

Strong herbal smell hit the witch’s nose. Because her dizziness meant quite an obstacle, she waited a bit before sipping. Hence a slow blink became a sign of her gratitude.

The decoction began working immediately. While Márgerdra recovered, Bajie explained.

“Six hours?“ Márgerdra rubbed her nose and shrugged,“That’s a new record.“

Bajie, evidently unsatisfied with her reaction, warned her,“I understand it’s somewhat of a routine for ya, miss. A bizarre yet strangely expected. But you shouldn’t take your health so lightly. Didn’t Big Brother tell ya the same?“

Mentioning Wukong made Márgerdra sit up straight right away. Turning to her right, she stiffened when she saw his small body under the coat. He was fast asleep and breathing regularly. But she couldn’t possibly forget what he went through not so long ago.

Bajie cursed himself at that moment and took a seat closer to her to prevent her from getting up. Instead, he masterfully found another topic just to lure her away from dark thoughts.

“Miss, when we were exorcising Big Brother-“

“Cleansing, Bajie, please. Exorcism feels…brutal. An act with a doomed outcome.“

“Fine, cleansing it is then,“ the boar consented to her correction, quickly nodding,“Ya spoke differently. I don’t wanna be nosy. But what was it?“

“My mother tongue.“

Bajie tapped on his chin,“I see, miss. The language of the Northerners sounds so snappy and brusquely. No offence, this is a comparison my ear’s picked up.“

“There’s nothing to be offended by fact. May I have a request, dear Bajie?“ Márgerdra looked at Bajie. She was tired, definitely dejected, yet he found not a grain of malice. “Don’t call me a Northerner anymore as well as don’t consider my tongue the one of the Northerns.“

“Then who are you?“

“It’s a long story.“

“One of many you told Wukong, didn’t you? The true ones.“

“Why would I do it?“

“Because you trust him and respect him. I’m far too old not to believe the relationship between the two of you’s a simple friendship, is it?“

Although Pigsy meant no harm, Márgerdra used the rock she’d leaned against to stand up and limped towards the entrance. The walls built on her lies crumbled. Aware she could never escape, her departure was a force of habit if nothing.

Once the gust blew into her face, a hand rested on her elbow. The grip wasn’t forceful. Bajie’s voice, quiet and dejected, convinced her to stop. “Miss, when I asked you to whisper to him, what did you say? I suspect it was your mother tongue. But what did it mean?“

For a long while, neither said a thing. Silence would’ve fallen upon the cave if it weren’t for the heavy rain that had turned into a drizzle. Nearly thinking she was going to pass on the question, Bajie raised his brows when Márgerdra replied,“Take me instead of him.“

Eight Rules sat on a great rock residing there. Waving his hand, he invited the sorceress to do the same, a point at which he faintly smiled. They watched the outside’s spectacle. Occasionally, the witch would glance back at the disciple who squirmed from time to time in his sleep. It would take some time for him to get back to his full strength, a time they lacked. 

She burrowed further into the blanket the boar conjured from the same leaves she’d been sleeping on and at that moment Bajie was sure to see a glistening tear.

“Ya care about ‘im, no doubt.“

Márgerdra quickly wiped her pale cheek,“He’s your brother, aren’t you concerned? That thing wanted him to suffer beyond death. Besides, this isn’t about Wukong solely. Your Master and Her Highness are in grave danger. Everyone is.“

He rubbed his face and munched on the handful of red berries the witch didn’t feel like eating. “I know, yet what else can we do now?“ Pigsy handed Márgerdra another cup, which calmed her down eventually,“I’m starting to think ya’re trying to avoid my intentions, miss. The fall. that cleansing, you fought tooth and nail. Ya offered yourself just so this old stable lad could live. We both know damn well you became a golden exception to his rule about keeping secrets before the rest of the group. Especially as a demoness, whatever kind you are. Wukonge protected you. Despite all of this, you refused to hear him out at the parade. Why?“

Márgerdra chuckled, yet there was no emotion behind. It was as if knuckles of a bare hand knocked on an empty vessel, its response monotone and dull. “You’re no idiot, Bajie. You have the smarts, you just often use it in the wrong way. Do you need my answer? I’m sure you’ve already figured.“

“I don’t wish to steal your soul’s words, miss. It’s better ya come clean.“

“You’re on a pilgrimage. You’re monks trying to cut ties with the earthly matters. He might be a sinner as I am. Yet he’s on a path my soul could never take. I’ve already ruined two important lives. Out of them, one I wanted to keep safe to repent for my greatest sin. Yet I can never replace the one who was so dear to her. Instead, I perhaps trapped her to suffer even more. Wukong deserves better. He mustn’t break his oath. He must stay by your Master and reach the West like the rest of you. If he binds himself to me, it all ends for him.“

Bajie was taken back by her response.

Márgerdra squeezed the boar’s rough palm and gave into the warmth of his arms,“Please, promise me you’ll take care of both your Master and brother on your way. Make sure no harm comes to them and they stay on the path of enlightenment like you. Save the world.“

Recognizing she wouldn’t change her mind, Zhu Bajie gave Márgerdra his word at last.

Although there was no trace of her sobbing, he rocked her like a newborn until she fell asleep, wrapped in the blanket so that only her nose and forehead could be spotted.

Taking her to the fire, he laid her beside Wukong. Pigsy watched them for a while, occasionally he glimpsed the forest outside. The ever present raindrops painted the land and the fragrance of the wet needles nearly lulled him as well. But he had to keep his watch.

He never grew bored. Quite the opposite, the witch’s statement kept him wondering.

Scratching the back of his head, he poured the last bits of tea into his cup. At last he quoted his teacher and the Bodhisattva,“The path to nirvana is difficult. A sacrifice to save all is noble though who gives a grain of rice to a single beggar outside their doorstep?“

****

“Huang Shui. Or Should I say Tang Sanzang?“

The monk felt as if he were catching on fire under Shufen’s gaze. He and Sha Seng were tied up, sitting in the corner on the ground, while Bai Long Ma had been restricted by the general’s spell. The steed’s snowy body was like a huge stain in the shack’s hostile gloom.

The monk prepared to object if Shufen hadn’t been ahead with words,“Jun, how’s the girl?“

The general checked Mei’s pulse and forehead once again. He frowned upon rolling up the sleeve on her left arm. “I’m afraid her end’s near unless we do something. Although should one help those who stabbed them in the back?“

“My words, my boy. Just as I raised you.“

“No, Shufen, please!“ Sanzang shouted, though he quickly corrected for the overstep,“Your Majesty, please hear me out. I made a grave mistake. I toyed with you, that’s undeniable. But this poor soul has nothing to do with my treachery. Truly she only happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’s innocent and now’s paying the price I should be. In fact, I’m not only a liar and a traitor but a despicable wimp as well. She sacrificed herself while I stayed behind. Please, Your Majesty, the same goes for my disciples! Please, release them. Help Her Highness and then I’m at your mercy be it death or worse! Amitabha!“

“Her Highness you say?“ Shufen knelt beside Mei and chuckled,“Why is it so surprising, little one, when you’ve been quite erudite for your young age.“

Jun unbuckled his belt to tighten it above Mei’s elbow meanwhile Shufen continued although she still kept eye contact with the simple window rather than the sobbing Buddhist,“You see, monk, I can be more vindictive than a vixen. But I am no monster. Let’s say I can believe a man who has nothing to lose. This sweet child seems far too innocent for her own good.“

Jun interrupted her,“Auntie, should we wait for him? Or should I start by myself?“

“No, dear Jun. You’re a perfect guard and a soldier. Your talent as a magician is undeniable but you’re no physician. He’ll be here soon. Just because his legs are shorter than ours, it doesn’t mean he won’t show up.“

“The girl’s condition is very bad.“

Shufen soothingly caressed the back of the general’s head as if he were a child. She offered a sad smile that barely appeared to be visible, nothing more.

Sanzang couldn’t bear the sight when Mei stretched out her healthy arm towards him. Deathly pale with sweat drops on her forehead, the princess was too weak to let out a moan, let alone speak to him or the disciples. All he could do was to trust Shufen with her promise and that the mysterious physician would soon turn up.

To his great surprise when everyone thought it was too late after all, the door flew open as if a tempest were wreaking havoc outside.

Instead of enormous gale, outlines of a tiny feeble manikin delineated on the dark grey background. Sanzang stared in disbelief at the numerous short twigs coming from his head. Even the moss covering them seemed as fresh as ever. Unlike the top of his otherwise smooth head, hair like bristle grew on his chin which measured till his belly. Although the ages wrinkled his skin deeply, his hands still seemed to hold all the strength as he slammed the door behind and joyfully made his presence known to everyone despite the obvious hardships,“Your Majesty, my apologies for taking so long. You complained about your back pain last month and look - you’re quicker than doe running across the spring grassland!“

“Master, please, no time for fooling around. Am I correct to suspect you carry all the medicine on you as always?“

The jolly physician untied the knot and proudly showed off to everyone his collection of flasks with various extracts, decoctions, brews, mixtures both solid and liquid, powders and magical pills which hung on the inside of his long vest. On some loops, tools like pincers and threads dangled, a proof he was not only an ardent alchemist but a dedicated doctor as well.

The court physician beamed until he saw the laying princess. Quickly descending onto his knees with an expression more blank than a new paper scroll, he let Mei sniff one of the solutions and broke one of the twigs on his head for her to bite on. It didn’t go unnoticed by the Buddhist that the doctor seemed to have pricked the princess with a needle significantly different to the threaded one laying beside.

Meanwhile, Shufen restricted the girl even though Mei no longer perceived anything from her surroundings. Only then the physician started cutting into her left arm with Jun’s aid.

Sanzang felt his stomach turning upside down. He was glad the Friar Sand wiggled till the position of the demon’s body allowed his master to bury his face into his armpit. However, the sounds made him tear up nonetheless. Heat crept into his face while drumming and whistling echoed in his ears. He found out Ol’ Sha couldn’t face the terrible scenery too. The demon’s flaming beard scratched the young man on his nape and remained there till the end.

****

A pair of bare feet landed on a hard cold stone of the ruined court. Black nails scratched the surface with their sharp pointed ends as a cudgel clanked mightily next to each step.

Liu’er Mihou entered the palace to dry his clothes yet his head remained hot.

The trace of the pilgrims was fresh. Though the two juniors were undoubtedly weaker, Bai Long Ma and Sha Wujing were able to erase the remaining tracks.

He didn’t mind losing them as he was sure they’d come back sooner or later to join him. But his Master, a child in the body of a monk with a foolish heart, needed more conviction. Particularly now that he’d witnessed the disciple’s death even if Liu’er Mihou now looks completely identical to him with the additional pairs of ears gone.

Lost in thoughts, he kept wandering around.

The place remained untouched to a great measure although the high walls covered in gold lost their spark to the thick dust as well as the broken ewers scattered across the ground.

He passed each corner without batting an eye. The disinterest prevailed till he reached the throne room where even his darkest contemplations dissolved upon seeing the four bright red pillars carrying the caisson ceiling and four boards with tenets. Among their tops the statues of Four Holy Beasts seemed to come to life any time soon and dance around while at the bottom of the pillars the Four Auspicious Beasts resided to watch their respective direction.

The macaque demon looked up to the great board. He read out Shufen’s title yet he didn’t hide his contempt as he caressed the rail and ascended the stairs leading to the golden throne.

With equal delicacy his fingers touched the seat as he circled around, his sneer widening. His deep eyes glazed the square room - seats for the officials empty, no steps resounding from behind the heavy screen by the entrance nor muttering servants holding great fans behind.

Although with no audience present, the demon brought his chin high up and erected his spine.

“Mei Houwang. Qitian Dasheng. All gold glitters in the eyes of the vain, how much do the sutras differ? The path to nirvana adorned with thorns and dirt, I leave my earthly bounds behind as the riches are short-lived. Sinners burn in the light of the wisdom like sandalwood in the incense burner. Reaching buddhahood is the key to the gold, the fame and the might worth so much more than this single throne.“

The grumbling hoarse voice altered with the high-pitched cracks the more the false imp talked to himself. His manners were so pompous they were nearly childish. Even an eunuch with green scales covering him head to toe, who’d just stepped inside, would’ve laughed if it weren’t for the menacing spark in Liu’er Mihou’s dark eyes.

The unsteady eunuch faltered but somehow managed to notify Liu’er Mihou,“Master, I wish not to interrupt yet I’d like to report that Golden Wind Viper underwent a successful surgery.“

“Where is he?“ the macaque asked simply, almost in a disinterested manner.

The eunuch replied just as quickly as he had made himself known,“In the southern wing with Miss Yawen. The surgeon is also present as he’s giving him medication, or so I was told.“

The demon nearly ran into the maze of hallways. Thankfully to his sensitive ears, the macaque easily located those he searched for.

Behind the door of one of the modest chambers in the southern wing, an uneasiness set in.

Golden Wind Viper spread his long body across the bed. His lips moved, but nothing came out. He was looking at the ceiling, hence he didn’t notice the warlord making his way to him.

The glances Liu’er Mihou spared Yawen of were given to the big wound on Golden Wind Viper’s naked stomach. The edges were sewed together and the navel would be mutilated forever. The pink flesh and the green skin covered in the drying out blood and the air around soaked up the smell of undigested food present in the intestines. The putrid smell made everyone except the macaque and the doctor cover their noses with sleeves.

In spite of his condition, the doctor had to be well experienced as the rogue was alive, though not much lucid to command the soldiers, a task Yawen took upon herself.

“Master!“ the handmaiden kowtowed, not hiding her blush,“My gege, your loyal servant and general, is well. Though a long recovery awaits, I’m willing to take care of him. Just look how pitiful my poorest gege is because of that filthy kitten. I’ll make her suffer, that I swear on my own life! But Master, why are you looking at us like that? Take a seat.“

Liu’er Mihou didn’t listen. He glared at Golden Wind Viper’s belly once again.

“The girl didn’t even realise the viper’s weakness. More, she almost rooted out his essence.“

“He avoided death by a thin hair,“ Yawen sobbed loudly,“he’s going to be marked for the rest of his life. But I assure you, he was glad to fight this fiercely in your name, Master. Hence my question is whether you’ll compensate us? It doesn’t need to be much. Only a nice mansion, a handful of servants and perhaps a carriage filled with gold and a steed or two.“

Yawen continued to bargain, however Liu’er Mihou arched over Golden Wind Viper. A tiny flame of hope inside flickered. “Did you kill Azure Crane of Immortality?“

“Master,“ Golden Wind Viper looked into those terribly dark eyes, his mouth dry, lips trembling,“we’ll get them all soon…“

“So they escaped? Like my Shifu? Even the princess?“

“My meimei bit her… She won’t last long. Master, I know I failed again. But this time, I swear I’ll be better tomorrow. Me and the boys will prepare for a hunt and-“

The dull end of the cudgel landed in the middle of his face. The body quickly became flabby while the content of his head splattered across everything around. One of the shattered bone pieces missed the Yawen’s eye by a miracle. The demoness shrieked when the blood and brain remains covered her skin and clothes while the rest squirmed, some even regurgitated.

Unable to gaze at the mush of muscles, vessels, bones and cartilages, she flew out of the room. Following Liu’er Mihou to the throne room, she cursed at him while crying.

“Filthy bastard! Me and Jin did everything you wanted! May the Heavens curse you! May you be damned forever! I pray your darned bones turn to dust while you choke on your bile! I hope they feed you your bloody guts and eyes before throwing you to wild beasts! You hear me?! You better run now, you coward! Once I get you I’ll-“

Yawen grabbed the demon’s shoulder to make him face her. But she didn’t spit as planned because Liu’er Mihou’s fingers curled around her throat, pushing her against the wall.

As she struggled for air, he teased her with an enormous smile as if with Golden Wind Viper’s death a great burden fell off of his chest,“What are you going to do, handmaiden? Come on, I’m all ears. Why aren’t you saying something? Are the aspirations choking you?“

Yawen locked eyes with him for the briefest of all moments when she realised he truly wasn’t only identical to Sun Wukong in face. Both were on par with strength as well.

She was of the idea those two great dark eyes were about to eat her as she was. His grip on her neck was getting tighter just as it would get tight around the whole world. That hellish face hid immense ambition and avidity, something that made Yawen squirm. However, it wasn’t fear that made her underbelly flare up. Rather an odd type of submission infected her, a wicked, foul one. Alongside it, a new plan sparked up in the viper’s cunning mind.

Catching off-guard, the demon let her go instead of snapping her neck. Yawen arched over only to collapse on all four to pant and cough.

Liu’er Mihou heartily laughed like a little boy does when he captures a cricket in the garden. Whether it was his own joke or from seeing Yawen’s misery, that was hard to tell.

His contagious laughter seized Yawen who joined right away.

Taking the surprised demon by the hand, she led him towards the empty throne. Once at the stairs, Liu’er Mihou frowned,“What’s this about, handmaiden?“

“Dearest Master, please, call me Yawen like your predecessor, though he was but a worm, a real thorn in my side,“ Yawen smiled and caressed the bruise emerging on her neck, feeling the heat of his palm that excited her,“Are you afraid? I took you for a fierce one. Perhaps my little deal shall make you change your mind?“

“Your brother bargained so much he ended up tasting my cudgel.“

“Jin was a fool who couldn’t look past his own nose,“ the handmaiden snorted as she gestured towards the room’s rest,“Look how magnificent it is here. Hundreds of demons came to kowtow to Shufen. But to you, my beloved Master, my King, thousands, millions even, come for you shall become more than Jade Emperor and Buddha combined.“

Yawen stood behind and dug her nails into Liu’er Mihou to make him sit. Once making himself comfortable, everything in front of him shifted. Emperor Taizong, all the Immortals and the Saints, the Three Pure Ones, the Third Lotus Prince, the Lord of Sichuan and his bloody hound, Xiwangmu and the Jade Emperor and lastly Bodhisattva Guanyin and Buddha kneel to the embodiment of everything and nothing. His robes brighter than the sun, the finest red cassock hanging past the mighty shoulder of the Buddha Triumphant in Wrath.

He’ll be someone. He’ll break free.

He felt Yawen directing his chin upwards.

There in the middle of the ceiling, right above the throne, a great crane from pure jade stared back at him, its dull eyes hypnotizing the demon.

“That’ll be you. Above this throne, above everyone else,“ Yawen whispered softly in his ear, only hardly resisting the urge to lick bare neck,“I’ll help you achieve it. My life and fate is in your hands. If I am to fail, do as you want with me as I am but your humble and most loyal servant. Yet remember, my King, I am no ordinary pawn like my brother.“

“What do you offer?“ although he was cold as ever, Liu’er Mihou’s tail swished around in anticipation when he turned to Yawen.

“My wits and skills. I’ll lure out your Shifu and make sure the cranes won’t be an obstacle when you’ll be getting back to your Pilgrimage. Jin already told you my venom ended the girl’s life. The same will be done to whoever dares to repeat her idiocy.“

“Except for my brothers, wench. We all must reach the West to be deemed successful.“

“Naturally, my King. The steed, the sand monk and the boar are under my protection.“

Yawen didn’t hide her favour anymore. She slid from the sidearm to Liu’er Mihou’s lap to playfully tap on his nose. The demon’s glare neither his muttered disgust discouraged the viper who cupped his cheeks and let her charm flow freely.

She was ready to seal their deal right there unless Liu’er Mihou hadn’t announced his last condition,“Just as you won’t harm my brothers, you won’t bother the witch either.“

Suddenly, Yawen landed on the floor with the macaque vanishing in the depths of the palace.

His cold manners and indifference, just like those of Sun Wukong, made the viper demoness laugh out wildly. Falling on her back, Yawen hissed at the motionless crane. Her hair splattered around like a twisted black crown only to lovingly touch her reddened neck as she giggled once more, happily submitting herself to the selfish and utterly vain obsession.

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Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added): @vanessaroades-author @morganmaietto @aohendo @rbbess110 @jgmartin @outpost51

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List of chapters:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Epilogue

[fictionadventurer]

A Biltmore Christmas may be the first Hallmark movie to drive me to fanfic.

[k--havok]

Working on Rane and Korzan again since me and my partner finally had time to and we just hit 50 pages!!

Honestly I thought this story would be a lot shorter than it is but I love my flowy descriptions and going into detail about magic and alchemy wayyy too much.

Luckily we aren't planning on selling the story or anything since its basically fanfic of an existing property (dungeons & dragons) even though 85% of it is my own canon and world building.

I'll probably post it online to AO3 at most... and maybe tumblr? We'll see.

[s0dium]

𝐒𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐑!!!

𝐒𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Never in your wildest dreams did you think you’d find out that your crush, Geto Suguru, was just like you: a murderer. Not only that but you share the same passion; killing criminals and pedophiles! (Happy Kinktober) 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: DARK CONTENT, gore, mutilation, murder, mentions of pedophiles (y/n kills them), serial killing, unprotected sex, breeding, choking, teasing, knife play, whipped Suguru 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.3k 𝐀/𝐧: This is based HEAVILY on the novel Butcher and Blackbird by Brynne Weaver. The original idea is credited to Brynne Weaver ONLY. This work is fan fiction and is not intended for commercial purposes or to infringe on the intellectual property rights of the original author.

Being a serial killer who kills other killers, pedophiles, and rapists is a great hobby.

Until you find yourself locked in a cage.

For three days.

No AC.

With a body you carved up.

You glare at the fly-riddled corpse whose legs are kneeling opposite of you in the locked cage you were both trapped in. The air is thick with the putrid stench of decay, a relentless assault on your senses. The body's skin is pallid, marred by the writhing mass of white maggots that feast mercilessly. Where eyes once held gaze, now only hollow sockets remain, tediously scooped out and vacant. The ears too have been sheared off, leaving clean edges that blend into the mottled, blood-stained flesh. Its chest has been cracked open; ribs pried apart in a macabre mimicry of an unhinged broken cocoon, revealing the dark, empty cavity where a heart once beat.

Then, of course, the piste de resistance of your work, the removed eyes, ears, and heart rest in the corpse's upturned palms—placed with ceremonial care amidst the chaos of mutilation.

So now, if anyone were to walk down the steps of Gary Green House's basement, they would not only find his mutilated body, but the person who did it, trapped in a cage together.

"Fuck." You curse at yourself for the millionth time since you've been trapped here for the last three days. The cold realization that you've fallen into Gary’s final trap gnaws at your mind as relentlessly as the maggots at the corpse across from you. The cage, a cruel relic of Gary’s twisted pleasures, had seemed the perfect place for your ritual—turning the hunter into the hunted in his own den of horrors. But in your fervor to see him pay, you overlooked one crucial detail: the cage's sinister design, which sealed shut the moment its door swung closed.

The remote control, now a mocking symbol of freedom, lies just beyond the bars, on a small, grimy table. You remember the sickening click of the lock, the finality of it echoing in the cramped space as you turned back from the grisly task of dismembering Gary—his last, silent victory.

Even the idiot police could deduce that this was all your doing, seeing as all your bloody tools were still with you in your backpack. With fingerprints. It was just a matter of time before they opened the basement door.

You could practically hear Gary’s voice from beyond the grave: "Hah! Serves you right, you stupid bitch! That's what you get for killing me!" The taunt echoes in your head like a song over and over again and you're seriously contemplating banging your head against the iron bars.

"FUCK FINE!" You yell into the darkness. "I renounce my wicked ways!"

"That's a shame. I bet I would like your wicked ways."

You jump at the sound of a man's deep, smooth voice, the cadence of slight raspiness warming every note. Your curses cut the humid air from the startlement of the man's presence. How the hell did he even get in here? You didn't hear the basement door open. You scurry out of reach of the man who saunters into the thin thread of light from the narrow window, the glass opaque with fly shit.

"You seem to be in a predicament." He says stepping into view. The thin light from the window partially illuminates him, allowing you to make out his face. Oh rather, what is on his face.

Holy shit.

A ghost mask stares back at you, its hollow eyes and elongated mouth frozen in a chilling scream. The stark white of the mask contrasts sharply with the surrounding shadows, and you watch with wide eyes as he tilts his head.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit.

In any other situation, you might be fan-girling. You know exactly who you're staring at: the infamous Crucifer, a killer, like you, but notorious for his crucifixion of criminals in rather, flamboyant displays. The few eyewitness accounts of the Crucifer all mention the ghost mask, leaving no doubt in your mind about his identity.

While your hunting grounds have been Osaka, his have typically been Tokyo, but despite the geographical difference, his reputation precedes him. In all honesty, you shouldn’t be surprised he’s here. Your victim, Gary Greenwich, is notorious even among the authorities. Despite his crimes, the lack of solid evidence has always allowed him to slip through the cracks of the justice system, leaving him free to continue his heinous activities. He was high on your kill list, and it’s no surprise he was high on Crucifers as well.

He takes a few steps closer toward the cage to stare down at the corpse, bending to take a closer look.

"Well what happened here?" He chuckles.

You are on day three of no food. No water. The gnawing hunger in your stomach feels like a relentless beast, clawing at your insides with increasing ferocity. You wonder if your body has started to eat its own organs at this point.

You can't deal with this shit.

"Self defense." You say.

The man chuckles. "I doubt that, you're not his type." Despite his mask you can feel his eyes shift from the corpse to linger on you.

"And how would you know that?"

"Well disregarding the state in which you "self defense" left him, you're not a 6 year old boy. And," he steps closer so now he is inches away from the bars and his whole body is illuminated. "I make it my business to know."

You don't answer. Instead you watch as he crouches down to meet your gaze. You try to hide behind your tangled hair and folded limbs, giving him only your eyes.

And of course, just your luck, he is stunning

Black hair flows behind his mask and down his shoulder. He's wearing a black compression shirt that hugs every muscle of his biceps and forearms, accentuating his athletic build. His broad shoulders enhance his imposing presence, giving him the aura of a seasoned athlete. Black cargo pants complete his ensemble, practical and intimidating, with a hunting knife sticking out of his pocket, probably what he would've used on Gary if you hadn't got to him first.

Something about him looks familiar, something you can't put your finger on.

"I guess you made it your business to know too." He pauses before moving even closer so his mask is practically pressed against the iron bars. "Hey, you look pretty familiar."

You shift uncomfortably, feeling the prickle of anxiety creeping up your spine. Instinctively, you brush a tangled lock of hair from your face, wincing as it catches on your dry lips. The man's shoulders tense as if he has been electrocuted.

"Y/n?" His voice cuts through the thick silence like a knife.

Oh, what the hell.

You jerk your head up from your hunched posture, eyes wide in shock, meeting the unsettling, hollow eyes of the ghost mask. Your heart races, pounding loudly in your chest.

"Wha-"

"Oh my god, it is you!" He exclaims, his loud deep voice echoing through the basement.

"I'm sorry, I don't-" you stammer, confusion and fear knotting in your stomach.

"It's me," he interrupts, and with a swift motion, he takes off his mask. The sight of his familiar face makes your breath catch in your throat. "Suguru Geto."

Suguru Geto. The name alone sent ripples through your thoughts, dragging along memories and emotions you had long buried. Suguru wasn’t just any ordinary guy; he was a micro-celebrity in Tokyo, renowned for his breathtaking tattoo artistry. His ink adorned the bodies of celebrities, flaunted in TikToks and Instagram posts that garnered thousands of likes. His reputation was impeccable, his designs sought after by the elite.

You had crossed paths with Suguru a few times at various parties, your social circles occasionally overlapping due to mutual friends. Each encounter left an indelible mark on you. His presence was magnetic, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. It wasn’t just his talent that made him irresistible; it was everything about him. Those hawk-like eyes that seemed to pierce through to your very soul, the perfect curve of his lips that could shift from a smirk to a genuine smile in an instant, and those dimples that appeared whenever he graced you with that smile—each feature was a weapon, effortlessly disarming.

You, like many other girls, harbored a secret crush on Suguru Geto. It was impossible not to. That face alone could kill, and his charisma was the final blow.

And now, here he was, standing right in front of you, unmasked and undeniably real. The reality of it all hit you like a tidal wave, leaving you breathless and a little overwhelmed.

Suguru clears his throat, a small smirk playing on his lips from how obviously you are gawking at him.

"Shot in the dark here but are you the Mute Collector?"

You part your lips to say something but you can't seem to form the right words.

"I-"

Suguru's grin widens and a sharp laugh escapes his perfect mouth. "Oh my god. I knew it. I fucking knew they had it wrong about you with that bull shit profile they built. What was it, they said you were a 30 year old white man?" Suguru throws his head back and smiles at the ceiling. "And the Mute Collector? You? That's just awesome. I'm such a huge fan."

"Yeah..." You clear your throat and push your hair completely out of your face. He grins at you, as though awe struck, and if you weren't wearing 100 layers of grime on your skin you are sure he'd be able to see the blush flaming in your cheeks for a second.

"And you?" You nod toward the mask. "You are?" You don't know why you are feigning ignorance but something about humbling him seems tastier than actual food right now.

"Oh come on." Suguru's tone flattens and he brings the mask up next to his face.

"The Crucifer?"

You shake your head.

"The cross maker?"

You shake your head again. Lying through your teeth is fun.

"The Tokyo Butcher?" When you shake your head he sighs and stands up. "Well," he glances to Gary whose maggots have made their way to the empty eye sockets. "What do you say? We ditch this lousy scene and get something to eat. Maybe when you get food in your stomach you will remember some of my little nicknames."

Your eyes widen and your stomach growls loudly, reminding you of how long it's been since you last ate. You glance up at your Suguru, a mix of hope and suspicion in your gaze.

"Are you serious?" you ask, your voice hoarse from dehydration.

"Yeah, after we get you a shower, some clothes and burn the house down."

You gulp and stand to your feet. "Could we get burgers?"

Suguru grins before grabbing the remote and pointing it at the cage.

"Fine by me."

~

The Mute Collector.

Geto Suguru is sitting across from the fucking Mute Collector.

And god you are beautiful.

Not that he just realized it now. Like many others, he has always known how attractive you are; he just pushed it to the back of his mind. But now, knowing who you really are and what you do in your free time, your body has practically been encompassed in bright warm light and your head adorned with a halo. He watches as you down your 6th cup of water with a sigh and wipe your mouth with your sleeve.

The two of you sit in a cozy booth at a restaurant, the warm, smoky aroma filling the air. Suguru leans back with a beer in hand, watching you with a mix of amusement and caution. The waitress approaches, placing a large plate with a double cheeseburger and fries in front of you. Your eyes light up, and without wasting a second, you pick up the cheeseburger with your fingers and take a big bite, savoring the flavors.

Suguru chuckles, raising his beer in a mock toast. "You look like you've just found the Holy Grail."

He doesn't miss the way you stifle back a laugh, trying to speak through a mouthful of burger. "If the Holy Grail were covered in cheese and ketchup, then yeah, maybe."

He takes a sip of his beer, grinning. "I’ve never seen someone so excited about food. Maybe you should give up your little hobby and do food reviews."

"Well, that's what being trapped in a cage with the rotting corpse of a pedophile does to you I guess." You grumble, setting down the burger and taking another drink of water.

Suguru's eyes stay on you, and he takes the opportunity to really assess you. Your hair is damp, and the wetness seeps into the white Mickey Mouse shirt you're wearing, causing it to cling slightly to your skin and reveal the elegant lines of your collarbone. He bought that shirt and the shorts for you at a thrift store, and despite the fact that such clothes should look bad on anyone, you are rocking them effortlessly.

He can't help but notice that you didn't buy a bra, a fact that makes him smile to himself.

No bra.

"So tell me." Suguru sets his beer back on the table and leans in.

"The whole ears, eyes and heart thing." He waves his left hand in the air. "The police say it's satanic ritual stuff but I don't buy it."

You pause, a hint of a smile playing at your lips as you meet his gaze. "It's simple, really. Hear no evil, see no evil, fear no evil."

Suguru raises an eyebrow. "You have a way of making the macabre sound poetic."

You're about to reach for a fry, but he snatches it before your fingers could reach it.

"Why not the tongue?" He says. "You know, speak no evil."

You roll your eyes and snatch the fry out of his fingers. "Tongues are hard to cut, too slippery and make a mess."

He nods thoughtfully, leaning back in his seat. "You know, most people would be horrified to hear you talk like that."

"Good thing you’re not most people," you reply with a smirk.

"Touché."

He watches as your lips wrap around the thick fry and your teeth rip off half of it into your mouth.

No bra.

"What about you Suguru?" You lock eyes with him. "Why are you here?"

"Why am I here?"

"You heard me. You swoop in all superman-like, save me from the dipshit’s pedo dungeon and take me out for a double cheeseburger. Why are you here?"

Suguru shrugs and averts his gaze from your unyielding stare. Shit, your piercing eyes are almost making him sweat.

"Same thing you already did. I was going to skin him alive and and display the fucking monkey Jesus style infront of his house. At least, something like that."

"Yeah but why him? I thought your hunting grounds were in Tokyo?"

Your eyes widen slightly as the words hang in the air, the weight of your mistake sinking in immediately. You feel a rush of heat to your cheeks, a telltale sign of your embarrassment. Your lips part as if to take back the words, but it's too late; they've already been spoken.

A sly smile spreads across Sugurus face as he watches your face fall.

"Oh you totally know who I am Y/n."

"Fucking hell."

"You do! You know that I like to hunt near my home, how long have you been a part of my fan club?"

You roll your eyes and fall back into your seat. You blink rapidly, trying to maintain your composure, but the subtle tension in your jaw and the furrowing of your brow betray your embarrassment.

"So which one was your favorite? The monkey I strung up next to the police station? Or the one I flayed inside the Tokyo Union Church?"

"Oh my god I can already tell you are going to be insufferable." You grumble, the heat of embarrassment slowly dissipating as you take a deep breath. Suguru leans back, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he swirls the beer in his hand, watching you with an almost predatory curiosity. As seconds pass, Suguru assesses your face, following how your eyes dart around the room, searching for an escape route, and Suguru’s playful expression falters for a split second. He realizes with a sudden jolt that you're trying to leave. He can't have that. He needs to see you again.

"Hey speaking of suffering," Suguru clears his throat. "Have you heard about the women killings in Kyoto?"

Your eyebrows raise, curiosity piqued. "Yeah, I've heard. Pretty gruesome stuff. Why do you ask?"

A playful smile tugs at his lips. "How about a friendly competition? The killer's already taken six lives so far."

You tilt your head, your eyes narrowing slightly as you try to decipher his intentions. "What do you mean by a competition?"

Suguru leans in closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "That's exactly what it sounds like. Who can hunt him down first?"

For a moment, you're taken aback, your eyes widening as you process his proposal. A mix of surprise and intrigue flickers across your face. "Are you serious?"

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your reaction. "As sin."

"And what do we get if we win?"

Suguru's eyes gleam with amusement and something else—admiration. "Bragging rights, of course. And maybe... another dinner like this one."

You throw your head back and let out a laugh. "Oh yeah? Who says I'll need you to get me another dinner?"

"Can't let you go hungry again. What do you say?”

~

You sit at your desk, the dim light of your laptop casting a pale glow on your face as you scroll through articles about the woman killer from Kyoto. The room is quiet, save for the occasional click of your mouse and the hum of the laptop. Your phone buzzes, and you glance at the screen to see Shoko’s name. With a smile, you answer the call.

"Hey Shoko, how’s your night shift?" you greet her with a teasing tone.

Shoko’s laugh crackles through the speaker. "Busy as always. Just patched up a guy who thought he could outsmart a bulletproof vest with sheer willpower. Spoiler: he couldn’t."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Sounds like my type of guy."

By day, Shoko is your best friend and a dedicated med student, excelling in her studies with a, albeit, half hearted, passion for helping others. But when the sun sets, she transforms into the notorious Dr. Reverse, the underground doctor every criminal and lowlife turns to in their time of need. Using her medical expertise, she serves those who cannot seek help through legal means, operating in the shadows and patching up criminals who live by a different set of rules. In addition to her medical skills, she also deals in poisons, further cementing her reputation in the underworld.

You first met Shoko in a moment of desperation. After cornering a serial rapist, you were attacked with a machete, almost severing your arm. With nowhere else to turn, you sought out Dr. Reverse. Shoko skillfully sewed you up and, in the process, deduced that you were the infamous Mute Collector. To your surprise, she didn't seem to care about your identity, and you, in turn, didn't question her underground business or her dealings with poison. This mutual understanding and acceptance laid the foundation for a strong bond, and you've been best friends ever since. 

Shoko laughed, a sound that always manages to lift your spirits. "Right? Anyway, what's up? I saw your SOS text."

You hesitate, glancing at the photo of Geto Suguru on your screen on a separate tab. His annoyingly white teeth glare back at you, and you try to resist staring at his six pack in an instagram photo someone took of him at a pool party.  His dark eyes seemed to stare right through you, as if mocking your indecision. "It's about Geto."

There was a brief pause before Shoko's voice came back, tinged with curiosity. "Geto? What about him?"

You take a deep breath, your fingers drumming nervously on the desk. "He's the Crucifier."

Shoko's reaction was immediate and loud. "Geto is what?" she practically yelled through the phone, causing you to wince.

"The Crucifier. I know." You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the absurdity of it all. "Can you believe it?"

Shoko let out a low whistle. "Wow. I mean, he always seemed like a guy with secrets, but I never pegged him for a serial killer, I mean, someone like you."

"Yeah, well, here we are," You mutter, rubbing your temples. You focus your attention back on your computer screen. Suguru is squeaky clean, not even a bad review on his website. There was only his questionable taste in best friends: Gojo Satoru—the biggest playboy and the infamous heir to the Gojo Company, Japan's largest and most influential corporation. Gojo's notoriety was legendary, his exploits plastered across tabloids and whispered in gossip circles. You’ve met, and been hit on by the man a few times, and not once did you fall for any of his slimy cheap antics. No, Geto Suguru is who your eyes fell on. 

 "And now he’s proposed some sort of competition."

"A competition?" Shoko's voice was practically dripping with amusement. "Like a hunting competition?”

You let out a snort of air through your nose. “Basically.”

Are you gonna do it?"

"I don't know," You admit, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand. "I said I would, but I don't know. I barely know the guy. Well, I thought I did."

"Well, you should," Shoko said, her tone shifting to one of gentle teasing. "Besides, isn't this your chance to get closer to your crush?"

You feel your cheeks flush. "Shoko, seriously? Come on, that was ages ago."

"Hey, I'm just saying," she replies, laughter bubbling up again. "This could be your big break."

"You're impossible," you grumble, though you can't help but smile. "How's the side business, by the way?"

"Thriving," she says and you can practically see her small smile through the phone.. "You'd be amazed at how many people need a little untraceable something for their enemies."

"I don't doubt it," you say, shaking your head. "Just stay safe, okay?"

"You too, Mute Collector," Shoko says, her voice softening slightly. "And remember, if you ever need anything, you know where to find me."

"Always," you reply, your smile growing wider. "Thanks, Shoko. Talk to you soon."

"Later," she says, and the line goes dead.

You lean back in your chair again, your thoughts drifting back to Geto Suguru and the strange, dangerous world you both inhabit. As much as you hate to admit it, Shoko is right. This is your chance, not just to catch some sick killer, but to uncover the secrets that lie hidden beneath Suguru’s enigmatic exterior.

With a sigh, you close your laptop and stand up, determination settling in your chest. The competition awaits, and you have a feeling it's going to be a game changer.

~

“What’s got your panties in a twist?”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the white hair man’s mocking tone and continues to stare at his phone. It's been 10 minutes. How long does it take for someone to respond to a text. Suguru lay sprawled on the couch, his eyes fixed on his phone. Across the room, Gojo was bustling about in the kitchen, the sound of utensils clinking and food sizzling filling the air.

"Is this about Y/n? The Mute Collector or whatever?" Gojo asked, glancing over his shoulder with a mischievous grin.

Suguru didn't respond, his gaze unwavering from the screen. He could feel Gojo's eyes on him, the scrutiny almost tangible.

"I don't think I've seen you put this much effort into a woman since, like... ever," Gojo continued, his tone teasing. He turned back to his cooking, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement.

Suguru's jaw tightened, but he kept his silence. Gojo, undeterred, pressed on. "Besides the fact that she's the Mute Collector, what do you even see in Y/n? Well, I guess she does have other assets," he chuckled.

"Keep her name out of your fucking mouth, you prick," Suguru snapped, his voice low and menacing.

Gojo raised his hands in mock surrender, a laugh escaping his lips. "Alright, alright, no need to get all territorial."

Suguru continued to stare at his phone, his fingers hovering over the keys. "How long does it take for someone to respond to a fucking text" he mutters under his breath.

Gojo leaned against the counter, arms crossed. "Maybe she's busy. Or maybe she's just messing with you. You know, playing hard to get."

Suguru finally looks up, his eyes narrowing. "She doesn't play games. And she's not hard to get—she's hard to keep."

Gojo raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by Suguru's reaction. “Touchy, touchy,” he mutters, returning to his culinary task.

Just then, Suguru's phone pings. His heart skips a beat as he sees your name flash on the screen. He quickly opens the message, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he reads your response.

Y/n: Fine, I'll do it. But what are the details?

Suguru: Oh, I'm thrilled

Y/n: Shut up.

Suguru: The rules are simple: whoever deduces the monkey’s identity first and guts the bastard wins.

Y/n: And how do I know you don’t already have a head start?

Suguru: I guess you'll just have to trust me. 

Y/n: Trust you? That’s rich coming from someone who literally stabs people in the back.

Suguru lets out a snort of air from your comment catching Gojo’s attention. “Ah, there it is. The smile of a man who's finally gotten what he wants.”

Suguru doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he focuses on your message, feeling a grin grow on his lips.

Suguru: You wound me, truly. But where’s the fun without a little challenge? Besides, I wouldn’t want to make it too easy for you

Y/n: Easy, huh? I suppose you think you’re quite the genius, then?

Suguru: Only compared to the average monkey. You, on the other hand, might actually make this interesting.

Y/n: Is that a compliment or are you just trying to butter me up?

Suguru: Can’t it be both? 

Y/n: Oh, don't worry. You’re not the only one who enjoys a good chase. But don’t cry when I beat you at your own game.

Suguru: Cry? Please. I’ll be too busy admiring you in action. It’s a win-win for me.

Y/n: Flattery will get you nowhere, Suguru.

Suguru: Really?

Suguru: Not even a little bit princess 🥺?

Y/n: *One attachment*

You send an image of your hand flipping him off. Your middle finger nail is painted black and he assumes so are all your other fingers. His heart thuds against his chest. God, how he would love to have those nails dragging down his back. His dick twitches just thinking about it. 

Gojo snickers as if he can read Suguru’s thoughts and Suguru considers throwing his phone at the smug white hair man when Gojo’s phone rings. Any humor falls off Gojo’s features like snow from a shaken tree branch. He glances at the caller ID, his eyes narrowing, and picks up the phone with a serious tone.

“This is Gojo.” He says. His voice is gruff as he responds to the caller with clipped “yes” and “no” answers, his timbre low. “I'll be there in 30 minutes.” 

When he sets down the phone, Suguru meets his blue eyes, Gojo’s brief smile is grim.

“Trouble?” Suguru asks.

“Trouble.” Gojo repeats.

On the exterior Gojo is Japan's most infamous playboy and philanthropist. But by night he is the devil's tool, the country's most lethal assassin for anyone from politicians to presidents.  What Suguru and you do for a hobby, Gojo Satoru does for his job.

Gojo dumps his hot food in a container, grabs his hunting knife coat and bag and heads for the door. Before he exits, he turns around to lock eyes with Suguru.

“Be safe. A woman killer is a deadly combo.” He says.

Suguru chuckles, and for a second he doesn't know if Gojo’s talking about you or the guy in Kyoto. “You to ass hat.”  

~

You can't believe you are doing this. 

You can't believe that you took up Suguru’s competition, spent 120 dollars on a train and hotel room at Kyoto and an extra 20 on room service. Moreover you can't believe that you are here, hiding in a forest of bamboo shoots at the dead of night, watching some man who may or may not be the Kyoto women killer.

It’s a warm summer night, and every time the wind blows, the bamboo shoots rustle against each other, creating a haunting melody that sets your nerves on edge. The air is thick with the scent of earth and foliage, and the occasional hoot of an owl punctuates the silence. You’re crouched low, your body tense, watching a man named Noaya Zenin who you followed out here. He seems to be wandering aimlessly, but you know better than to underestimate him. The Zenin clan's reach is long and shadowy, and their involvement in the Kyoto women killings is a tangled web you’ve been unraveling. All key witnesses were either paid off by the Zenin clan or had lawyers representing them from the Zenin clan. The pattern was too precise to be a coincidence.

Your heart thuds in your chest, adrenaline coursing through your veins. The thrill of the chase, the hunt, makes your senses sharper, every movement and sound more pronounced. You can feel the need creeping up on you, slowly reaching your brain until your skin itches with anticipation. 

Each minute feels like an eternity as you scrutinize Noaya’s every move. He stops occasionally, looking around as if sensing he’s being watched, and you hold your breath, pressing yourself closer to the ground. The moonlight filters through the dense bamboo, casting eerie shadows that dance with the wind. Your mind races, piecing together fragments of evidence and suspicion. If Noaya Zenin is indeed the killer, catching him here could be the breakthrough you need.

“Hiya.”

A scream almost rips through you when you feel someone's breath against your ear, but you quickly cover your mouth and whip around. Of course, you’re met face to face with the man you least wanted to see right now. Familiar hazel eyes gaze back at you, glinting with mischief and amusement. Suguru is crouched right next to you, his nose mere inches from yours, a sly smirk on his face. You didn’t even hear him approach.

“Suguru, what the fuck?” you hiss, keeping your voice low. Your first instinct is to grab your knife out of your pocket and press it against his throat but he holds both his hands up as if surrendering, stopping you.

“Woah woah princess, let's cool our engines.” He chuckles softly, clearly enjoying your reaction.

Your pulse is still racing, but you force yourself to calm down. “You could have given me a heart attack. How did you even find me?” You seethe.

“I have my ways,” he replies cryptically, his smirk widening. “Besides, I couldn’t let you have all the fun, now could I? So,” his eyes flicker to Noaya, who still seems to be staring at his phone. “Who are we looking at?”

“We?” You scoff and roll your eyes. “Are you kidding me? There is no we. This is a competition, remember? Go do your own research.”

Suguru raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Oh, come on. You know you love my company.”

Before you can retort, Noaya picks up his phone. You both strain to listen, and you catch his words clearly.

“Yeah, I’m at the bamboo forest. See you soon, babe.” He then hangs up the phone with a click and puts it back in his backpack. But just when you're about to turn back to Suguru and rip into the man, Noaya pulls something else out too. A hunting knife. A large one at that with serrated ends and a pointed tip that glints in the moon light. Just like the one used on the victims. And as if things couldn't get any more apparent, you watch as a wicked grin spreads across his face when he draws the blade diagonally through the air.

“Oh shit,” you whisper, eyes wide. “That’s definitely him. That’s like some comically evil villain shit right there.”

“Dibs,” Suguru whispers back, a glint of excitement in his eyes as he puts on his ghost mask. “I call fucking dibs.” He stands up, the crunch of leaves making Noaya whip around and stare right at the area you both hid in.

For a solid 5 seconds your two flabbergasted to even form words, you can only watch as Suguru steps out from the bamboo shoots and onto the trail, slowly walking toward Noaya like a lion cornering a gazelle. 

Or course, Noaya turns, screams like a little girl, and makes a hard right straight into the forest of bamboos.

“Oh hell no,” you mutter, leaping up and chasing after him. You sprint through the forest, the warm summer air thick and humid around you. Each footfall is muffled by the dense undergrowth, but the occasional snap of a twig or crunch of leaves marks your frenzied pace. Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly shadows that dance along the forest floor, creating an ever-shifting maze of light and dark.

Your breath comes in quick, controlled bursts, each inhale filling your lungs with the earthy scent of the forest. Adrenaline surges through your veins, sharpening your senses. The rhythmic pounding of your heart in your chest matches the rapid beat of your footsteps. Ahead, you can just make out the faint silhouette of Noaya, his panicked movements betraying his desperation.

Branches claw at your clothes and face, but you push through, eyes locked on your target. The thrill of the chase ignites every nerve, propelling you forward with a singular focus. Suguru’s presence is a constant just behind you, his footsteps a steady reminder of the competition driving you both. You can hear his breaths, steady and calculated, mirroring your own.

The path twists and turns, the bamboo growing thicker, creating a claustrophobic tunnel. You duck and weave, dodging low-hanging branches and vaulting over fallen logs. The forest floor is uneven, riddled with roots and hidden pitfalls, but your reflexes are sharp, your movements instinctual.

The thrill, the excitement, the danger—it all converges in this moment. You are a predator in your element, and your prey is within reach. The bamboo forest seems to blur around you, time stretching and contracting with each heartbeat. This is what you live for, the ultimate test of skill and nerve, the ultimate game of life and death.

Just as you’re about to close the distance, your fingertips brushing the fabric of Noaya’s shirt, he whirls around with surprising speed. The moonlight catches the gleam of his hunting knife as it arcs through the air. Instinct takes over, and you try to dodge, but the blade slices across your palm, leaving a hot, stinging line of red in its wake.

For a split second, time seems to slow. You see the wild desperation in Noaya’s eyes, the way his chest heaves with exertion and fear. But there’s no pain, only a white-hot fury that floods your veins, fueling your next move.

Your grip tightens around the hilt of your own knife, slick with blood but steady. The cut on your palm feels like a mere scratch compared to the surge of adrenaline that courses through you. With a fierce snarl, you lunge forward, using the momentum to drive Noaya back a step.

He stumbles, his confidence faltering as he realizes the severity of his mistake. You don’t give him a chance to recover. You move with a predatory grace, every muscle coiled and ready to strike. The forest around you fades into a blur of green and shadow, all your focus locked on the man in front of you.

Noaya swings wildly, his movements frantic and uncoordinated. You sidestep his attacks with practiced ease, your fury giving you a sharp, clear edge. The scent of blood mingles with the earthy aroma of the forest, and your pulse pounds in your ears like a war drum.

You close the distance again, this time with a calculated precision. Your free hand shoots out, grabbing his wrist and twisting it until the knife clatters to the ground. Noaya yelps in pain, his eyes widening in terror. The tables have turned, and he knows it.

Your injured hand, still bleeding, clamps down on his shoulder with a vice-like grip. You lean in close, your breath hot against his ear. “Nice try,” you hiss, the fury in your voice making him shudder. “But it’s over.”

With a swift, brutal motion, you plunge your knife into his chest. The blade sinks into flesh with a sickening thud, and Noaya's eyes widen in shock and agony. Blood spurts from the wound, hot and sticky, spraying across your face in a macabre mist. The initial strike is met with a gasp, a desperate, choking sound that fuels the savage fire within you.

A wicked grin spreads across your face, the thrill of dominance electrifying your senses. You pull the knife out, feeling the resistance of tissue and bone, and then plunge it in again, and again. Each thrust is accompanied by a wet, squelching sound, a symphony of carnage that drowns out the world around you. Blood flows freely, pooling at your feet and soaking into the earth.

Noaya’s body jerks and spasms with each stab, his strength fading with every violent assault. His once panicked eyes grow dull, the life draining from them as you continue your relentless attack. The coppery tang of blood fills the air, mingling with the scent of the forest, creating a heady mixture that makes your pulse race even faster.

You lose yourself in the rhythm of the violence, the way your muscles strain and flex with each plunge of the knife. Blood splatters across your face and clothes, warm and viscous, painting you in the evidence of your victory. Your grin widens, a feral expression of triumph and fury.

Amidst your frenzied stabbings, Suguru places a hand on your shoulder. "I think—" he begins, but when you turn around to face him he immediately shuts up.

Your eyes are wide, pupils contracted like a deranged predator. Your hair flows wildly in the wind as you grab Suguru's throat with your bloody hand, smearing the crimson on his skin and pressing him against a tree. 

"This woman-killer fucker is mine." You seethe.

His dick strains against his cargo pants waistband. You look divine.

“ Of course, All yours baby.” He coos.

~

Geto Suguru would be lying if he said that watching you tear apart that woman-killer wasn't the hottest thing he had ever seen. 

To Suguru, you looked divine. The moonlight accentuated the sharp angles of your face, casting shadows that danced across your blood-splattered skin. Your eyes, wild with the remnants of fury, glowed with an unearthly intensity. The contrast of crimson against your complexion made you seem otherworldly, a dark goddess of vengeance. Suguru couldn’t tear his eyes away, mesmerized by the raw, primal beauty you exuded in that moment.

The walk back to your hotel was silent, but not because you were soaked in blood or because he felt awkward. More like it was because the only think he could think to say is “You are so fucking hot.”

Now here he is, twiddling his thumbs as he stands outside of your hotel door, trying to think of the right thing to say to you because god he needs to see your face one last time before he goes to bed.

He raises his hand to knock, but before he can, the door swings open. You stand there, your hair wet and smelling faintly of vanilla. You’ve clearly just come out of the shower. A tank top clings to your damp skin, and sports shorts hug your thighs. His eyes widen slightly, and he gulps, struggling to keep his composure. 

No bra.

The sight makes his mouth go dry.

"Just checking to see if everything is good," he says, nodding toward your bandaged hand.

You feel yourself fidget in your place and you try to flash a small smile but your emotions betray you. What if you freaked him out? What he saw back there, what you did back there, that was you, the raw you. Behind all the layers of kind smiles and pleasantries, in many ways, you were no different than an animal, consumed by your predatory instincts. You wouldn't blame him if he never contacted you again after this. Shit, did you just fuck up everything?

 His presence fills the doorway, and you’re acutely aware of the tension between you two.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reply, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Thanks for asking.”

His eyes flicker down to your hand, then back up to meet yours. “How’s the hand?” he asks, genuine concern in his voice.

You hold it up and wiggle your fingers slightly. “It’ll heal. No big deal.”

Silence fills the void between you two and you clear your throat, searching for something to say to break the awkward silence, but he beats you to it.

“Mind if I come in?” he asks, a smirk playing on his lips as he leans against the doorframe. “Or are you planning to keep all the fun out here in the hallway?”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “Sure, come in. But I warn you, it’s a mess.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” he quips, stepping inside. His eyes scan the room, taking in the organized chaos. Bandages and clothes are scattered around the floor and he doesn't miss the splatter of blood on the white sheets of the hotel bed. After a moment, Suguru turns around and takes a step closer to you, like he’s examining you. 

You tilt your head slightly, letting a smirk play on your lips. "So, now that I’ve won the bet, what do I get?"

He chuckles, the sound low and smooth, as he takes another step closer, closing the distance between you. "I was wondering when you’d bring that up." 

You arch an eyebrow, trying to keep your composure despite the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. "Well? I’m waiting. What’s my prize?"

Suguru stops just inches from you. "I don’t know," he quips, "What do you want?"

You let out a short laugh, though it’s clear you’re testing him now. "That’s a big question."

Suguru's eyes darken slightly, his playful demeanor shifting into something more serious, more intense. He leans in just a fraction, his breath warm against your skin. "Try me."

The tension between you two is palpable, electric. You’re the first to break the silence, your voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "I want," you pause, averting your gaze from Suguru’s hawkish one. “I want to know if I scared you.” The question slips out before you can stop it, your bravado faltering as doubt creeps in.

Suguru blinks, then a slow smile spreads across his face. "Scare me?" He repeats, as if the idea itself is laughable. He steps even closer, forcing you to take a step back until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. "Scare me?” He repeats again. “You didn’t scare me," he continues, his voice low and sincere. "You… captivated me. I have never, and I mean never, seen something so magnificent as what you did. And that's saying a lot because I've done a shit ton of magnificent things.”

You sit down on the bed, more out of necessity than choice, as he looms over you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you feel a mix of emotions—relief, curiosity, and something much more dangerous.

"What are you doing?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper as he leans in, his hands resting on either side of you, trapping you in place.

He smiles, a slow, almost wicked grin that sends shivers down your spine. "Well, I thought I might kiss you now, you know, after telling you how magnificent you are.” He tilts his head. “Is that a bad idea?"

Your breath catches in your throat as the weight of his words sinks in. You forget to breathe.

You finally find your voice, though it’s a bit shakier than you’d like. "That depends…"

"On?" He asks, his face inching closer to yours, his gaze locked onto your lips.

"On how good you are at it," you murmur.

He doesn’t need any more encouragement. Suguru closes the remaining distance, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that’s as intense as it is tender. It’s a slow, deliberate connection, his hands moving to cradle your face as if you’re something precious, something worth savoring.

The kiss deepens, and all the tension that had been building between you two finally snaps, leaving nothing but raw desire in its wake. You respond in kind, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, pulling him closer as if you can’t get enough.

When you finally pull apart, both of you are breathless, and the world seems to have shrunk down to just the two of you in this moment. Suguru’s forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, a real, genuine smile that you can feel in your bones.

"So," he says, his voice husky and low. "How was that?"

You laugh softly, still trying to catch your breath. "Not bad," you admit, your fingers running through his black hair. "Not bad at all."

"Good," he replies, his lips brushing against yours in a whisper of a kiss. "Because I plan on doing it again."

Suguru’s lips are on yours again before you can even catch your breath, this time more insistent, more demanding. He’s not asking for permission anymore; he’s claiming what he wants, and it makes your head spin. The kiss deepens as his tongue slips past your lips, exploring your mouth with a slow, deliberate intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. You can taste him—warm, intoxicating—and you find yourself leaning into his lips, craving more.

His hand, warm and firm, slides down your side, tracing the curve of your waist before coming to rest between your thighs. The touch is electrifying, sending a jolt of sensation through you, and you gasp against his mouth, your heart pounding in your chest.

But it’s too much, too fast. Your mind races, and you instinctively pull back, breaking the kiss. “Wait,” you murmur, your voice breathless, “I dont know if we should….” You avert your gaze and turn your head toward the wall but Suguru grabs your chin, forcing you to look right into his hazel eyes. Then, he dips his head to whisper in your ear.

“Aw come one Y/n” He grazes your earlobe with his teeth. “I’ve been on my best behavior, a good boy,” Suguru pauses to deliver a soft kiss to your temple. “I've been waiting, waiting ever since I met you in that cage to do this. Don't I deserve a reward for my patience?” 

You thickly gulp as he rubs the sides of your neck with his lips.

“I’ve been-” He kisses your jaw. “Such a-” he kisses his way up to your mouth. “Good boy.”

You cave. 

As his words sink in, you feel your resolve crumbling, the weight of his desire pressing down on you in the most intoxicating way. Before you can even process what’s happening, Suguru's strong arms wrap around you, lifting you off the bed with effortless ease. His grip is firm but gentle, as if he's afraid of breaking you, and you can't help but let out a soft gasp as he lifts you off the bed and up so your head rests on the plush hotel pillow. His eyes lock onto yours, dark with intent, and you feel your breath hitch as the world narrows down to just the two of you. The room is filled with the sound of your breathing, heavy and uneven, mingling with the quiet rustle of sheets as he leans over you.

“I know you have been thinking about this too.” He coos. Suguru’s hands move with a deliberate slowness, as if savoring the moment. His fingers curl around the hem of your tank top, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he begins to lift it. The cool air hits your skin as he pulls the fabric up and over your head, exposing you to his hungry gaze. But before you can feel self-conscious, his lips are on your newly exposed skin, pressing gentle kisses along your collarbone, his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Gorgeous,” he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with awe and reverence. “Just so gorgeous.”

His hands are on your shorts next, tugging them down your hips with the same careful slowness, as if he’s unwrapping the most precious gift. As the fabric slips down your legs, he trails kisses along the newly exposed skin, his lips brushing against your thighs, your knees, your calves, until the shorts are discarded on the floor.

Now you’re lying before him in just your underwear, and the way he looks at you makes your heart pound. His eyes are dark and intense, filled with a hunger that makes your entire body flush with heat. “You’re gorgeous,” he repeats, his voice thick with emotion. “Just so damn gorgeous.”

Suguru straightens up slightly, his hands moving to the hem of his own shirt. In one fluid motion, he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside, revealing his bare chest. The sight of him makes your breath catch—his body is lean and athletic, muscles defined and sculpted from years of discipline and training. Tattoos cover his skin in an elaborate tapestry. He’s handsome, impossibly so, and the sight of him like this, just inches away, makes your pulse quicken.

He doesn’t stop there. His fingers move to the waistband of his sweatpants, and he slides them down, revealing more of his skin, his strong legs, until he’s kneeling before you in just his boxers. The fabric clings to him in a way that leaves little to the imagination, and you can’t help but stare, mesmerized by the sheer physicality of him.

Suguru catches your gaze, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. “Something catches your eye princess?”

You nod, “Yes. You. All of you.” Your eyes tracing every line and curve of his body. He’s more than just handsome—he’s breathtaking, a perfect combination of strength and beauty that leaves you feeling weak in the best way possible.

He leans down again, his body hovering over yours, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Good, wouldn't want you to be disappointed.”

With that, he captures your lips in a heated kiss, his hands trailing down your sides, touching, feeling, exploring. 

You are too lost in the kiss not to notice his hands slipping under your underwear and making their way to your dripping cunt, and when they do, you jump at the feeling of his index finger tracing your slit.

"Gotta get you ready baby.?" Suguru hums and you shake you head vigorously.

"No please Sugu~, I can take it."

You don't have to tell him twice.

In one fluid motion Suguru tears off your underwear, lays you on your back and positions himself between your legs.

"Been waiting to do this for so long," he murmurs as he pulls down his boxers and whips out his dick. You thickly gulp at the sight, you could've guessed he was big not this big, could he even fit in you? A white bead of precum dribbled from his pretty pink tip and down his length and he uses the liquid to stroke himself in a few fluid motions.

You could hear your heart in your ears and adrenaline coursed through your veins at rocket fire speed. The need in between your legs was too much, it was clouding your head and twisting your stomach so tight you almost felt sick. You jolt when his fat tip bumps into your clit; collecting your juices before pressing against your quivering hole.

"Suguru please~" You whine and nearly miss the way his ears go bright red at your words

"I know baby, I know. Don't worry, lift your hips for me love?”

You oblige and immediately when you do so you're struck with the feeling of his length spreading you so helplessly wide and his tip smashing against something which must be your cervix you think. It’s painful, but in the pain is so much pleasure. He presses his forehead against yours as he slides into you, gripping the sheets with his supporting hand as your hot, wet entrance swallows his cock. Instinctively, you're cunt squeezed around the foreign intrusion, trying to push it out, making Suguru let out a low groan of his own and pushing even deeper into you. 

“F-fuck I can feel you doing it to me,” he said hoarsely.

His fingers gently press into the skin of your hip, guiding and steadying you as he pulls back and thrusts into you. The sudden friction and collision with your G-spot knocks the wind out of your lungs. Ticklish pleasure courses through your veins and you immediately throw your head back against the wall as Suguru thrusts into you.

"Hnghh, s-so good~~" You whine. It was dizzying, the curvature of his dick digging itself against your g-spot, scraping against your vaginal walls every time he backed his hips up.

Simultaneously, his other hand sought yours, finding it with a purposeful tenderness. His fingers intertwined with yours, locking them together in a grip that was both a clasp and a caress.

You dont even realize that your eyes are closed until Suguru whispers into your ear.

“Come on baby, open those pretty eyes, look at me.”

You do as he says and when you do you feel your heart thud in your chest. Suguru’s eyes were fixated completely on you, how you were reacting, as his hips were continuously slamming into your body as if it were clockwork. The sight alone had your walls clamping down on him, earning a groan from the base of his chest. 

Suddenly, the hand that had been intertwined with yours released its grip and began to rummage through Suguru’s discarded pants. Your breath hitched, eyes glazed over as you watched him retrieve a knife from his pocket, unsheathing it effortlessly with a flick of his finger. The sharp glint of the blade caught your attention from beneath Suguru’s body, even as he continued thrusting into you, not missing a beat.

Your body reacted instinctively, clenching at the sight, drawing a low, dark chuckle from Suguru.

“Hah, I knew it,” he said, his voice laced with a teasing edge as he brought the cold steel to the base of your throat. “You’re just a slut for knives, aren’t you?”

A moan escaped your lips, the sound betraying any chance of denial. Suguru took it as an admission, pressing the blade firmly against the skin of your throat as he angled his hips to hit even deeper inside you. The cool metal at your throat was electrifying, but it was his other hand, strong and unyielding, that sent a euphoric thrill coursing through you. His fingers flexed, tightening around your neck, the pressure intensifying.

It wasn’t just the air being cut off—it was the dizzying, intoxicating pleasure that came with it. The way his grip constricted, pushing you to the edge of control, ignited something raw inside. Every squeeze of his hand made your body burn hotter, a perfect balance between pain and pleasure, leaving you gasping for more.

What a primal dirty sight you where, being choked with a blade against your throat while fucked brutaly. Even the devil would clutch his rosaries.  

"Were we doing it like this in your head baby?" Suguru grunts, his Adam apple bobs as he groans from the pleasure of how fucking heavenly your pussy feels. “Because we were doing it like this in mine.” Good? Try euphoric, how could he ever think his fist could substitute the wet squeeze of your cunt?

You can't even open your mouth to respond. The friction of his dick against your walls and the adrenaline from the knife is just too good and as his pace intensified, a dizzying warmth spread through you, filling every corner of your being with a euphoric haze. The sensation of being completely enveloped, utterly connected, sent electric flesh arrows of pleasure through your body, making your eyes flutter and roll back slightly in sheer bliss. Every motion Suguru makes, every time his fat tip collides with your cervix, leaves behind a trail of sparkling heat that seems to light you from within.

"Come on eyes on me when I fuck you baby~" Suguru releases his hold from your neck and snakes his fingers between your body , finding your clit and pressing down on the pearl back and forth with the pad of index finger. "Tell me how good you feel, tell me how badly you want to cum.

He doesn’t slow the ministrations on your clit for a second as he snaps his hips into you with primal vigor, your breasts bouncing from the brutality.

"So good Sugu!" You sob. You cant even open your eyes from the colors you're seeing behind your lids. Every time your pussy squeezes around him not only do bolts of pleasure shoot up your body but a ring of milky white cum forms around the base of his cock.

Suguru’s eyes are locked on how good you're taking him - the fat of his head has a hard time popping out with how greedy your cunny is being. He lets out a sharp moan at how wet you are on the inside.

"S-shit baby wanna feel you cum on me, been waiting so long." Suguru is not a whining man but here he is practically stumbling over his words. Fuck, he wants to keep himself inside you forever. He wants your kisses, your skin, your touch, your blood, your lips, to be his to claim until you die together. No one has seen, truly seen him, before you. You are what he thinks about when he wakes up, when he is eating, when he is plunging his knife into some worthless monkey. You are his goddess. 

The world beyond this intimate cocoon of warmth and breath seemed distant, irrelevant. His gaze was locked with yours, deep and unwavering, a silent communication that tethered you through the mind numbing ecstasy.

Then, he reels his hips back and slams into you in a new angle that has your body jerking.

“Found it didn't I?” He breathes through a smile and pummels into you with vigor. And your about to disagree with him, insist that the feeling is too new and foreign to feel good when all of a sudden your body begins to shake and your head starts to feel fuzzy

And suddenly—you feel it. What you’ve been craving for and what you have seen in porn.

Its like all your body's energy centers are activating at once and your left utterly helpless to the feeling of tingling ecstasy wrapping your brain and stomach.

You dont know how to tell him that something is happening, not when the pleasure is too immense your barely breathing full breaths. But he understands once again the words you tried desperately to communicate.

“Do it baby. Cum. I’ll fill you up, and if it spills I'll fuck it back into you"

So you do.

Release washed over you in an all-encompassing wave, radiating out from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes. It swept through you like a storm, leaving a trail of starbursts in its wake. Your body arched instinctively, clinging to Suguru as the wave crested, then gently, slowly, began to ebb.

“Ah, princess, please,” he moaned. “Be a good girl and take it all, yeah?” 

Your fingers trailed up his shoulder, only to drag them back down his spine, nails biting into his skin as he buried himself deep inside you, releasing with a powerful shudder. His movements grew erratic, hips pressing yours firmly into the mattress as his hot breath skimmed across your neck, ragged and heavy.

The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, lost in each other, with nothing but the sound of your breathing and the feel of his touch to guide you.

The warmth of his cum spreads through your body with a shiver, and you can feel the liquid expanding against your walls while he kept you plugged and full of him. As you both floated back down from the heights of bliss, your breaths came easier, softer, the lingering aftershocks of pleasure pulsing gently through you.

"You're mine ok?" Suguru coos, and all you can do is dumbly nod.

"I'll die for you, I'll kill a thousand monkeys for you, i'll hold them down so you can cut our their eyes. Just stay by my side."

[ryin-silverfish]

So You Want to Read More about Chinese Mythos: a rough list of primary sources

"How/Where can I learn more about Chinese mythology?" is a question I saw a lot on other sites, back when I was venturing outside of Shenmo novel booksphere and into IRL folk religions + general mythos, but had rarely found satisfying answers.

As such, this is my attempt at writing something past me will find useful.

(Built into it is the assumption that you can read Chinese, which I only realized after writing the post. I try to amend for it by adding links to existing translations, as well as links to digitalized Chinese versions when there doesn't seem to be one.)

The thing about all mythologies and legends is that they are 1) complicated, and 2) are products of their times. As such, it is very important to specify the "when" and "wheres" and "what are you looking for" when answering a question as broad as this.

-Do you want one or more "books with an overarching story"?

In that case, Journey to the West and Investiture of the Gods (Fengshen Yanyi) serve as good starting points, made more accessible for general readers by the fact that they both had English translations——Anthony C. Yu's JTTW translation is very good, Gu Zhizhong's FSYY one, not so much.

Crucially, they are both Ming vernacular novels. Though they are fictional works that are not on the same level of "seriousness" as actual religious scriptures, these books still took inspiration from the popular religion of their times, at a point where the blending of the Three Teachings (Buddhism, Daoism, Confucianism) had become truly mainstream.

And for FSYY specifically, the book had a huge influence on subsequent popular worship because of its "pantheon-building" aspect, to the point of some Daoists actually putting characters from the novel into their temples.

(Vernacular novels + operas being a medium for the spread of popular worship and popular fictional characters eventually being worshipped IRL is a thing in Ming-Qing China. Meir Shahar has a paper that goes into detail about the relationship between the two.)

After that, if you want to read other Shenmo novels, works that are much less well-written but may be more reflective of Ming folk religions at the time, check out Journey to the North/South/East (named as such bc of what basically amounted to a Ming print house marketing strategy) too.

-Do you want to know about the priestly Daoist side of things, the "how the deities are organized and worshipped in a somewhat more formal setting" vs "how the stories are told"?

Though I won't recommend diving straight into the entire Daozang or Yunji Qiqian or some other books compiled in the Daoist text collections, I can think of a few "list of gods/immortals" type works, like Liexian Zhuan and Zhenling Weiye Tu.

Also, though it is much closer to the folk religion side than the organized Daoist side, the Yuan-Ming era Grand Compendium of the Three Religions' Deities, aka Sanjiao Soushen Daquan, is invaluable in understanding the origins and evolutions of certain popular deities.

(A quirk of historical Daoist scriptures is that they often come up with giant lists of gods that have never appeared in other prior texts, or enjoy any actual worship in temples.)

(The "organized/folk" divide is itself a dubious one, seeing how both state religion and "priestly" Daoism had channels to incorporate popular deities and practices into their systems. But if you are just looking at written materials, I feel like there is still a noticeable difference.)

Lastly, if you want to know more about Daoist immortal-hood and how to attain it: Ge Hong's Baopuzi (N & S. dynasty) and Zhonglv Chuandao Ji (late Tang/Five Dynasties) are both texts about external and internal alchemy with English translations.

-Do you want something older, more ancient, from Warring States and Qin-Han Era China?

Classics of Mountains and Seas, aka Shanhai Jing, is the way to go. It also reads like a bestiary-slash-fantastical cookbook, full of strange beasts, plants, kingdoms of unusual humanoids, and the occasional half-man, half-beast gods.

A later work, the Han-dynasty Huai Nan Zi, is an even denser read, being a collection of essays, but it's also where a lot of ancient legends like "Nvwa patches the sky" and "Chang'e steals the elixir of immortality" can be first found in bits and pieces.

Shenyi Jing might or might not be a Northern-Southern dynasties work masquerading as a Han one. It was written in a style that emulated the Classics of Mountains and Seas, and had some neat fantastic beasts and additional descriptions of gods/beasts mentioned in the previous 2 works.

-Do you have too much time on your hands, a willingness to get through lot of classical Chinese, and an obsession over yaoguais and ghosts?

Then it's time to flip open the encyclopedic folklore compendiums——Soushen Ji (N/S dynasty), You Yang Za Zu (Tang), Taiping Guangji (early Song), Yijian Zhi (Southern Song)...

Okay, to be honest, you probably can't read all of them from start to finish. I can't either. These aren't purely folklore compendiums, but giant encyclopedias collecting matters ranging from history and biography to medicine and geography, with specific sections on yaoguais, ghosts and "strange things that happened to someone".

As such, I recommend you only check the relevant sections and use the Full Text Search function well.

Pu Songling's Strange Tales from a Chinese Studios, aka Liaozhai Zhiyi, is in a similar vein, but a lot more entertaining and readable. Together with Yuewei Caotang Biji and Zi Buyu, they formed the "Big Three" of Qing dynasty folktale compendiums, all of which featured a lot of stories about fox spirits and ghosts.

Lastly...

The Yuan-Ming Zajus (a sort of folk opera) get an honorable mention. Apart from JTTW Zaju, an early, pre-novel version of the story that has very different characterization of SWK, there are also a few plays centered around Erlang (specifically, Zhao Erlang) and Nezha, such as "Erlang Drunkenly Shot the Demon-locking Mirror". Sadly, none of these had an English translation.

Because of the fragmented nature of Chinese mythos, you can always find some tidbits scattered inside history books like Zuo Zhuan or poetry collections like Qu Yuan's Chuci. Since they aren't really about mythology overall and are too numerous to cite, I do not include them in this post, but if you wanna go down even deeper in this already gigantic rabbit hole, it's a good thing to keep in mind.

[changbunnies]

Devourance (18+)

♡ Pairing: Dracula / Nosferatu!Hyunjin x Fem!Reader

♡ Genre: vampire au, dracula / nosferatu au, 1800s au, human / vampire relationship, horror themes, reincarnation, soulmates, smut

♡ Word Count: 3.9k

♡ Summary: Hyunjin has crossed oceans of time to find you– the one who's blood calls to him, who beckons for him in the dead of night, who yearns for his touch against all conceptions of what one must and must not desire. The ancient Vampyr has an appetite for you; an appetite that won't ever be sated.

♡ General Warnings: reader has depression (referred to as melancholy), reader is a lucid dreamer, usage of vampire abilities (invading dreams, shapeshifting, heightened senses), hyun's true form is very Creature Vampire so. still sexy if ur a monster fucker like me but some of y'all may not like that lmao

♡ Smut Warnings: does having sex with someone inside their dream count as somnophilia? idk !!, outdoor sex (kind of; it's a dream so they're not really outside lol), wet dreams, pet names (my love, my heart), referenced biting and blood drinking, unprotected piv, creampie

♡ Notes: originally, when i was planning my late kinktober fics, this was strictly a dracula au (as i love the 1992 movie and have a beautiful copy of the book sitting in my horror novel collection <3) but i saw the nosferatu remake in theaters and it rotted my fucking brain lmao so this became a blend of both ! i hope you enjoy it, cause i had a blast writing it <3

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

It starts as a dream; a waking one, so vivid and lucid that the line between conscious reality and imagination blurs, all perception of time and space bending and warping to what your subconscious mind feels most safe and familiar.

Your hands clasped together, a deep breath before you close your teary eyes, your souls desires laid out in a whispered prayer– "Come to me."

Who are you asking for? Who will heed your call? A friend you wish to have, but have yet to obtain? An imaginary prince charming who will right all the wrongs of your life with his presence alone? God himself? Death?

You do not know– all you know is that you are desperate for an escape from the melancholy that permeates your life, seeping its way into every crack of your porcelain heart, as thick and murky black as tar. It sticks to you, wraps itself around every cell, clinging to you in a loveless embrace.

Even in your dreams you cannot escape it; so often you hear tale of joyous dreams. Dreams in which you stand upon the altar, waiting to be wed to the love of your life, dreams in which you share a dinner with one you admire, or dreams in which you have coveted all that you desire.

You are regaled with recollections of dreams full of simple pleasures; warm and nostalgic, dreams of playing in the front yard as a child, with your mother's freshly baked bread wafting to you from the open window. Dreams of early school days, where one's only worry in the world was what they'd play when they got back home.

For some, dreams are entirely nonsensical; there is often no clear purpose, nor story, nor concrete feeling– but it is pleasant in its own right, and entertaining to recall the absurdities in which you found yourself in the middle of.

You do not experience such simple pleasures.

While for others, dreams are a pleasant escape from everyday life, a blissful end to an arduous day of work, your dreams are an extension of your reality. They offer no comfort, nor joy, nor escape from your bleak, mundane existence. You are ever as aware of yourself whilst asleep as you are while conscious, feeling every emotion just as strongly as you do in the light of day.

You wish you could say you have adapted to life with your melancholy, or learned to be at peace with it, or that you don't mind having no escape. But the truth of the matter is that your dreams being not a safe haven as they should be tolls on you, made worse by the fact that even in the sanctuary that should be your mind, you are utterly alone and miserable.

So there you stand in your waking dream, wishing for a change. A mirror of your reality, your status within your dream reflects the state you were in before falling to sleep. You are in your bedroom, as pitch dark as you left it when blowing out the candles, the only illumination coming from the moon shining through your balcony doors.

You stand in the middle of the room, hands clasped and eyes closed as you whisper your prayers, the same lily-white chemise you wore to bed draping your body. So perfect a recreation of your surroundings, that were it not for the fact that you so vividly remember adhering to your sleep routine and laying your head against the pillows, you might not even be able to say that this was a dream at all.

And though it is just the confines of your mind, and you are certain no one but God can hear you (if he will listen, and hasn't yet turned his back on you), you plead. 

"Come to me. A guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere– anyone, anything. Please, hear my call."

There is naught in the room but silence when you are finished; you are as alone with your thoughts as you ever are. You take a breath, blink away building tears, readying yourself to try again– and then, to your greatest surprise, there is a response.

For the first time in all your many dreams, a voice answers you– soft, an indistinct whisper akin to your own, but you hear it echo in the silence of your bedroom. Your eyes shoot open, a soft gasp leaving your parted lips as you look around the room.

Slowly, you lower your hands, taking an unconscious step forward, closer to where the voice calls to you from your balcony. You cannot yet discern what the voice is saying, nor can you see their figure, but you watch breathlessly as the lock on your balcony doors seems to unlatch itself, a sudden gust of wind pushing it open.

The air is cooler than you'd expect for a late spring's breeze, but you do not shiver or shrink away from the sudden chill; instead, you tentatively take another step, following the unfamiliar, beckoning voice. The voice becomes clearer the closer you step to the balcony, and though you see nothing out of the ordinary before you, you feel them.

No, to say you do not see them is not right– invisible in your mortal gaze, yes, but the moon casts their shadow on your wall, your curtains billowing with the steady breeze capturing their inhuman silhouette. And surely it is merely a trick of shadow that makes the figure appear so inhuman– because how else can you grapple with so foreign a creature standing before you?

You rationalize the impossibly tall silhouette as the moon elongating their shadow, the sharp and pointy length of their nails having simply become exaggerated, the unnatural point of their ears the result of a penumbra trick. Their figure vanishes with each fall of your curtains, reappearing with each rise; but their shadow ever lingers, eerie black against your ivory walls.

Their shadow serves as a reminder, you think– that even when you cannot see them, they will be there. Watching, beckoning, waiting; the voice, once so indistinct and otherworldly, is now crystal clear in your ears. Soft but luminous, it calls you as you take another cautious step closer.

"You," the voice starts, and though soft, it is an aching rasp– reminiscent, you think, of when one has fallen ill, or of times when one's throat has grown stiff from disuse. You have no further time to ponder if this is the man's– creature's?– natural inflection; for in just a few more careful utterances, their tone smooths, the soft voice becoming silken.

"You," the male voice repeats, smooth as satin and utterly mesmerizing, "I have heard you. And I answer in turn– come to me."

The shadow moves along your wall then, creeping closer to you; it feels as if it envelops you, embracing you with a blissful warmth you've never before felt. It clings to you with each step, but it does not feel like the melancholic tar you are accustomed to; it is a gentle ribbon, guiding you further with promises of sweetness you have so long craved.

Holding now to the railing of your balcony, you look to the gardens below. There you see him, standing amongst the tall, twisting trees and blooming lilacs. He gazes up at you, eyes black as a void, and yet they still shine in the light of the moon.

And just as a void promises to, his look swallows you whole. You lose yourself in the dark, hypnotic pool of his eyes, stumbling forward almost blindly, with one simple thought– you must go to him.

You are before him in an instant, though you have no recollection or understanding as to how. Did you walk off the balcony and fall below? Did you turn back and trek through the house to make it to the gardens? Is this the absurdity of dreams that normally eludes you, or is a greater power at work?

The answer seems of little importance; bewitched by the man standing before you, you find that logic and rationality hold no value. He is here, perfection and beauty embodied wholly– the answer to your prayers; that is all you care to know.

Your hand trembles, your utmost desire now to reach out and feel him beneath your fingertips, to confirm that he is not just a figment of your dream– that there really was someone in this world who could hear you from beyond, and cared enough to respond to your call.

Hair as black as his eyes, a few long strands falling over his perfect cheekbones, while the rest is tucked behind his normal, and not at all pointed, ears. He has full, plush lips shaded in an enchanting, muted red, with a little mole under his left eye and utterly flawless, pristine skin.

He is ethereal, and radiant, and he is here for you– and while his eyes hold a darkness you have never before seen, his smile is impossibly tender. He takes your trembling hand in his own, and you can feel his nails poke your skin as he closes it around you.

They are long, yes, but not as long and pointed as his shadow would've led you to believe them to be. There is a part of you that decides you were correct to think his features were simply exaggerated and warped by shadow, though the deep recesses of your heart and mind know this isn't true.

Whatever he is, whoever he may be– he is not of this world, you know that for certain. For who else in the world could hear you? Who would have the power to meet you in your mind? A trickster, an angel, a devil? It matters not, you decide; for perhaps, in some ways, you are not of this world either.

Perhaps you have always felt melancholic, twisted, and odd, because your destiny did not reside with your fellow man– perhaps it lied here, with this creature who wears the mask of the beautiful sort of prince charming you've yearned for.

His shadow was the truth of his being, you innately know, and yet it gives you no fear. He squeezes your hand, a reassurance, while the other rises to cup your cheek in his palm, a tender rub of his thumb along the skin where he holds you. His gentle touch is ice cold, but it spreads warmth through your body regardless– because oh, how you've longed for the companionship of another.

"You are for me," he whispers as he inches closer, your noses on the precipice of touching, "and I, you. Do you believe in destiny?" He stares at you, observing you closely as he awaits your answer. You swallow, heart quickening as you hold his gaze.

"Yes," you utter softly; for in the depths of your soul, you feel it– the immutable pull that tells you this is where you must be. Beside him, in his arms, at his side for all eternity– and he will love you, this you know true; because even down to the very marrow of your bones, your body says it is so.

He has searched for you for an age; not someone like you, no. You. Only you. And his delight to finally have heard his beloved's call, and to answer– it is an unparalleled joy, one that he expects you to share. For even in your mortal life, your blood sings for him just the same as it did those many, long centuries ago.

You were promised to him then, as you are now– and he will have you, just as he did then. First in sleep, as you are now, but someday soon he will find you in the physical world once more. He will hold you in his arms, your reunion as joyous as it is profane. Rejoice, as you join him back to your true home; the castle, your castle, where every moment was spent in unholy exuberance.

"Do you remember?" he asks, voice honey-sweet, "remember how we once were?"

You do not, not really– your mind has no recollection of the man before you. But your soul remembers, has carried the weight of centuries of love and longing with it all this time, waiting for the moment all the feelings harbored within could finally be unearthed.

"I know you," you answer, truthfully; because while this is your first meeting in this life, you recognize him all the same. In the deepest recesses of your memory, he is there, gazing upon you with the same reverence he does now. He holds you close, kisses you tender, his touch along your skin slow and gentle, his name a whispered prayer on your lips.

Hyunjin.

His eyes light up when you call his name, a smile growing on his perfect lips. Hyunjin would know you anywhere, and there was never any doubt you were his love– but all the same, it is a great relief to hear his name fall from your lips again after so many years spent longing for it.

He kisses you then, doing his utmost to relay the depths of his passion, while also holding the carnality he feels for you at bay– the last thing he wishes to do is overwhelm you with his appetite too soon. You are his affliction, his every desire, he must have you; and he can only pray that you will not deny him, or yourself, the pleasure– but only when the time is right.

"You will be mine once more," he says; a statement, not a question, between kisses to your lips, "as I am eternally yours." Your nerves tingle, blood alight as you return his affections, meeting his lips with urgency.

"I will have you," he continues, almost breathless as his lips begin to trail down your neck, "Will you swear it? That again, we are for no one but each other?" His breath tickles your skin, the points of two sharp teeth touching the sensitive pulse point. You shiver as his fangs linger there, closing your eyes as your heart thunders in your chest.

Hyunjin can not truly drink from you here, not in the confines of your dream, but his teeth against your neck serve as a reminder– that your blood is his greatest temptation. Should you promise yourself to him once more, he won't be able to resist you– as there is no taste sweeter than the blood of his beloved.

"I swear," you whisper your promise; for you will never fear him, nor can you deny the ecstasy that comes when he drinks from you. “ever-eternally, I am yours.” 

He is a beast of nightmares, a plague set upon the world, a ruinous omen of death, your immortal Vampyr; and you are safe in his hold. For he loves you and needs you too greatly to cause you any harm– an affection that contradicts his nature, but what a welcome contradiction it is. 

When you meet his gaze once more, his eyes burn with desire; it has been an agony, truly, to have such carnal desire for you all these centuries. And he could do naught with his desires but wait– wait for the day you would return to this world, and pray that your body and soul would still sing for him the way it once had. 

Hyunjin could have taken concubines, could’ve shared his castle with any great number of men or women– but they would not have been you. None can sate him the way you can, none can spread such flames of passion through his icy veins, none can make his eternally still heart feel as if it beats. It is not a vain promise when he says you are the only one for him– he means it with every fiber of his immortal being.

Your heart and soul, now free from their sepulchre, burn with need. He can hear the erratic thump of your heart, the blood rushing through your veins, can smell the arousal pooling between your legs. You desire him, just as he desires you– and he decides then that the time is right; there is no need to be cautious and careful with his affections.

You want him, and he wants you– and you will have each other, now and forever.

Hyunjin kisses you once more, hungry and urgent. He pulls your body flush to his own, holds you tightly as the wind rolls quickly past you. You realize, when you pull away to catch a breath, that your surroundings have shifted. Now in the center of the estate’s hedge maze, he lies you down on the stone bench beneath the grand statue of Mnemosyne.

You shiver against the cold stone, but he warms you with another kiss. His tongue meets your lips as his hand dances around the bottom of your chemise, lifting it up just enough to expose your lower half. His hands find your thighs, the points of his nails digging at the soft flesh as he squeezes you in his palms. 

It elicits a needy sound from deep within, one that you almost don’t recognize as your own. You feel the sharp points of his teeth with your tongue, while he spreads your legs apart to make more room for himself between them. He tugs your panties away with haste, and there is no shyness to be had when he separates to look at the way you glisten under the moonlight for him. 

He takes a moment to stare, licks his lips before looking back up to meet your eyes. You hold his gaze as he frees his cock from his trousers, swallowing as you look down for just a moment, and then back up to him. You are both eager, it is clear– and he will have neither of you wait any longer; you have both waited long enough. 

“I will have you,” Hyunjin repeats as he grabs your hips, lifting your bottom up from the stone bench and aligning you with himself. His thighs support you, while his feet stay firmly planted on the grass and stone below. You wrap your legs around his waist, and he removes one of his hands from your hips, using it to find leverage on the stone as he leans over you. 

You can feel his cock pulsing against you, excitement and anticipation building exponentially in your gut. “Mine again,” he whispers as he captures your lips in another kiss, “You are mine, my love.” 

He presses inside you as slowly as he can manage to, and you gasp, hands reaching out to cling to his arms. Thick and full, you let out a shuddering moan when his cock is sheathed fully inside your wet heat. He moans with you, the centuries of building need finally melting into the pure bliss he’d been longing for. 

But he refuses to rush– his thrusts are slow and fluid, precise and calculated, searching for the spot he knows will bring you utmost euphoria. You let out a high-pitched moan, followed by a curse, when he succeeds; and he smiles before he grits his teeth, determined to bring you to the heights of pleasure.

“Hyunjin, oh, please–” you whimper, nails digging into the fabric of his sleeves as he picks up his pace. He wanted to drag it out longer, truly, he did; but the mind is a powerful thing, and even whilst in a dream, the pleasure that you both feel is entirely real. 

And how much longer can one who has held centuries of lust and yearning hold back? Especially when the object of his every desire is moaning and begging for him so sweetly?

He could never resist you– not then, and especially not now. And long has he craved to hear his name spill from your lips like this again; so much so that the sound of it sends him into a frenzy. 

“Again,” he utters, equal parts desperate plea and urgent demand, “call to me, say my name.” You oblige easily, his name falling from your lips in a tantalizing mantra; and you feel his cock throb violently with each salacious whimper, his every thrust laced with desire and urgency.

He releases his grip on your hip, moving his hand to your center and pressing his thumb on your clit. Your breath catches, eyes rolling back as he rubs your clit in steady, practiced circles.

“Cum for me, my love,” Hyunjin urges; he is on the precipice of release himself, and he needs you to fall apart with him– it is the only way he can truly be satisfied. Your thighs tremble, whimpers broken by harsh breaths; and you let go of his arms, reach up to his face and pull him down into a desperate, needy kiss. 

He moans, and if his flesh were mortal, he is sure that goosebumps would’ve risen over every inch of his body. His thrusts lose their fluidity, becoming quick and choppy as he chases the high your body promises him. You clench tighter, toes curling and body quivering as you finally cum, your every moan of pleasure captured by his lips. 

His hips still as his own high takes him, his cock fully pressed inside, his cum spurting in long, sticky spurts. Your kisses are breathless, impassioned, but no longer urgent– they are soft promises of love, of eternity together in bliss.

You smile at him when he pulls away, and he looks at you just as tenderly as he had before, stroking your cheek and indulging in the heat it offers his thumb. You’ve never felt so relaxed, happy and at peace– but just then, you feel a sudden jolt.

It is a sign that your consciousness is returning to reality, and you will soon find yourself back in your bed, with the morning light shining on you from your balcony. Hyunjin, an invader in your mind, feels himself being pushed out– for he can not stay by your side beyond the bounds of your dream just yet. 

There is fear and uncertainty that peaks within you as you fight to stay asleep just a moment longer– but he is quick to calm you, kissing you one last time before you the sun’s rays shine down on you.

“I will find you again in the waking world, my heart,” he says, squeezing your hand in his before he starts to fade once more into shadow, “this, I promise.”

You rise with a start, blinking rapidly and lingering, unshed tears falling from your eyes as you raise your hand to your heart. Just as expected, it is morning now– the late spring sun is bright and warm, and birds chirp in delight as they welcome the dawn of a new day.

You frown, feeling the erratic thumb of your heart beneath your fingertips as the melancholy claws its way back around you, reminding you that it has not left. Your inner thighs are sticky and wet, you realize a short moment later, and for the first time, you blush.

And then you giggle– and the melancholy, though ever present, now has a weaker grasp. You wonder, as you rise from the bed and prepare for your day, how long it will take for Hyunjin to find you. Days, weeks, months? 

You hope it is soon– but if it is not, you know what you will do. Every night, when you blow out the candles and fall asleep, you will call to him. You’ll invite him back into your mind, greet him with a soft kiss, and revel in his tender touch.

You will make love, you will smile, and you will talk of the future with greater enthusiasm than you have ever known– for he is your destiny, your truest love, your one and only immortal Vampyr. Ever-eternally.

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 14)

summary: you accompany hugh to the new york premiere of deadpool & wolverine - the first hollywood event that you're attending by his side since the both of you had gotten together. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: smut (18+, mdni), unprotected p in v, missionary (kind of?), slow and sensual bc they in love 🤭, creampie, implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), reader physical description (hair and clothes only) no use of y/n. word count: 3.9k a/n: wow - another early update, who am i??? lol, hope y'all enjoyed this part. i really just wanted to write a smutty chapter surrounding the NY premiere of the movie. stay tuned because the angst is coming back - it's just right around the corner... as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part. - next part.

You had finally moved all of your things into Hugh’s apartment and slowly, your things blend in with his – your clothes hung next to his in the closet, your toiletries on the bathroom counter mixed with his own, and you both had claimed each side of the bed already. It surprises you how easy it is with him, how normal this all feels. Sometimes, you find yourself dreaming of what your life would look like years from now and the only constant thing is him. Hugh. 

It scares you – how much you love him and how much he loves you. After Jack, you didn’t think you’d find someone to love you the way Hugh does, the way someone should be loved. And even months after moving in, you had been originally worried that maybe he’d get tired of you, that he’d want his own space from you, but it never came. He truly meant it when he said he was addicted to you because every chance he could get since you’ve moved in, Hugh would have to be touching you – a hand on your shoulder as you both watch a movie in the living room, one arm wrapped around your lower back as you both stand next to each other cooking dinner, cuddling you from behind every night. 

You do, however, enjoy coming home to him after a day of shooting. He’d always be there with a smile, greeting you in the driveway. Some nights, you don’t go to bed until late at night, having to edit the photographs that you’ve taken for couples and periodically editing the pictures you’ve taken from the set of Deadpool & Wolverine. And when you do lose track of time, Hugh’s there to gently rest his hands on your shoulders from behind, leaning down to place a light kiss on your temple. He’d whisper and tell you that it’s time to go to bed, slowly shutting your laptop and pulling you into his arms. 

You’ve been increasingly busy that you forget the premiere of Deadpool & Wolverine is fast approaching. You’re standing in the closet, arms crossed over your chest as you look through your clothes. You aren’t sure what you’re going to wear and you feel anxious, nervous to attend the premiere. It’s the first time that you’ll be accompanying Hugh to a Hollywood event, the first time debuting your relationship with him and you don’t know what to expect. There are still comments from pictures that he posts of you on his Instagram, questioning the age gap and questioning your true intentions. You don’t think that you’d ever get used to that aspect of his life and while you’ve gotten better at shutting out those negative comments, you’d be lying if you said that it no longer affects you. 

You hear Hugh shuffle into the closet, his strong arms wrapping around you from behind. He presses a kiss to your temple and looks at your clothes, confused. “What are we looking at in here?” 

“I don’t know what to wear for the premiere. I can’t believe I forgot that it was this weekend. I’ve just been so busy and–”

Hugh chuckles, turning you around slowly in his arms. “Baby, I got it all taken care of. Don’t worry about it.”

“Even what I’m going to wear?” 

Hugh nods. “Yes. You’ve shown me your calendar. I know you were gonna be busy leading up to the premiere, so I had everything done for you.”

“Even my dress?” you repeat, brow arching.

“Yes, baby,” he chuckles. “I actually had Blake help me out with it, told me that it’d be a surprise.” 

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna wear? Hugh!” 

“Baby, whatever you wear is gonna look good regardless,” he smiles, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose. “All I know is that it’s black to match with my suit and that I’m gonna like it a lot.”

“But what about me?” you laugh quietly. “Am I going to like it?” 

“I hope so,” he laughs. 

“Well, I trust Blake,” you smile, leaning forward to rest your forehead against his chest. 

“Are you saying you don’t trust me to get you a nice dress?” Hugh asks, gently pulling back to look down into your eyes. 

“... yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” you grin mischievously, slowly pulling away from him to step back. 

Hugh’s eyes narrow down at you and walk towards you, reaching out for you. “Where ya going, baby? Hm?” 

“Just… you know, away from you,” you laugh, turning on your heel and running out of the closet. 

Hugh chuckles and jogs after you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind as he gently falls back on the bed with you. He hovers above you, his hands slowly moving along your sides. “Tell me again, you don’t trust me to pick out a nice dress for you?”

“Hugh, don’t even think about it,” you tell him, reaching for his hands. He chuckles and grabs your wrists with one of his large hands and pins them above your head, parting your legs with his own as he settles between the space of your legs. “Hugh!” 

“What, baby?”

“You know what!” 

“I don’t,” he smirks. “Do tell.”

“Don’t tickle me! You know I’m ticklish,” you smile, squirming against him. “I take it back. I do trust you. I trust you completely.”

Hugh chuckles and moves his hand from your side to rest on your hip, leaning down to peck your lips lightly. “I wouldn’t trust me to pick out a dress for you either,” he smiles. “But I do like teasing you like this, holding you down until you can’t move.” His gaze darkens briefly as he presses his hips into yours, his manhood hardening beneath the fabric. 

“I like it too,” you admit, biting your lower lip. “I like being at your mercy.” 

“You do, huh?” Hugh grins, moving his lips along your jawline and down the side of your neck. “Then why don’t you listen sometimes, hm?” 

“To be punished,” you answer immediately, eyes falling shut when you feel his teeth graze your pulse point. 

“Such a bad girl,” he growls, pulling back to look down at you. “And now, what are we gonna be? Good or bad?” 

“What do you want me to be, Hugh?” you ask, licking your lower lip in anticipation.

Hugh smirks, moving his hand from your hip to push underneath your shirt. “Surprise me,” he whispers, his hand moving upwards until his hand covers your breast, thumb brushing against your nipple. 

“Good, then,” you groan, legs wrapping around his waist. “I’ll be good…”

“Yeah, you will,” Hugh smirks and then pulls away from you to stand from the bed, eyes gazing every inch of your body. “Now be a good girl and turn to lie on your stomach, ass in the air, baby.” 

“Yes, sir,” you answer, turning over like he asked and resting on your forearms as you push your backside in the air for him. 

“Sir?” Hugh groans, moving a hand over your ass as he pushes his hips flush against yours. “I like that.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and pulls it down your legs, grunting at the sight of your lace panties. “Gonna make you feel real good, honey.” 

—

The day of the premiere, you feel your nerves begin to settle in. You’re standing in the bathroom, fingers running over the black dress that hangs against the door. Your make-up remains light and your hair is pulled back into a neat bun, strands of curled hair falling over your face. 

“You almost ready, baby?” Hugh calls out, adjusting the sleeves of his button-down shirt as he pulls on the black blazer. 

“Yeah, one sec,” you answer, pulling on the black dress that immediately clings to your curves. You look over yourself, biting your lower lip at the sight. The black maxi dress is sleeveless with a high neckline, the silhouette of the dress enhancing your curves with your back exposed due to the low cut of the dress. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the bathroom and watch Hugh turn around to face you.

“My god,” he growls. Hugh gently takes your hand and slowly spins you around in front of him, eyes gazing your entire frame from top to bottom and bottom to top. “Remind me to thank Blake tonight. Wow, baby,” he bites his lower lip and leans down to peck your lips lightly. “You look amazing.” 

“Blake knows my style,” you smile, looking up at him. “But look at you,” you bring your hands to the lapels of his blazer, gently tugging it to bring him closer to you. “Think we can, you know,” you wink suggestively, wiggling your eyebrows.

“It won’t be a quick one if we start now,” he groans. “But you can guarantee that I’m gonna have my way with you when we get home.” 

“Okay, okay,” you laugh quietly, pointing to the heels that are resting near the bed. “Can you help me with my heels?” 

Hugh nods, hands running down your sides before he kneels in front of you. You take a seat at the edge of the bed, watching him place each foot into your heels, his hands lingering along your calf, yearning to move further and further up. 

“Hugh,” you warn.

“Sorry, baby. You just look fucking breathtaking.” He stands up slowly, extending a hand out for you to take. Once you do, Hugh pulls you to stand in front of him, leaning down to press his lips against yours. His free hand moves to your back, brushing his thumb across your skin as he moves his lips slowly with your own. “Gonna be tough to keep my hands to myself tonight,” he mumbles, slowly pulling away. 

You laugh quietly and shake your head, moving your hands up to his shoulders. “Can I be honest with you?”

“Of course,” he says softly. “What’s up?”

“I’m nervous,” you admit. “I know people are aware that we’re together, but this – it feels different.”

Hugh’s eyes soften as he reaches up to gently cup your cheek. “If you ever do feel uncomfortable, you let me know, okay?” 

You nod and turn your head to gently press a light kiss on the inside of his wrist. “You won’t leave my side, right?” 

“Never,” he whispers. “It’s gonna be okay. Besides, with that dress you’ve got on?” Hugh whistles, winking down at you. “People are gonna be more focused on how good you look rather than the topic of us.” 

You roll your eyes and gently nudge his shoulder. “Yeah, yeah.” Biting your lower lip, you look up at him and lean up to gently kiss his cheek. “I love you. Let’s go do this.”

—

You look out the window when the car comes to a stop. You can hear the loud cheering from the fans, followed by the sounds of the cameramen flashing their cameras and calling out names. You take a deep breath and look up at Hugh who climbs out of the car first, waving to the crowd as it roars even louder. 

He extends a hand out for you and smiles – his eyes gaze into yours and all of a sudden, nothing else matters except for him. You drown out the sounds of the fans, the sounds of the cameras and take his hand, slowly stepping out of the car. Hugh leans in and kisses your temple as he keeps a strong arm around your waist, leading you towards the red carpet. 

You look around and lean into Hugh, following his lead. You’re beginning to feel overwhelmed, hearing people call Hugh’s name followed by your own. You glance over at Hugh, amazed at how easy it is for him to slip into a persona that the media and his fans know, but when he gazes down at you, he smiles and it feels like it’s just the two of you. It’s a glimpse of the man that you’ve gotten the chance to know on a much more personal level, the man that you had fallen in love with, the man that only you get a chance to see. 

“You doing okay?” Hugh whispers, keeping his eyes focused on you despite the repeated calls of his name. 

“I’m with you,” you answer. “I’m doing great.” 

Hugh smiles, leaning down to peck your lips lightly. The fans cheer even louder and the cameramen become even more crazed at the sight and you rest your hand on his chest, burying your face against the crook of his neck. “Getting all shy on me now, baby.” 

“Not used to this many eyes on us,” you whisper, looking up at him. 

“Well,” Hugh hums. “I’m so glad I can finally show you off to the world.” 

“Ah, so that’s what this is?” you tease.

“Oh, of course. Just arm candy,” Hugh winks.

You gasp playfully and lean in once more to peck his lips. “Careful now, Hugh. Or else nothing’s gonna happen when we get back home.”

His gaze darkens momentarily, his hand itching to grasp your backside. Hugh drops his hand just to rest on your lower back, his fingertips resting at the top of your ass. “Feisty,” he chuckles. 

Hugh continues leading you down the red carpet and he keeps a tight hold on your waist, keeping you close to his side. He can’t even focus, his sole attention on you as you smile at the cameras and even wave to the fans. He couldn’t even believe that you didn’t envision how you fit so easily into his life in the beginning of your relationship with him. This was all Hugh could see – you. You fit so perfectly in his life, so easily… 

“Oh my god, Blake!” you exclaim, pulling Hugh out of his thoughts as you release your own hold on him to walk over to the other woman. He smiles to himself, seeing both you and Blake converse with each other but he can’t help his eyes stay focused on you. It isn’t until Hugh feels Ryan’s hands on his shoulders that he pulls his attention from you to look over at the other man.

“Your girl looks gorgeous,” Ryan chuckles, standing next to Hugh.

“I gotta thank Blake for that dress she’s wearing,” Hugh smiles. “And Blake looks great too, Ryan.” 

“We are just two lucky sonofabitches, huh?” 

“Yeah,” Hugh nods. “I still can’t believe it,” he admits, his eyes moving back to you as you pose next to Blake. Even in the midst of this chaos – the yelling of his name, the sounds of the cameras going off, the lights from the flashes – Hugh can only see you and everything else just fades into the background. 

You turn your head to the side to gaze at him, your smile broadening even further at the sight of him. Ryan looks between both you and Hugh and rolls his eyes, scoffing teasingly.

“You know, I figured the honeymoon phase would have worn off by now, but Jesus! She’s looking at you with those fuc–” 

“Okay, okay,” Hugh laughs. “Let’s not finish that thought, yeah, mate?” 

“Fine,” Ryan sighs dramatically. “Let’s go to our girls.” 

“Yeah, let’s,” Hugh smiles, yearning to have you by his side. 

—

Both you and Hugh didn’t get home until late at night, his arm wrapped around your shoulders as you giggled into the crook of his neck. He had removed his suit jacket to drape around you, to keep you warm, but your hands are roaming his body. 

“You’re drunk, baby,” Hugh chuckles, leading you inside of your now-shared home. 

“Not drunk, tipsy.” You smile, following him up the stairs and into the bedroom. You take a seat at the edge of the bed and prop yourself on your hands, biting your lower lip as you watch Hugh remove his shoes and remove the belt from the loops of his pants. 

“Come ‘ere,” you call out, shrugging off his blazer as you reach down to remove your heels. 

“What d’ya want, baby?” Hugh asks, his gaze darkening as he looks at you. Once your heels are kicked off to the side, you stand up and walk over to him, his eyes raking your entire frame as his pants become increasingly tighter at the sight of you. 

“Thank you for dancing with me all night,” you grin. 

“I wouldn’t ever let you dance alone, baby,” Hugh smiles, his hands resting on your hips. “As long as I’m around, I’ll always be your dance partner.” 

You look into his eyes and smile, leaning in to lightly peck his lips. “First we’re training partners at the gym,” you giggle. “And now we’re dancing partners.” 

“Well, we make a great team, you and me.” 

“Yeah?” you bite your lower lip. “I think so too.” 

“I love you so much,” Hugh whispers, hands moving along your sides. “Tonight was amazing and I loved having you by my side through it all.”

You feel yourself begin to sober up at the look in his eyes, the way his voice lowers. The love you had for each other just blossomed even further since you moved in. “You made it easy,” you admit. “And your fans – they’re amazing.” 

“They just see what I see,” Hugh answers. “Someone so kind, so loving,” he whispers, leaning down to gently press kisses along your neck. “And someone who makes me incredibly happy.” 

Your arms come up to wrap around his shoulders, shutting your eyes as you tilt your head back enough to expose more of your neck for him. His soft lips brush against your skin, his light stubble tickling you as a quiet whimper escapes your lips. “Hugh…”

“Yeah, baby?” he mumbles, pulling back to look down at you. 

“I need you,” you whisper. “Want you.” 

Hugh nods and lifts you up into his arms, walking you back to the bed as he sets you down. He hovers above you, bunching up the ends of your dress to rest around your hips to reveal your black lacy thong. “M’right here, honey.” 

He continues to push your dress further up your body until you lift it over your head and he shrugs it off to the side. Hugh pulls back to look down at you, the sight of your matching bra and panties making him even harder by the second. He reaches around you and undoes the strap of your bra, pulling it away from your body to expose your breasts to him. He lets out an involuntary groan at the sight and leans back on his knees to unbutton his black shirt, pushing it off his body. 

Hugh stands up from the bed, only to undo his pants and push it down his legs with his boxer briefs. His manhood springs to attention, the head already leaking with precome. He grabs your ankle and tugs you towards the edge of the bed, hearing you let out a quiet gasp. He smiles down at you and hooks his fingers into the waistband of your thong, pulling it down your legs as you lie before completely exposed and bare. 

“Been wanting you all night,” he groans, reaching down to grab a hold of his length. He tugs on it a couple of times before he steps closer to stand between your legs, seeing you prop yourself onto your elbows as your gaze moves downwards. “You were absolutely stunning tonight,” he whispers lowly, pressing his tip to your bundle of nerves and running it along the length of your sex. He feels your arousal dripping out of you, coating the head of his length.

“Hugh,” you moan, falling back onto the mattress. 

Hugh smiles to himself and leans over you, free hand resting on the mattress above your head as he slowly pushes past into you. His gaze locks onto yours as he feels your walls surround each inch of his length – so warm, so wet, so tight. 

You move your hands to his shoulders, gripping it tightly as the familiar stretch of his manhood overcomes your entire body. You keep your legs parted for him, feeling him push further into you inch by inch. “I love you,” you manage to moan out, his hips fully meeting yours. “Fuck.”

Hugh chuckles and moves his free hand to cup your cheek, brushing his thumb gently against your cheekbone. “I love you too, baby.” He pulls his hips back to his tip, looking down at himself and seeing the base of his length glisten with your slickness. Growling at the sight, Hugh thrusts back into you without hesitation and continues the movement slowly. 

He pulls out of you slowly, standing upright as he hooks his hands underneath your legs and pulls you even closer to the edge of the bed. As he does this, his manhood slides easily into you and he grips your legs, watching your breasts begin to bounce with each push forward. 

“Hugh, oh god…”

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, his fingertips digging into your flesh that’s sure going to leave marks later. He watches you tilt your head back, eyes falling shut as his hips begin to move faster. Hugh can feel your walls begin to tremble and tighten with each movement of his hips and the sounds of your moans mix in with the sounds of his skin slapping against yours. His eyes never leave you, mouth formed in an ‘o’ shape as you grip onto the bedsheets. “I know you’re close, baby… Come for me, honey.” 

You wrap your legs around his waist, pushing him closer to you with a nudge to his lower back with your feet. You arch your back, feeling Hugh slowly begin to lose control. “Hugh!” you moan loudly, walls tightening even further around him as you arch your back off the bed. 

“Fuck, that’s it,” he moans, his own eyes falling shut as he tilts his head back. Hugh moves one hand from your leg to rest back onto the mattress, his hips beginning to stutter as he feels his release fast approaching. He delivers one, two, three more thrusts before he slams into you, painting your walls with his come. He slows his thrusts, his entire body shuddering at the feel of your walls continuing to milk him for every last drop.

“Hugh,” you whimper, gently bringing your hands to his chiseled chest and he leans down, pressing his lips lightly to yours. 

“Mmm,” he mumbles against your ips, pulling back slowly as he rests his forehead against yours. “Love you.”

“I love you too, Hugh,” you smile, pecking his lips. 

“Gonna be doing that every day until I leave for this press tour,” Hugh chuckles, slowly pulling out of you with a quiet groan. 

“Good.” you smile, whimpering quietly as you feel him slide out of you. “I expect nothing less.”

Hugh smiles and then looks down between your legs, biting his lower lip at the sight of his come slowly trickling out of you. “Let me clean you up, baby.” He walks into the bathroom and grabs a small towel, dampening it with water as he walks back out into the bedroom, standing between your legs once more as he wipes his come from the inside of your legs. 

You bite your lower lip and prop yourself on your forearms, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “I love you, Hugh.” 

Hugh looks up at you, his eyes gazing into yours. “I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that,” he smiles. “I love you too, baby.”

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf

@needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom

@sue8724 - @squishyfruitloop - @sylviavf - @emotrash1 - @dissentientss

@sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay - @itsallyscorner - @haytchee

@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you - @definitely-not-chill - @khxna

@jules-and-gemss

[yara0546]

Watching Over You | Na jaemin

୨୧ Pairing : na jaemin x reader

୨୧ Genre : Fluff, Comfort, Slight Angst

୨୧ Word Count : 2.5k

୨୧ Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction from our imagination. It is not intended that the plot, theme, original characters, idols, etc. portray any real-life events/people. Plagiarism is NOT tolerated on this blog. If you believe we have copied an existing authors’ work, please message us privately. thank you and enjoy :)

Masterlist

The soft hum of the air conditioning filled the quiet room, blending with the rhythmic rise and fall of your breathing. The night had settled into a peaceful lull, the city lights outside flickering like distant fireflies through the slightly parted curtains.

Jaemin sat beside you on the bed, his back resting against the headboard as he gazed at your sleeping figure. His heart felt full—so full it ached a little. The way your eyelashes cast delicate shadows on your cheeks, the way your lips parted slightly with each breath, the way your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket all of it mesmerized him.

You were beautiful, even in sleep.

Jaemin exhaled softly, careful not to wake you. He had arrived home late, exhausted from a long day of schedules, yet the moment he saw you peacefully curled up in bed, his fatigue melted away. Instead of falling asleep beside you immediately, he found himself simply watching.

“Why do you always do this to me?” he whispered, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You stirred slightly, shifting closer to the warmth of his presence but not waking up. Jaemin chuckled quietly, shaking his head. His hand hesitated before reaching out, his fingertips brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face. The warmth of your skin against his sent a familiar flutter through his chest.

He had spent years thinking he understood love. But being with you had rewritten everything. Love wasn’t just grand gestures or whispered ‘I love you’s under the stars it was moments like this. Watching you sleep, making sure you were comfortable, feeling his heart swell just by existing in the same space as you.

Jaemin sighed, finally shifting lower so that he was lying beside you, his arm slipping around your waist carefully. The moment his body molded against yours, you instinctively nestled into him, seeking his warmth. He chuckled again, his breath ghosting over your temple.

“Even in your sleep, you know I’m here, huh?”

Your lips moved slightly as if trying to respond, but only a soft murmur escaped. Jaemin’s smile grew as he placed a feather-light kiss against your forehead.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence, and he thought you had fully drifted back into deep sleep when your voice, barely above a whisper, reached his ears.

“Jaemin…?”

His heart stilled for a moment. “Yeah, baby?”

Your eyes remained closed, and it was obvious you weren’t fully awake, just in that hazy space between dreaming and consciousness. You reached out, your hand weakly grabbing at his hoodie, fingers curling into the fabric as if grounding yourself.

“Don’t go…”

Jaemin’s heart clenched at how small your voice sounded. He wasn’t sure if you were dreaming or if some subconscious part of you was afraid he would disappear. He tightened his hold on you, his lips pressing against your temple once more.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, voice laced with gentle reassurance. “I’ll always be right here.”

You let out a soft sigh, seemingly satisfied with his response, and nuzzled further into his chest. Jaemin smiled, his hand moving in slow, soothing strokes along your back.

“Go back to sleep, love,” he whispered.

And as he lay there, listening to your steady breathing once more, Jaemin realized something he didn’t need anything else in the world. As long as he had you beside him, safe in his arms, he was content.

Even if it meant staying up all night just to watch over you.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

hi hello! hopefully what im asking for isn't too obscure, but do you think i could i get resources/tips on how to write a being that was synthetically made/and or coded? Much thanks in advance/for the chance!

Writing Ideas: Synthetically-Made Characters

some character tropes

Artificial Human: A human being who was created artificially rather than born naturally.

Artificial Animal People: Human-like animals or animal-like humans created through science.

Artificial Intelligence: In fictional works, AI most usually refers to artificial general intelligence — a sapient, self-aware computer system capable of independent thought and reason.

Bioweapon Beast: You create your own attack animal, genetically engineering existing organisms or creating your own. Maybe this new organism would rather just be left alone, and refuses to actually fight. Maybe it goes feral and becomes a dangerous monster roaming the wilderness. Maybe it actually works perfectly, but those in charge of it are far from ethical.

Clockwork Creature: May be purely mechanical, or, if in a fantasy setting, there may be a blend of mechanical and magical elements.

Mechanical Lifeforms: A race of robots or robot-like creatures that are also considered a honest-to-goodness species of living things. They're just like your everyday living organisms, except they happen to have metal for skin, wires for nerves, and so on. They're often silicon-based as well. These may be robotic animals, plants, micro-organisms, or sapient creatures. If they are sapient, they would never wish to Become a Real Boy because, as far as they can see, they are as real as that boy. The origin of such creatures is often never elaborated on or unknown to the characters. It's not uncommon for them to have creators Shrouded in Myth and mystified or outright denied in a sort of reversed creationism that are later further explained in plot-relevant and shocking revelations, similar to precursors for organic species. Sapient mechanical lifeforms tend to react as one would expect when they learn the nature of their origin, usually in some kind of denial and anger. There has been a trend of portraying mechanical lifeforms as formerly organic races that roboticized themselves either as the next Evolutionary Level or simply to survive some world-ending catastrophe that affected them in the past. However, it's also common for such creatures to simply arise without a creator in a process comparable to evolution.

Puppet Permutation: A person changes into a living puppet. They sometimes can control themselves, but this is usually not the case. These puppets are often controlled by outside forces.

Examples

Frankenstein's Monster is one of the most classic and well known examples. While it is stressed at certain points through the original Frankenstein novel that the monster is an entirely unique species, he certainly has a human intelligence and personality. It is left ambiguous whether creating the creature was actually a bad thing or not. The creature suffers (and subsequently causes suffering to his creator), not because it was created but because the creator abandoned it afterwards.

Celtic Mythology: Blodeuedd, the woman created from flowers to be the wife of Lleu Llaw in Medieval Welsh mythology.

A Greek myth tells the story of Pygmalion, a man who shunned real-life women but craved that his beautiful sculpture of one would come to life. He loved it so much that he prayed to Venus/Aphrodite, the goddess of Love, to grant him that wish. After he kissed the ivory-carved statue's lips, Venus worked her magic and it came to life. This is seen as a literal "Breath of Life".

Pandora in Greek myth was a sculpture that the Gods made and brought to life.

Japanese Mythology: Any non-electronic item can become a Tsukumogami if it's cared for and becomes old enough, which are Animate Inanimate Objects. This can also happen to toys, giving rise to the Living Toys trope.

The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: An alien civilization created at least one sentient supercomputer, Deep Thought, for the purpose of answering philosophical questions regarding the meaning of life, the universe and everything.

The Hunger Games: During the rebellion which led to the creation of the titular Games, the Capitol bred a number of genetically engineered animals called muttations (commonly abbreviated to mutts) which were used as living weapons against the districts. From the Tenth Hunger Games onwards, they became a regular feature in the arena, with the Gamemakers using them either to kill the tributes directly or to drive the tributes together and force them to fight each other. Examples of mutts seen in the Games include poisonous snakes which are programmed to attack anyone whose scent is unfamiliar, carnivorous squirrels which attack in packs and werewolf-like creatures which have been created to resemble fallen tributes.

Victor Frankenstein (2015): Victor proclaims to Igor that they will create a man after their own image. The process involves stitching together dead body parts and reanimating the corpse with lightning.

Isaac Asimov often averted this trope quite harshly in his Robot Series and related works, preferring to think of robots as tools rather than people. He only imagined robots being roughly humanoid when they needed to be able to perform tasks which human tools for already existed and it wouldn't make sense to replace every piece of equipment when one robot could be made to use them. They were always built to the job, and sometimes that job made for very unusual designs instead.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 5 6 ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Hi, here are some related tropes you can use as inspiration. More examples and information on these in the sources linked above. Hope this helps with your writing!

[tinyv9]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐖𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐝♡𝐰𝐧 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Yandere Survivors x Survivor Reader part 1

Summary: you survived. You survived the zombies. But you can't hide for too long. You have to go out. You have to find food and water. And you did but it didn't go according to plan now, did it?

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. And yes it's basically watership down characters but in a zombie au where they are humans. Hope you enjoy!

Original gif by @mikelogan ♡

The days had blended into an endless stretch of silence, fear, and aching hunger. Y/N sat on the floor of the small, darkened house, her back pressed against the cold wall. The room was a suffocating tomb of shadows, barely illuminated by the slivers of light that crept through the cracks in the boarded windows. Her stomach had long stopped growling, replaced by a hollow, gnawing pain that felt like her insides were turning to dust. She had run out of food days ago—maybe longer. Time didn’t feel real anymore.

Her lips were dry and cracked, her throat burning from thirst. The last drop of water had been carefully rationed, but now even that was gone. She knew she couldn’t last much longer like this. Every muscle in her body screamed for rest, but sleep wasn’t an option—not when the slightest sound, the tiniest movement could bring them.

The zombies outside weren’t the shambling, mindless creatures of fiction. They were quick, calculating, and relentless. She had watched them, their movements eerily coordinated, like packs of wolves hunting. They were always looking, always listening. And they were smart. Smart enough to sense a human’s weakness, smart enough to track her down if she made the wrong move. The memory of their bloodshot eyes, snapping jaws, and the awful sounds of their shrieks haunted her every waking second.

She shifted, her body stiff from days of sitting in the same position, her limbs trembling from exhaustion. But she didn’t dare make a sound. Not even a whisper. Her breaths were shallow and slow, each one carefully measured as if the air itself might betray her.

Her eyes flicked to the window, the boards creaking slightly as the wind pressed against the house. She stared at the shadows outside, her heart racing in her chest as her mind played tricks on her. Was that movement? Was something out there? She couldn’t tell anymore. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen one of them, but that only made the fear worse. The quiet—the not knowing—was driving her insane.

Every small noise outside made her body tense up, her mind racing with the possibilities. Maybe they were waiting. Maybe they knew she was in here, hiding, too scared to leave. Maybe they were just biding their time, like hunters watching their prey, waiting for her to make a mistake.

Y/N's hands shook as she reached for the small knife she had kept beside her, the only weapon she had. It felt pitiful in her grasp, barely enough to protect her from anything, but it was all she had. Her fingers tightened around the handle until her knuckles turned white, as if gripping it harder would somehow give her more strength, more control over this nightmare.

She couldn't keep this up. The hunger was driving her mad, the constant edge of fear leaving her brain in a foggy haze. Her vision blurred, her head throbbing with each heartbeat. She had tried to sleep once, for just a few minutes, but every time she closed her eyes, the nightmares came. Horrors of being ripped apart, of being trapped, screaming but unable to make a sound.

Now, she was too scared to even try. If she slept, she would be vulnerable. If she slept, she wouldn’t hear them coming.

She bit down on her lip, hard, the metallic taste of blood flooding her mouth. It was the only thing she could do to stop herself from crying. She couldn’t cry. Crying would make noise. Noise would bring them.

Her stomach twisted violently, and she doubled over, gasping silently as the hunger pain sharpened into something unbearable. She had never felt so weak, so helpless. Her body was eating itself from the inside out, and all she could do was sit here, paralyzed by fear.

The worst part was the loneliness. She had been alone for so long, her mind starting to play cruel tricks on her. Sometimes, she thought she heard voices—whispers in the dark, like someone was calling to her. But when she strained to listen, there was only silence. Sometimes, she swore she could hear footsteps, slow and deliberate, right outside the door. But when she looked, there was nothing there.

She was going mad. Slowly, painfully, she was losing her grip on reality. The isolation was eating away at her, just as much as the hunger.

Her eyes darted back to the window. No movement. No sounds. Just the wind. But she knew better than to trust the quiet. The quiet was deceptive.

Her breath hitched as a shadow moved in the corner of her vision, darting past the window too quickly for her to see clearly. Her heart pounded in her chest, a sickening rhythm that made her feel like she was going to pass out. She held her breath, knife trembling in her hand, as she stared at the window, waiting for the inevitable.

She was going to die here. Alone. Starving. Too terrified to even try to escape.

The darkness of the room pressed in around her, suffocating, as her thoughts spiraled deeper into despair.

She didn’t want to die. Not like this. But what choice did she have?

The zombies were everywhere. The world was gone. And soon, so would she be.

Y/N’s hunger had become unbearable. The sharp, hollow ache in her stomach twisted and churned until it was impossible to ignore. She could feel her body weakening, her limbs trembling as she sat in the dark, staring at the front door of the house. She had resisted for so long, too afraid to make any noise, too terrified to go outside. But now, she was past the point of fear.

Her body screamed for food. Water. Anything. If she stayed here any longer, she would die.

She swallowed the thick lump in her throat, pushing herself up from the floor, her legs shaking beneath her. Every step toward the door felt like it took all her strength, her mind screaming at her to stay hidden, to stay safe. But her survival instincts—those primal, desperate needs—were louder.

With a trembling hand, she carefully unlatched the door, moving it just enough to slip out into the alleyway. The cold air hit her face, sharp and bracing, and she froze, listening for any sign of movement. But there was only the wind, a gentle rustling of leaves in the distance. No growls. No footsteps.

She moved quickly, keeping low as she crept through the deserted streets, her eyes darting from shadow to shadow. The store she had seen before—what was left of it—was only a few blocks away. She just needed to get there. Get something. Anything.

As she approached the crumbling remains of the building, her heart raced in her chest, her fingers twitching nervously. She knew it was a risk, but her body had overridden her fear. She needed food.

Slipping through the broken door, Y/N’s eyes scanned the dark, empty aisles. Shelves had been torn apart, broken glass scattered the floor, and debris littered every corner. But there were still a few things left—cans, boxes—anything she could find would do.

Without thinking, she grabbed a dusty can of soup, her hands shaking as she tore it open. She didn’t care that it was cold, that the smell of it was faintly metallic. She ate greedily, stuffing the food into her mouth, her stomach growling with hunger as if it had been waiting for this moment.

For a few blissful seconds, she forgot everything. The hunger, the fear, the world around her—it all faded away as she ate, her body rejoicing in the nourishment. But then, in the quiet, she heard it.

A low growl.

Her body went cold. She froze, her eyes wide as the sound echoed in the distance. She glanced toward the shattered window at the front of the store, her heart pounding in her chest. Shadows flickered outside—shapes, moving quickly.

They had heard her.

The growls grew louder, closer. Panic surged through her as she backed away, her breath quick and shallow. She had made a mistake.

Suddenly, the door slammed open, and they rushed in—three of them, snarling, their pale, sunken faces twisted in hunger as they lunged toward her.

She ran.

Her body screamed in protest, weak and exhausted, but fear drove her forward. She could hear their footsteps behind her, fast, relentless, like predators on her heels. She stumbled through the store, her breath ragged, her vision blurring as tears stung her eyes.

Just as one of the zombies leaped toward her, its teeth snapping inches from her neck, a blur of movement appeared in front of her—a man, tall and strong, slamming the zombie back with a brutal force.

“Go! Now!” he shouted, his voice urgent as he fought off the creature.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She ran, her legs carrying her faster than she thought possible. The stranger was right behind her, the sounds of the zombies fading as they sprinted through the streets together. Her lungs burned, her muscles ached, but she couldn’t stop. Not yet.

It wasn’t until they reached the outskirts of the town, far enough away from the chaos, that they finally slowed down, gasping for breath. Y/N collapsed against a wall, her chest heaving, her heart still pounding in her ears.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. She couldn’t even process what had just happened. The adrenaline coursed through her veins, her entire body trembling. But when she looked up and saw him—really saw him—a wave of relief crashed over her like nothing she had ever felt before.

He was real. Another person. She wasn’t alone.

Tears filled her eyes, and before she could stop herself, she started laughing—soft at first, then uncontrollably. The sound was strange, unhinged, mixed with sobs as the weight of everything came crashing down on her. The loneliness, the fear, the hunger—it all poured out of her in a wave of raw emotion.

“I-I thought it was just me,” she gasped between sobs and laughter. “I thought I was the only one left.”

As Y/N’s laughter faded into soft, hiccuping sobs, he remained kneeling beside her, his hand a steady presence on her shoulder. She wiped her eyes with trembling fingers, her breath still shaky from the emotional release. She could feel his eyes on her—kind, patient, as if he understood everything she had been through without her having to say a word.

“I... I’m sorry,” Y/N stammered, her voice hoarse and raw. “I just... I haven’t seen anyone in so long...”

He shook his head, offering her a gentle smile that eased the tightness in her chest. “Don’t apologize. I get it,” he said, his voice low and warm, like a calming breeze after a storm. “You’ve been through hell. We all have.”

Y/N took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Thank you... for saving me. I didn’t think anyone would...” Her voice trailed off, still unable to fully believe she had been rescued.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he replied, his tone firm but kind. “I couldn’t just leave you there. Not when I knew you needed help.”

For a moment, they sat in silence, the world around them eerily still, like it was waiting for the next move. Y/N glanced at him again, really taking him in—his sharp features, the light scruff on his jaw, and the intensity in his eyes that hinted at the weight of what he had been through. He looked strong, but there was something about him—something gentle, too.

“I’m Hazel,” he finally said, breaking the quiet. “What’s your name?”

“Y/N,” she managed to say, her voice still weak but steadier now. Saying her name aloud felt strange, like a reminder that she was still here, still alive.

Hazel nodded, as if committing her name to memory. “Y/N... it’s good to meet you, Y/N. Even if it’s in the middle of all this.”

She let out a small, shaky laugh at that. “Yeah... could’ve been better circumstances.”

Hazel’s smile widened a bit, though it was tinged with sadness. “You’re not alone, Y/N. There’s more of us. A group. We’ve been sticking together for a while now. Safety in numbers, you know?”

Y/N blinked, her heart skipping a beat. “A group? There’s... more of you?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s not just me. There’s a few of us—good people. We’ve been scavenging, keeping each other alive. It’s tough, but we’ve got a better chance together. You should come with me. Join us. The more we are, the better our chances.”

Y/N’s eyes widened as hope surged in her chest. She hadn’t even dared to dream of this—other survivors, people who could help her, protect her. After being alone for so long, the idea of being part of a group again seemed like a dream. A miracle.

“Really?” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “You’d... you’d let me join?”

Hazel’s expression softened even further, his gaze holding hers. “Of course. We don’t leave people behind. Not if we can help it.”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes again, but this time, they were different—tears of relief, of gratitude. She had been so close to losing hope, so close to giving up entirely. But here, in front of her, was a lifeline. A chance at survival. At something more than just existing in fear and hunger.

She wiped her face with the back of her hand, nodding quickly. “I... I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

Hazel’s smile returned, gentle and reassuring. “You don’t have to say anything. Just stick with us, and we’ll figure this out together.”

Y/N felt a surge of warmth in her chest at his words. She hadn’t felt this kind of connection with anyone in so long, hadn’t felt safe or cared for. But here, with Hazel, there was a glimmer of hope. A chance to live again, not just survive.

She managed a small, but sincere smile. “I’ll come with you. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Hazel’s hand gently squeezed her shoulder, his voice low and steady. “You’re not alone anymore, Y/N. You’ve got us now.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N believed him.

Y/N’s legs were shaking as she followed behind him, trying to keep pace. The hunger gnawed at her insides, and her body ached from exhaustion. Her throat was dry, her lips cracked, but the adrenaline from their earlier encounter with the dead still burned in her veins. He hadn’t left her behind. He’d saved her.

Now, he was leading her somewhere safe—or so he promised. But after days, maybe weeks, of hiding and surviving alone, the word safe felt foreign, almost unreal. The building they approached was crumbling like all the others. It felt as though it might fall apart at any moment, much like her frail body. Her mind screamed at her not to trust anyone, that safety didn’t exist anymore.

Still, she followed him. Because she had nothing else.

They slipped inside, through a small gap in the side of the building. Y/N had to squeeze through, her pulse racing as the walls seemed to close in on her. She didn’t speak. He had told her to keep quiet when they were running. The zombies were too fast, too clever. They could hear, smell, and even sense movement like animals on the hunt. She hadn’t made a sound since.

Inside, there was a hidden stairwell leading downward into darkness. Her heart pounded louder with every step, echoing in her ears as they descended into the depths. The air grew colder, heavier. Her stomach churned with nausea, and a deep, primal fear started crawling up her spine.

When they reached the bottom, a single dim light flickered on, illuminating the underground space. It was larger than she expected—too organized, too clean for this new world they were trapped in. And that was when she saw them—several figures, standing, watching her in silence.

Their eyes were hollow, dark with suspicion. Her pulse quickened again, her breath shallow and labored. She wanted to shrink back, to disappear. There was something unsettling about the way they stared—like predators deciding if she was worth the effort to keep alive. She felt raw, exposed, and very, very small.

One of them, tall and lean, stepped forward. His eyes weren’t as cold as the others, but there was still an edge to his gaze, as if he was trying to read her thoughts, her past, her worth.

"Who is she?" he asked, his voice calm but filled with doubt. He looked past her, speaking to the man who’d saved her.

"Someone who needs help," was the quiet response.

Y/N could feel every heartbeat echoing in her chest, each one louder than the last. She didn’t dare speak, afraid that if she opened her mouth, the wrong thing would come out, or worse—nothing at all. Her throat was too tight to form words. Fear hung over her like a shroud, suffocating and heavy.

Another figure, a woman this time, stepped forward. Her face was sharp, hard. She didn’t look at Y/N with anything close to kindness. “She’s a risk. What if she brings them here? We don’t know anything about her.”

Y/N swallowed, her mouth dry. She wanted to scream, to beg them to believe she wasn’t a threat, but the words tangled in her throat. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. The room felt like it was closing in.

"She doesn’t look like much of a threat," came a low, gruff voice from somewhere in the shadows. The man who spoke stepped into the light, his arms crossed. His eyes were cold, calculating. “But we’re already stretched thin. We can’t afford dead weight.”

Dead weight. That’s what she was to them—useless. Disposable.

Her hands trembled at her sides. She could feel their eyes on her, boring into her skin, judging her every flaw, every weakness. She wasn’t strong like them. She wasn’t capable. She was nothing.

“Look at her,” someone else muttered from the back, a rough laugh following. “She’s already half-dead.”

The weight of the words made her chest tighten, her breath quickening. It felt like the room was spinning, tilting, and she had to fight the urge to collapse. The starvation, the terror, the constant silence—it had eaten away at her, and now, standing here, she felt like a ghost of herself.

The man who had saved her finally spoke again, his voice calm but firm. “She’s not a risk. She’s alone. She’s been hiding for who knows how long. We all know what it’s like.”

But his words didn’t seem to be enough to sway the others. The murmurs grew louder, more voices chiming in, each one cutting through her like a blade. She wasn’t wanted here. They didn’t trust her. Why should they?

Before the argument could escalate, one of the larger figures—the tallest in the room—moved forward. He was broad-shouldered, his presence commanding and hard to ignore. His gaze wasn’t cold, but there was something intense about the way he looked at her. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood between her and the others, as if creating a barrier. His eyes held hers for a moment, and in that brief second, she felt something shift—like he understood.

“She stays,” he said, his deep voice breaking through the noise.

The room fell silent, the tension thick in the air. His tone was final, not up for debate. The others exchanged uneasy glances, but no one challenged him.

Y/N’s legs trembled beneath her, the adrenaline finally wearing off, replaced by an overwhelming exhaustion. She wanted to collapse right there, to give in to the crushing weight of everything, but she forced herself to stay upright. She couldn’t show weakness, not now.

The tall man—her unexpected ally—looked at her again, his expression softening just slightly. “You’re with us now,” he said quietly, his voice a bit gentler than before.

She nodded, too drained to do anything else. The fear still lingered, but the relief was there too, creeping in like a slow tide. She wasn’t alone anymore. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she wasn’t alone. But that didn’t mean the fear was gone. The hunger still gnawed at her, and the cold, calculating looks from some of the others told her this was far from over.

As the others dispersed, muttering to themselves, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but when she turned, it was him—the man who had saved her. His eyes were soft, warm, filled with understanding.

“You’ll be okay,” he murmured. “We’ll keep you safe.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that she could trust them, that this nightmare might finally be over. But as she looked around at the faces of her new group, the doubt still lingered. Safety was an illusion in this world.

And yet, it was all she had.

Y/N sat on the cold, dusty floor, leaning against the crumbling wall of their underground hideout. She couldn’t stop shaking, her body weak, almost numb from hunger and fear. The moment they’d brought her inside, she had felt an overwhelming rush of relief, but it had been quickly replaced by the gnawing need for food and water. The world around her seemed to blur as her mind focused on one thing—survival. She had been running on empty for far too long.

A large shadow approached, the tall man who had stood up for her in front of the others. He carried a small bottle of water and something wrapped in cloth—a bit of bread, maybe. She could hardly care what it was at this point; all that mattered was that it was food.

“Here,” he said, crouching down beside her and holding out the water. His voice was calm, though his presence was still intimidating in its size. “Drink this first.”

Y/N’s hands trembled violently as she reached for the bottle, fumbling with the cap before she could unscrew it. She took a sip, and the cool water hit her parched throat like a punch, almost too much at once. She coughed, sputtering, but forced herself to drink more. It was like tasting life itself after being so close to death.

The man—her savior, really—sat beside her, watching her carefully. His presence was strangely comforting, even though he was a stranger. “Take it slow,” he advised softly, though there was a trace of amusement in his voice.

But Y/N didn’t have time to listen. As soon as he handed her the food, she tore into it like a starved animal, her teeth sinking into the bread without hesitation. She barely chewed, forcing herself to swallow each piece. Her stomach roared with hunger, but the food felt like sandpaper against her throat. She was desperate, too desperate to care.

A piece of bread lodged in her throat, and for a moment, panic surged through her chest. She coughed violently, her eyes watering as she gasped for air, still trying to stuff more food into her mouth. She didn’t want to stop, didn’t want to risk the chance that it could all be taken away.

The man next to her—he was watching her with a raised brow, his lips twitching as if he was trying not to laugh. “Careful,” he said, his voice lighter now, the edge of seriousness softening. “You’re going to choke.”

Y/N sputtered, a piece of bread half-swallowed, half stuck in her throat as she coughed and gasped. The combination of hunger, exhaustion, and embarrassment hit her all at once, and she couldn’t help but glance at him, her face burning with shame. She didn’t want to be seen like this, so desperate, so weak.

“I—I’m fine,” she managed to choke out between gasps, waving her hand weakly as if to reassure him.

He chuckled, and it wasn’t unkind. “Yeah, sure looks like it.”

Her heart sank. She hadn’t meant to make him laugh, especially not at her expense. But the sound of his laughter wasn’t cruel. It was… warm. And something about that made her want to keep talking, even through her embarrassment.

She managed to swallow the rest of the food, sitting back against the wall, still clutching the water bottle tightly. Her hands were filthy, her face streaked with dirt and fear, but for a moment, just sitting here with him, she felt something that wasn’t pure terror.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, her voice raspy from both hunger and choking. “I… I haven’t eaten in a while.”

“I figured.” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his broad chest, still watching her with that calm, assessing gaze. “You looked like you’d been through hell when Hazel brought you here.”

Hazel. That was the man who had saved her in the store. The one who had promised her safety and a place with them. But now, this man—the one who had stood up for her—was sitting beside her, talking to her as if she weren’t just some desperate stranger. It felt surreal.

“I’m—" she started, hesitating for a moment before deciding to offer her name. "Y/N.”

“Bigwig,” he replied simply, his voice carrying a hint of pride in the name. It wasn’t a real name, not in the traditional sense, but it suited him somehow. Strong, unmovable.

Y/N blinked at the name, nearly choking on another piece of bread as she processed it. She tried to stifle the laugh, but a small, surprised giggle slipped out despite herself. She coughed again, covering her mouth, trying not to make a fool of herself.

Bigwig looked at her, and for a moment, his serious demeanor cracked. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, I know. Weird name, huh?”

She nodded, still trying to swallow the last bit of bread, though her face burned with embarrassment again. She wasn’t laughing at him, but she felt like a mess—like this starving, desperate girl who was sitting next to this towering man, choking on food while he tried not to laugh at her. It was absurd, and for the first time in so long, the absurdity of it all made her feel something that wasn’t fear.

Bigwig leaned back against the wall beside her, his presence calm and steady. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, offering her a reassuring look. “The name, I mean. And everything else.”

Y/N smiled faintly, wiping at her face with her sleeve, the remnants of the meal still sticking in her throat. The tension in her chest started to ease, even if only a little. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “For… you know, sticking up for me.”

Bigwig shrugged, though there was something softer in his expression now. “Don’t mention it. You’ve been through enough already. Besides,” he added with a faint grin, “it’s better if we stick together. The more of us there are, the better chance we have.”

She nodded, taking another careful sip of water, feeling it soothe her dry throat. For the first time since all of this had begun, she felt a small flicker of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And sitting here, with someone who had looked out for her, who didn’t see her as a burden, that flicker of hope felt like it might actually grow into something real.

Maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as alone as she thought.

It was night and Y/N was still catching her breath when she heard footsteps approaching, soft but steady. The moment she lifted her head, she saw Hazel’s familiar silhouette appear in the dim light. He carried something under his arm, something soft and warm-looking.

“You doing alright?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful not to disturb the others. He knelt down beside her, his presence so calm and reassuring. It was like the chaos of the outside world didn’t exist in his company.

Y/N nodded, her stomach still full from the food Bigwig had given her, though her throat was a little sore from nearly choking earlier. "Yeah... better," she murmured, though exhaustion weighed heavily in her bones.

Hazel smiled gently, his dark eyes scanning her face as if to check if she was really telling the truth. Then he unfolded the bundle he’d brought with him—a blanket, soft and worn but warm-looking—and draped it over her shoulders. The simple act of kindness nearly made her want to cry again. She hadn’t felt comfort like this in so long, not since before everything had fallen apart.

“Here, this’ll keep you warm tonight,” Hazel said softly. “It’s cold down here.”

Y/N clutched the blanket around herself, feeling the warmth of it immediately start to seep into her skin. She looked up at Hazel, her heart skipping a beat at how close he was, how gentle he seemed. His face was so beautiful, framed by the faint light. Even in the harshness of the world they lived in now, he still looked... perfect. Too perfect, almost. Like someone who belonged in a world before all the death and destruction.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

Hazel smiled again, a little more brightly this time, and he sat down beside her. “It’s nothing. You need to stay strong if you’re gonna survive this.”

There was a pause, a comfortable silence between them, but Y/N couldn’t stop staring at him. The more she looked, the more she noticed—his strong jaw, the softness in his eyes, the way his hair curled slightly at the ends. He looked tired, like he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, but still, there was something about him that made her feel safe.

“You... you saved me back there,” Y/N murmured, her voice wavering slightly. “I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Hazel shook his head gently. “You don’t need to. We’re all just trying to make it through this nightmare. And now... well, you’re part of the group. We look after each other.”

His words made her heart swell. Part of the group. After so much time alone, so much time spent hiding and starving, she had almost forgotten what it felt like to belong somewhere.

She shifted a little under the blanket, her gaze still fixed on him. “It’s just... I didn’t think anyone was left. I thought it was just me.”

Hazel’s expression softened, and he turned to face her more directly. “You’re not alone anymore. We’ve got a little group, and we stick together.” His voice was so steady, so certain.

Y/N smiled faintly, though her eyes were still filled with awe as she looked at him. She was so tired, so drained from everything that had happened, but sitting here with him, she felt... lighter. Less like a ghost of herself and more like a person again.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Hazel said, standing up slowly. He gave her one last look, something soft and reassuring in his eyes. “Get some rest. You’ve been through a lot.”

Y/N nodded, pulling the blanket tighter around herself, feeling the warmth from his words and the blanket wrap around her like a protective shield. “Goodnight, Hazel.”

He gave her a small smile before turning and walking away, his footsteps fading into the background. She watched him leave, her heart still beating a little faster than it should have, but not from fear. This time, it was something else. Something warmer, something that made her feel like maybe... just maybe, she wasn’t as lost as she thought.

She lay down, curling up under the blanket. Her mind was still racing, but there was something different now—a spark of hope that hadn’t been there before. She closed her eyes, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a small, genuine smile tugged at her lips.

She was safe. And she wasn’t alone anymore.

Sleep came easier than it had in days.

In the dead of night, Y/N stirred, her body tense beneath the blanket. Something had pulled her from her sleep—no, someone. There was a noise, faint but unsettling, like the sound of muttering mixed with ragged breaths. Her heart jumped in her chest, and she instinctively reached for the blanket, clinging to it as her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of an old lantern in the corner, casting long shadows on the walls. She blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of her surroundings, until her gaze landed on the source of the noise.

In the far corner, huddled against the cold stone wall, was a figure. At first, she thought it was just her mind playing tricks on her—a shadow—but no. It was a person. She squinted, heart pounding, and recognized the small, shaking form of one of the men from the group, the quiet one with wide, haunted eyes. His back was turned to her, his shoulders trembling violently as he whispered feverishly to himself, over and over, the same words that she couldn’t quite make out.

Her throat tightened. Something about the scene felt wrong, like she was witnessing something she shouldn’t. The darkness felt heavier, suffocating, and her own breath came in short, shallow gasps. Part of her wanted to stay where she was, stay silent, but another part of her—a stronger part—knew she had to do something.

Slowly, Y/N pushed the blanket off and sat up. The floor was cold beneath her feet, sending a shiver through her body, but she forced herself to stand. She took a hesitant step forward, the faint creak of the floorboards echoing in the eerie silence.

The man—Fiver, she remembered his name now—didn’t seem to notice her. His muttering had grown louder, more frantic. He rocked slightly, his arms wrapped around his knees as if trying to hold himself together. The closer she got, the clearer his words became.

“They’re coming... they’re coming... we’re all going to die...”

Her stomach churned at the sound of it. There was something off in his voice, something desperate, like he was trapped in his own mind. Her heart ached for him, but fear gnawed at her too. What had made him like this?

Y/N crouched down beside him, hesitating only for a moment before she reached out to touch his shoulder. The instant her fingers brushed his skin, he flinched violently, a sharp, guttural sound escaping his throat as he recoiled from her touch. His head snapped toward her, his wide, terrified eyes locking with hers, and for a split second, he didn’t seem to recognize her.

“No!” he gasped, scrambling back as if she were one of the undead. “No, don’t—don’t touch me! It’s too late! They’re coming, they’re coming!”

His voice was raw with terror, and Y/N’s heart shattered at the sight of him. She wanted to help, but she didn’t know how. He was unraveling right in front of her, consumed by whatever horror was playing in his mind.

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “It’s okay. It’s just me. You’re safe. We’re safe here.”

But Fiver’s eyes darted around the room, seeing things that weren’t there, his breath coming in rapid, panicked bursts. “No... no, you don’t understand... I’ve seen it. I know what's going to happen. It’s all going to fall apart. They’ll break through. We’ll all die. You... you’ll die.”

Y/N swallowed, a cold dread creeping down her spine at his words. His fear was contagious, and she could feel it sinking into her bones, making her hands tremble. But she couldn’t let him spiral any further. She had to do something.

“Fiver,” she said more firmly, trying to make her voice soothing despite her own fear. “Look at me. Please, look at me.”

He was shaking harder now, on the verge of a full-blown panic attack. His hands clawed at the floor, his breath hitching painfully in his chest as if he couldn’t get enough air. His muttering had devolved into incoherent gasps, and Y/N knew if she didn’t calm him down soon, he would lose himself completely.

Without thinking, she reached out again, more forcefully this time, and pulled him into her arms. He resisted at first, his body stiff and trembling against hers, but she didn’t let go. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, holding him as he struggled, whispering soothing words even though her heart was hammering in her chest.

“Shh... it’s okay... it’s okay. You’re safe. We’re safe. Just breathe, Fiver. Just breathe.”

At first, he didn’t respond, still caught in the grip of his terror. His breathing was ragged, his whole body shaking uncontrollably. But slowly—agonizingly slowly—he began to calm down. His gasps turned into deep, shuddering breaths, and the tension in his muscles started to ease. He slumped against her, exhausted, his head resting against her shoulder as he finally let go of the panic that had consumed him.

Y/N held him close, her own breath shaky as she ran her fingers through his hair, soothing him like a frightened child. “You’re okay,” she whispered. “I’ve got you.”

Fiver’s breathing steadied, his body relaxing into hers as he leaned into the warmth of her embrace. His voice was hoarse and broken when he spoke again, barely a whisper. “Something bad’s coming... I can feel it.”

Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that. The weight of his words lingered in the air, heavy and foreboding, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she held him tighter, letting her warmth shield him from whatever horrors haunted his mind.

“I’ll keep you safe,” she promised, though she wasn’t sure how much she believed it. But it seemed to be enough for him.

Eventually, his breathing slowed, his trembling stopped, and he drifted into a restless sleep, still clinging to her like a lifeline.

Y/N stayed awake long after that, her mind racing with fear, dread, and the chilling words he had whispered to her.

“Something bad’s coming...”

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[axl-ul]

The Flight of the Western Crane: Chapter Nineteen

(A reupload/repost of my fic/dark retellingof Journey to the West which can be also found on AO3 under the same name)

(General info about this fic/wip/retelling is here)

****

The stars shone brightly. Their watchful gaze glided from stone to stone, from one den to another, even to the sturgeons and minnows that hailed from a great distance to pass the Tiger Leaping Gorge in order to meet the splattering waters of Yangtze. Where their everlasting light couldn’t reach, the wind did its job instead by checking the deep burrows. Under the soil’s thick green hair, rabbits came to run around. Frogs and toads made their way out of the waters and added to the charm with their ribbit - an idyllic scenery perfect for an artist to admire and to immortalise in his craft.

The valley’s lowland, a blessed child of Heaven and Earth’s union, offered peace and rest to anyone except one poor soul.

Wukong twitched and trembled several times that night. His dreams started with the humming of a waterfall which progressed into screams. Amber eyes like his own glared at him from the shadows surrounding him and yet when he followed them, they vanished. Instead of them, hands grabbed onto him like shackles. A person stood behind him and put something on his head. She hissed in his ear and the jungle around transformed into a palace chamber with a chaise. The air was filled with burning poppy seeds. Yawen was sitting atop of him while the chaise pressed into his back. Her slimy fingers crept into his hair. Her pretty face was beyond recognition - unnaturally angular and long with unblinking eyes that carried a horrifying mockery. She flickered her tongue before her lipless mouth drew nearer to peck his forehead. “Only a fool thinks they can escape Death or Fate. Are you a fool, Dasheng?“

He fell into the dark of the night. Momentarily, he came back to his senses to see Márgerdra laying on her back next to him, the sheets around a complete wreck. The sun hadn’t rosen yet. At first glance it seemed she was fully awake and observing the details of the ceiling above like those of a temple’s roof. Listening closer, the Monkey King discovered her lovely voice hummed something. At least so the macaque deducted in the dark. Their fingers, no matter how stiffened, remained inweaved. Not even Wukong’s unusually cold skin made her let go.

Wukong slowly blinked before his vision went blank. He woke up only when the sun’s first rays flew inside the bedchamber. His head must’ve slipped as his pillow sat beside, not to mention the thud still travelling through his skull.

The Lady Wolf Witch, combing her hair with one hand, turned. Remains of the night’s fleeting touch reflected within her gaze.

“Good morning. Hopefully, it’s not painful as well.“

“Morning. Did you…“ Wukong changed his mind at the last second,“You could’ve let go. The brushing’d be twice as fast.“

“It was the only option to calm you down. Just please, don’t yank those fingers.“

He shot a confused look. Following a long strand, he came to understand. When changing his position, Wukong’s right hand had entangled in blonde hair and had been grasping it since.

“Sometimes, there’s more than meets the eye. It’s not just the aesthetics. However, I can’t deny I’m proud of my mane.“

“Mar,“ Wukong’s hand moved from under the yellow veil. It gently directed Márgerdra’s face to meet his. Her expression seemed flat and disinterested. Only when they drew closer, he noticed her subtle delight but also sadness whenever he spoke the name. “Yesterday-“

“Don’t think about it. It wasn’t your fault. You’re safe now.“

The demon took a deep breath - there was almost no trace of her perfume, yet her smell was still lovely; he yearned to pull her into his arms and cradle and soothe her there,“Thank you for everything. For having my back. And that you allowed me to know you better.“

They laid in silence until the matrace beneath heated up again.

Márgerdra helped the monkey demon to adjust on his pillow. Her bloodied fingers left behind fingerprints on the white glaze but the witch quickly wiped them off. The headache came back. Fortunately, those were barely remains of what her restless mind would experience.

“Is your knee fine? Do you really dare to go and participate in the match?“

“And to make myself look like a coward? Blondie, it’s as good as new anyway.“

Arched over Wukong, her empty stare darted between him and the door shut behind her back.

“You truly see me as your friend?“

“Where does this come from? I don’t think I can follow.“

“Does our relationship have any value to you? Yes or no.“

“Of course, it does.“

“I misunderstood at first, then. It’ll be fine. A broken twig means nothing if the trunk with the roots lives further. Why fight something that’s already decided anyway?“ she whispered but continued before he had any chance to ask,“Wukong, promise me one thing. Whatever happens, you’ll follow your Master’s path. You’ll protect the boy just like you defended your tribe and the people around. The whole world. You are one of the Pilgrims. Together, you’ll travel to the Western Paradise and retrieve the scriptures. Even if it means to move on.“

“Mar, what are you-?“

“Promise it. Swear it. One day, you’ll understand.“

Wukong shot up on the bed, grabbing and pulling Márgerdra closer until her palms rested on his cheeks,“What if I want to know now? I’m no hero, if that’s what’s on your mind-“

“There’s too many of those. Just somebody who learnt what’s right. Somebody who doesn’t give up easily. Or forgets about the others. Buddha taught your Master and he taught you. Now it’s time to teach the rest.“ The breeze slithered down the shutters. It crawled above the floor until it hit the two with the freshness from the peak of the mountain while the birds gathered there to fly again, freely, unbound to meet the sun while their shadows nonexistent on the land far underneath.

The woman said before he had any chance to reply,“Let’s go. We better hurry up.“

****

The numerous banners wafted in the wind under the cloudless sky. Since the earliest of the morning the sun hadn’t given up on its strength. It already provided so much heat that the local folks waved around with fans as colourful as a peacock’s feathers or used the very fabric of their robes to cool down.

The courtyard needed only the last few touches to be fully prepared. Considering the size and the number of the guests, this strange organised chaos erupted. Tables were breaking under the amount of plates and bowls being brought. Mere fanning wasn’t enough, the servants had to use spells to repel the annoying insects. Despite the initial sulky mood, the servants, officials and nobles whose heads and bodies were covered not only in fine clothes and mesmerising jewellery but in antlers, trunks, fur, feathers and scales and even bones, too, or possessed a human skin of an intriguing texture and colour soon came to enjoy themselves. Even a young handmaiden with a glass-like skin paid no attention to the amazed monk.

“This is a real deal. What do ya reckon, Shifu?“ Bajie, chewing on an apple he’d grabbed from the glass servant passing by, whispered to the man in a light blue robe with a round collar as they passed by a group of female dancers rehearsing their opening number.

“It’s truly fascinating, to say the least, Wuneng,“ Sanzang casted a worried look at Wujing, who ran around asking about the purpose of the pillars and excitedly noted down in his journal the process of building the different stages,“To be fair, I’m quite nervous.“

“Shifu, don’t say you’ve got a stage fright. You’ve spoken in front of many crowds before!“

“But those were either prayers or lectures. Not poetry. And there certainly weren’t demons but humans,“ the young Buddhist halted, his gaze fell to the floor,“Wuneng, I didn’t mean it. It’s just that… I know we’re in great danger. I don’t want anything to happen to anyone.“

“Shifu,“ Bajie hugged him around the shoulders,“we, the yaoguai folk, are scary. Yeah, we for sure have strange customs and can be rougher sometimes. It’s natural for you to be worried. But we’re here, your disciples, fine?“

“You’re right. By the way, speaking of you all, where’s Lie and Wukong? It’s never good when they aren’t around, especially the latter one.“

“Afraid we’d cause trouble again?“ Two heads popped behind the monk. The monkey and the dragon horse were visibly in a great mood, bumping into each other like two little boys. Soon, Ol’ Sha jumped at them and hung on their necks causing them to playfully fight.

Once they calmed down, the monk used to their advantage that the group distanced itself to a far southern corner and continued in a hushed voice,“Disciples, we may not have enough time and trust me, I’d like to say more. But all of you taught me that even the big words can’t sometimes reveal what the mind and most importantly the heart yearns to say. Therefore, I’m grateful and honoured that Bodhisattva Guanyin elected you four to be my bodyguards, my companions, sometimes even teachers.“

The four disciples looked the monk up and down. Only when Sanzang started playing with his sleeves did they break the act. They launched at their master and made sure to squeeze him tightly altogether.

“Shifu, we’re just as glad to have you,“ Lie started.

“To be honest, you were annoying at first. Too strict for us.“

“Also we truly needed some time to adjust to the different schedule,“ Wujing added to Baje.

Lastly, the eldest disciple finished,“But you proved to be brave and kind in your heart. Now, let’s go. The Dragon’s hour approaches and you with Brother Lie shall perform.“

Lie grinned,“You’re saying this like your fight won’t be the cherry on top.“

The disciples briskly ran up to their places, yet the Master and the senior disciple remained.

As the monkey was about to turn to follow his three juniors, the monk tapped on the blue ornaments dancing on the striking golden silk. It made the young man think of the tapestries with the Tang Emperor and, admittedly, with the wide sleeves flowing around, the demon would easily blend in such scenery with his decisive posture. All that Wukong was missing was a crown with a pair of phoenix feathers. And yet, Sanzang could no longer associate such a possession with his beloved disciple, not until the monkey stopped carrying the untraditional calmness in his deep gaze.

“Wukong, I wanted to thank you personally. Yes, I’ve repeated myself that we ought not to be bound to earthly matters as they’re but a fleeting touch, a reflection of the stars on the pond’s surface. But as you once asked about my parents, about my…“ although it was only a buzz of a tiny bee flying past him, Sanzang thought fingers, rough due to the hardships of life but also as tender as only a mother could ever have, caressed his ruffled hair,“As your Shifu, I should be both your teacher and father, guiding you through the teachings to achieve understanding. However, it’s often the opposite - you taught me a lot as well. I’m sorry I judged you harshly.“ Sanzang caught himself at the last moment; his lips dried out while rethinking his words. “Thanks for everything.“

“No problem, Shifu,“ Wukong’s uplifted spirit shone through and through,“you can count on me the same way I count on you. The same goes for my brothers. We won’t ever let anyone hurt you. We’ll get to the Western Paradise and bring the sutras to enlighten everyone.“

“Yeah, exactly,“ the monk rubbed the side of his eye,“Anyway, where’s Her Highness and Lady Wolf Witch?“

“No idea. She said she’d get prepared with the princess. She really thinks they’ll get here before the start,“ the monkey snorted and put his hands on his hips.

“Wukong? Aren’t those two…?“

The Monkey King turned in the direction of the Tripitaka’s pointing finger. In front of the main entrance, two women walked out of the palace’s shadows and ascended the stairs tanning in the sun’s gold. Even from the great distance, the demon and his master recognised the hopping pattern of the smaller woman whose pomegranate skirt flailed around as if it were a cat’s tail. Two pearly hairpins peeped from her tied up hair, mimicking a pair of ears. Her waistcoat added to the impression of a tigress given the turmeric dye and rubies sewed on the shoulders in several rows of stripes. Even the petite woman’s voice ringing with heartfelt cheerfulness made her seem not childish but charmful, especially when her feet firmly landed on the last stair. Mei, at last, straightened her spine and with a subtly stuck out chin stepped out. “Hello there, gentlemen!“ she waved at them.

It took plenty of effort for Sanzang to stop staring. Listening to his instincts, Sanzang turned his head just to scowl at drooling Bajie. He bumped into Wukong, too, whose legs turned stiff and made the demon persist in his place, unknowingly mimicking his master.

Despite the monk’s effort, the disciple couldn’t tear his eyes off of the demoness.

Like any other day, Márgerdra outshined other women easily yet today was somewhat different. Elegance and grace radiated from her. The hidden passion burnt so much it became a perfect contrast to the cool colours of her blue scarf where gold bits shone like tiny tears. Her skirt waved whenever her slim legs in fine mauve slippers moved as if she floated through air. Although of a quite loose cut, the garment still did her curves justice whenever the breeze picked up as a moderate wind and outlined her figure.

“Are you alright? Don’t tell me you caught something. A flu perhaps? I told you to take the whole blanket for yourself!“ When neither of the men responded, Mei waved again and briskly pressed her palm against the monk’s forehead. Sanzang distanced himself but quickly assured both were as healthy as a fish.

Mei and Sanzang surely chirped like sparrows on a roof as they made their way towards the rest. However their protectors couldn’t follow without a moment of privacy.

Wukong bowed his head. “It really suits you.”

“You don’t look that bad either.“ Márgerdra squinted as she sized up Qitian Dasheng. Suddenly, he felt smaller than ever. It all went away the moment she spoke in a voice that could melt the coldest ice. “Let me fix your collar,“ the small wrinkles retracted as the she-wolf faintly smiled and ran her hand by his neck,“now you look perfect.“

“Careful there, I may outshine you any moment soon.“

“I’d love to see you try. Honestly, however, I can’t complain much.“

He cackled and offered his forearm. The demoness caressed it and let her arm settle there like a swallow,“What a gentleman. Anyway, the servants told us your match got delayed. You and the captain shall fight by the evening. I was thinking I may help you to get prepared. I guess it would be more believable than if I stayed in the crowd. Besides, I’m afraid that Yawen and Golden Wind may strike soon. I highly doubt they’re going to wait for the full moon.“

“What makes you think that?“

“I haven’t heard a word about her this whole morning. I guess I don’t need to remind you twice that she isn’t one of the quiet folks. No way she wouldn't make herself known. Am I allowed to make sure your armour won’t loosen upon the first strike, then?“

“You’d made your way there even if I told you no,“ the disciple whispered back,“Plus, I’m not sure whether I wanna risk anyone getting a black eye or broken ribs like myself in case they stand in your way.“

Márgerdra took the hint, yet acted as if having no clue. “Like who? The captain?“

“Perhaps. Maybe a few soldiers as well.“

“You’re saying it like it’s a bad thing.“

Wukong threw his head back as he laughed at Márgerdra’s pretended innocence. 

At first, those were but foolish words echoing within the dead space of his mind. Alas, the Monkey King caught himself too late and replied out loud,“Quite the opposite. It’s that irresistible part of your charm.“

The Wolf Witch halted. Her eyes, so bright till that moment, lost their spark. Her teeth vanished behind her lips that formed a thin line as her nose wrinkled. She untangled their arms and continued forward keeping merely a former proximity. Neither she or the Monkey King uttered anything until they reached their seats.

****

The sun opened its eye to the fullest and blessed the earth beneath with the sacred light. Upon her arrival, Queen Shufen seemed to become the personification of that light. Her face was bright and clearer than the horizon. The phoenix crown’s gold, thousands of pearls, sapphires and rubies, the shining kingfisher feathers emphasised the unearthly look of the Immortality Crane whose blackest eyes were like soft velvet trying to hug the world and give it all the care she held within.

Musicians and dancers amazed the spectators as well. The sword dance left a trace of bliss behind. The colourful robes painted the air whenever they twirled around. Such a vibrant mix reminded of butterflies that visited the courtyard. Even the queen’s elephant was brought to perform with acrobats before standing next to her owner.

Shufen caressed the grey hide. “Look who finally showed up, Xiao Tao. Are you excited, my little girl?“ the queen gave her another apple and pointed to the young erhu player with white streaks in his hair. Immediately, the elephant threw her head back to trumpet.

Lie didn’t mind. Quite the opposite, he smirked upon seeing the majestic creature play with the queen’s crown during his number. Later, she directed her attention to the young captain who sat next to his aunt. It cost Lie a great effort not to burst into laughter when Xiao Tao tucked on the crane’s coat. Despite such a bold move, the captain himself smiled and scratched Xiao Tao on her trunk and let her rest it on his shoulder.

As he changed the upbeat tunes with more melancholic ones for the actors to finally join and introduce the story of a celestial bird meeting a dragon, the crowd calmed down and eagerly dived into the play with their interest. The story was longer than what the Pilgrims expected, yet they found themselves enjoying it. Márgerdra let the princess hide into her chest when the dragon showed up for the first time, scaring Mei with its long whiskers and flaming antlers despite being merely an impressive costume carried by half a dozen of skilled actors. Sha Seng briskly joined and soothed her along with the witch.

The play continued long into the late evening. At last, Ao Lie positioned himself next to the actors and welcomed the young monk. The disciple reassuringly squeezed his teacher’s shoulder. The Tripitaka felt the courage waking up inside although the sun had disappeared behind the bumpy horizon. It flared up even more when he saw all four disciples and even their companions from the Great Tiger Kingdom waving at him. Suddenly, the need to use the scribbles he made under Mei’s supervision left him disappeared. Instead, he turned to face the queen. His voice, at first a flock of cracks yet now a sound as nice to hear as the sandalwood to smell, spoke of high mountains, ravishing lowlands and the souls freed from pain that found happiness in the compassion their hearts treasured altogether. “Because the people are the world’s mirror as well for the ocean is too a myriad of droplets, each as significant as the other so as to nurture each other.“ A small pause and the monk started his last few verses not noticing the silent ruffle behind.

“I better get going,“ Wukong whispered once he noticed Jun standing up from his seat behind his master; he vanished behind a thick curtain that had to hide a stairway to the stage hosting the royal family,“See you soon.“ He nodded to the Wolf Witch, hoping she would eventually come to see him at the arsenal.

****

Márgerdra surely began to think she got lost in the vast space where the sole residents seemed to be the racks with spears, swords and bows. Soon she realised that in her hurry she passed by the corridor she was looking for. It was long yet the supporting pillars made Márgerdra hunch down after she accidently hit her forehead. As she scanned the corridor poorly lit with torches and the stone walls overgrown with mould and moss clumps, the witch doubted a mere human would find their way around the place. The air was heavy and moist, hard to breathe in. Hence her lungs significantly enlarged whenever she took a deep but calm inhale.

She didn’t mind the eerie space nor the noise of water dripping from the ceiling here and there. The arsenal was, after all, located under the courtyard and thus carved into the mountain itself. Yet, she couldn’t lose the feeling of not being alone. Still, she was certain nobody had followed her. Only when she walked to the crossroad did she stop. The main path was narrow and straight, the second one crooked like a worm. The woman was prepared to set out into the tight space ahead when somebody bumped into her.

Both stumbled down with grunts and curses. Márgerdra quickly got on her knees and started brushing off the dirt. Annoyed, she took a good look at whoever it was. Although the person had a hood, it was rather easy to conclude the identity due to the hunched stance and scrawny figure. After shuffling closer and seeing the brown eyes glowing with an amber hew, she was sure. “Wukong, are you crazy?! I’m no wooden dummy to train crazy stunts on!“

The demon drew closer, trapping Márgerdra between his body and the walls. She shivered when his wild look settled down on her - malicious, dangerous and filled with an unmatched curiosity. As if he were recalling something he passionately hated but couldn’t bury.

He dived into the curve of her neck. He sniffed deeply, sharply. The rough fingertips ran up and down her shoulder. He seemed not to realise that Márgerdra could hear his muttering. “You did not change a bit. The same ghostly woman that matched the cool forest all too well. I…scared you back then, didn’t I?“

She thought he already finished, then he snarled again. “How come that he was allowed to lie his head next to yours and be lulled like a newborn while I had to sleep in places where vermin dug into my skin and hair? A stranger bound to me yet should I forget the scriptures? My Shifu? My destiny?“ he growled,“I… He’s such a fool. But what else to expect? That coward could never bid farewell. One must forget to ascend.“ He brushed his lips, colder than that stone around, against her skin, still hugging her tightly despite his trembling hands.

The initial shock remelted into a letdown, then sheer anger from witnessing the gall.

While still in the hug, her hands shot up. Her claws dug into the back, tearing the cloak and shirt first, then mercilessly attacked the flesh.

The macaque hissed. Márgerdra couldn’t afford to hesitate further. Kicking him off of her, she sent herself back to her upright legs. Yet his tail slammed and put her back to her place.

Márgerdra’s vision went black.

Thankfully, she regained her senses, yet found herself to be alone. The only evidence of other presence was the hood she was clutching and an image of the demon before Márgerdra collided with the wall.

****

Finally, she reached her destination. Upon entering, the witch discovered there were four doors in the arsenal, an octagonal room of a moderate size inlaid with wood that was appropriately lit up with lamps. The first door was the one that she’d just used, two on the opposite walls that connected to other armouries and one the right which surely led outside to the courtyard. Looking around, the number of weapons and armour pieces wasn’t inherently great. Yet each impressed the witch with its simple though flawless iron and steel.

Wukong was standing in the centre. He’d already changed his robes for a tunic and much looser trousers. The boots he’d been previously wearing were now thrown under a bench since the monkey found the simple legwraps more suitable for his style.

Tying the last knot on the legwrap, the monkey turned around to greet the much awaited she-wolf who watched him from the entrance,“Blondie! What took you so long? I nearly started thinking you aren't coming. Anyway, could you handle that shoulder pad for me? The one on the right with a dragon head.“

Márgerdra let out a fume. She grabbed the shoulder pad and in less than four long steps stood in front of the Sage. Her movements when securing the straps were rough. By accident, she yanked the monkey’s fur, at which Wukong scowled,“Watch that!“

“I’ve tolerated your pranks too long. You better stop it immediately! You were scaring me! I almost thought you were after my neck again.“

“Blondie, listen, I don’t know what happened on your way here. I got no witnesses to have my back. But I’ve been here the entire time. Are you sure you didn’t meet a servant?“

“Wukong, I swear I know who I saw.“ The Wolf Witch took notice of him when he faced her. His eyebrows furrowed, eyes narrowed until a thin line remained while the demon tilted his head. He wasn’t lying, only equally confused. There was a question they didn’t need to pronounce out loud, but surely understood from each other,“If it weren’t you, then who?“

One of the doors slid open. Two guards followed the captain, whose garbs were similar to that of Wukong. The two opponents only differed in the colours they chose - Wukong stood tall in brown, yellow, red and black while Jun proudly kept to white, azure, purple and green.

Jun politely bowed to both before asking,“Prepared, Huang?“

“Like never before in my life, captain,“ Wukong nodded.

Just as the captain marched out to the courtyard, he changed his mind and turned on his heel. Facing the imp, the captain’s face relaxed as he bowed once more,“Keep this to yourself. But I want to apologise for the childish quarrel. You all were a great help.“

“What made you change your mind, captain?“

“I’ve never seen my aunt this excited or happy. Besides, I got my evidence on your… innocence. I also saw that you truly are a master of your craft. Please, let’s fight like opponents, like two fellows in martial arts, not enemies.“

Wukong bowed his entire upper body, then helped Jun to regain his stance with a broad smirk. “Aye, I guess that could be doable.“

Jun returned the friendliness, but he sheepishly retracted after looking behind the monkey. “I think you may want to talk to Miss Yaling. I’ll wait outside. Don’t take too long.“

Wukong let out a chuckle when the door behind the captain and his retinue shut tight.

“Oh man, have you seen his sour face? Priceless! I bet you secretly growled at him!“

Márgerdra took her time. Uttering nothing, she chose a pole that Wukong had prepared for himself on a rack and closed the distance between them. Shivers conquered her heart and soul but she brought herself to speak at last,“Say only one thing. That you’ll come back in one piece.“

“Blondie, am I not the Great Sage Equal to Heaven? The disciple of the Golden Cicada?“

Márgerdra’s voice trembled, yet not a single tear glistened in her eyes,“Please, promise that you’re coming back. Returning to your Shifu and brothers. Just like always.“

Wukong’s palm encircled the witch’s hand, the one grasping the pole. Uncertain about the idea at first, the demon then let his forehead rest against hers and replied,“I do, Mar.“

The two no longer hesitated. The witch threw herself around his neck and the disciple clutched his powerful arm around her back. Neither let go for a while, unsure whether breaking such a moment would shatter them both became equally fragile like the two old lion statues guarding the courtyard.

Márgerdra’s words marched out with Wukong, giving him hope and reassurance, although he caught a strange tint of alien sternness there,“Good luck, Qitian Dasheng.“

****

The silver threads of the full moon glided down onto the Jade Valley and the agitated guests in the courtyard. The moment they saw the tight knot with a crane hairpin, they all started cheering and welcoming the queen’s nephew. The leather scales on his armour were as white as snow, it made the crane look as if he shone in the evening’s gloom.

Jun stuck out his chest and bowed deeply to his aunt and then to the crowd as the drums picked up on the rhythm.

“Dearest guests!“ Shufen stood up in her seat and proudly began,“Once again I’m thanking you for your wishes. All the presents are lovely, yet two warm my heart the most. The first - the presence of my beloved nephew that never ceases to amaze me with his loyalty and capability. Since the sun has embraced this little boy, I knew he shall achieve great things. He’s been protecting me, this city, our whole kingdom. He’s fought against our enemies and traitors. One of which has impudently shown up right here, in our fortress!“

Simple whispers and speculations from the smug nobles and servants soon turned into an uproar when ten guards dragged chained Golden Wind Viper from the darkness of the palace. The muzzle kept the snake from spitting his venom just like the enchanted iron collar prevented his neck from elongating. Despite the precautions, the guards struggled to walk in a straight line as Golden Wind Viper was putting up a fight. He only stopped twitching when a cangue was put around his neck.

Golden Wind Viper no longer snarled. Scorn emitted from his very core when he cast gaze on Shufen. The fact that his spit landed right in front of him instead and splashed him didn’t take away his boldness as he exclaimed,“Your Majesty! How lovely to see you! It felt like ages I dare to say. I bet you must’ve been missing me. Has anyone replaced me as your general?“

In spite of his tone, his effort to gain attention went ignored. Shufen was far more calculated and chose an approach that made Golden Wind Viper turn even greener than what he already was from envy. “Captain of the Royal Guard kept to the promise. After being informed by the eldest of the Huang brothers, he heroically dived into the danger and arrested this scoundrel once and for all. At last, we may rest at peace. For everything that Captain Jun has done, I, Queen Shufen, a woman of my word, proudly announce that from this day on you shall be recognised as my general!“

The crowd applauded while Jun gracefully, yet with easily recognisable pride, bowed to show his gratitude towards the congratulations. Once he spotted the golden-haired woman walking up the stairs and reclaiming her seat, he grinned.

Yet, Márgerdra paid little attention to the man’s parade. She and Mei wondered,“Brother Monkey helped him, jiejie?“

“I’m confused, too, little plum. I don’t remember him mentioning a thing.“ Márgerdra lightly tapped on her chin. Something still made her come back in thoughts to the strange interaction she’d with Wukong. Neither her or the princess had enough space to think, however. The queen’s following statement took their breath away. Sandy and Lie’s jaws dropped as well. Bajie choked on his drink while Wukong almost stumbled back to the armoury.

“Master Huang Shui has helped us significantly with his whole family. Your intelligence, compassion and now the poem you wrote, such gentleness and affection towards everything living can’t be found anywhere else. With you, I realised my happiness. Although your family would like to venture forth towards their further research, I must ask one thing. A simple offer where our lives would seal our fates altogether. Not only do I promise you immortality coming from Golden Cicada’s flesh, Master Shui. Would you like to become my husband, too, and rule this country with me?”

Sanzang’s throat went dry. He felt as if the whole world was watching his every move.

He briskly stood from his seat below the queen’s throne. The Dragon Prince had to grab the monk under his armpit to prevent him from collapsing.

The young man’s lips opened and closed several times without uttering a single noise. He did not dare to guess the consequences if he rejected the proposal, although he didn’t find a single hint of malice. Yet, aware after countless Wukong’s warnings and lectures, the monk didn’t let his eyes be deceived by the first glance this time. What now seems to be a curiosity can easily turn into a vengeance from a broken heart.

The guests started whispering to one another when he gave no reply. Even Xiao Tao stumped her heavy foot as if the animal hoped for the noise to bring the man back to his senses.

Fortunately, it did. Even more, it gave Sanzang a bright idea. Although it didn’t solve the Pilgrim’s problem immediately, he managed to buy some time anyway. “Your Majesty, it was all lovely to meet you as well. Please, don’t doubt my manners due to my long answer. You see, the question came so suddenly. At first, this sounds like a simple question. Yet I am no simple man and I dare not to reveal my decision right away. My beloved brother is about to fight your nephew, Your Majesty. Hence I suggest we let them fight first as the great news could affect their thinking, judgement and so their decisions within the match! Please, let this fight be fair not for their own sake, not ours.“

His dance around the words seemed to have worked as Shufen nodded,“Master Shui, I expected no less from you. Your reasoning provides a sober mind to where my heart sings. Of course, as you wish.“ She deliberately waved her hand at the drummers to resume their rhythm. “General Jun of the Azure Crane Dynasty. Master Huang Wei. May the skill of each decide tonight, not the luck,“ Shufen sternly let out and lifted her palms to face the starry sky.

Meanwhile Jun and Wukong bowed to one another for the last time, effortlessly ignoring Golden Wind Viper’s cackle in the background.

The Azure Crane General unsheathed his sword and rose the ringing steel above his head.

The Monkey King responded by lowering himself till his front calf became parallel with the ground. The tip pointed at the opponent.

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Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added): @vanessaroades-author @morganmaietto @aohendo @rbbess110 @jgmartin @outpost51

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List of chapters:

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Epilogue

[chaptersleftunwritten]

Cue the beat drop

Blurb: After Eddie goes missing, assumed dead, you replace him as lead guitarist and singer of Corroded Coffin.

Pairing: Vampire!Eddie Munson x Stranger!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of grief and death, mentions of trauma, mean-ish!Eddie, blood(?), possibly an inaccurate attempt at description of Kas from D&D. Fictional Corroded Coffin songs.

-

Trauma permanently alters the brain, and whether or not we are willing to admit it, it changes our lives and who we are. We never really get over it, at best we can make peace with it- grieve with it and try to put it to rest. But a large life disruption leaves a new normal behind and there is no returning to who we were before. Before this.

It had taken Gareth and Jeff two and a half years to muster up enough courage to paper up flyers all over town- every window, sign post and street lamp had one stuck and stapled to it. They were looking for their new lead guitarist and vocalist for Corroded Coffin- a legacy that Eddie Munson had left behind.

Being new to Hawkin’s came with a profound sense of oblivion. You were unaware of the history and all you knew were the rumours of what had happened a few years prior to your arrival in the cursed town. Words twisted and whispered from ear to ear. Elderly ladies clutching their Holy jewellery as they walk through the streets, mumbling prayers beneath their breaths. It was unsettling, to say the least. Oddly, though, there was something about Hawkin’s that called to you. A dark beckoning leading you from one place to here. Where you’ll remain.

-

‘Beware that, when fighting monsters, you yourself do not become a monster... for when you gaze long into the abyss. The abyss gazes also into you.’ Friedrich W. Nietzsche

When you first read that quote, you never understood it. Not then. Not until you actually saw him. The abyss… staring back at you.

Corroded Coffin had soared in popularity. One of their singles, It Only Takes Six Feet, ended up on the Hot Top 100 billboard in the whole of America, sitting at #86 on the list. It was a song dedicated to Eddie, written by all of the members of the band. Of course you did most of the edits and redrafts but it was made by you all. For him. For the man who started it all.

After the stats came in, and the fans followed like metal headed soldiers, the rest was history. Corroded Coffin had its own army of ‘devil worshippers’ and their songs were playing across America on radios, stereos and TV’s alike.

It led you to here. Centre stage with blinding lights blurring your vision. Your lilac guitar slung over your shoulders securely, your hands supporting the weight. The audience is a single organism of moving, reeling silhouettes, who are screaming lyrics wildly back at you. The feeling is intoxicating. The way your voice echoes on the speakers, or how your body glistens and glitters with sweat and even the confidence radiating from your choice in outfit. Tonight felt electric. Everyone was paying attention to you…

You narrowed it down to it just being a really great gig, but things hadn’t been this good since you left Hawkin’s for a small out of state tour. Being back in the bands origin town created an atmosphere that was.. unearthly. Something darker and deeper than you could never comprehend.

Eddie really just couldn’t believe it. Hearing his own lyrics leave your precious little mouth. It seemed wrong- it was wrong.

He watched you with intent from the back of the concert hall, blending in with the shadows cast upon him as he hugged the walls.

No one paid him any mind, he was purposely invisible- seeking out your attention and yours alone. His eyes glow, flickering like a faulty light bulb between a thrilling onyx and a fierce maroon. He wanted you to clock him. To seek him out in the crowd. You and Eddie had never had the pleasure of meeting and Eddie planned to change that. After all, you deserved to know who you were singing about, right?

The fans adored you, and because of your reputation, your angelic voice and your looks- you invited in a wider spread of demographic. You expanded the band without changing a thing and it made you feel accomplished. You were proud of what you contributed and so was Gareth and Jeff.

It made Eddie giggle demonically to himself so see a photograph of him taped to Gareth's drum set. It was a decent picture to say the least, however he couldn't help but wonder why they were paying him so much tribute. Was it some sick and twisted way to promote the band and get more media coverage? Or were they really just as pathetic as he thought and still missed him.

Eddie preferred the 'sick and twisted.'

The hall falls eerily dormant to you as there is a brief pause between songs. The audience remain enthralled but their screams are drowned out but a high pitched ring in your ear. At first, you thought it was mic interference. You never understood it. Not until you actually saw him. The abyss... staring back at you.

Staring into you.

Despite being beneath the sweltering stage lights, your skin coats in an unavoidable freezing spread of goosebumps. Your breathing staggers outwith your control and your head blazes with fog. You can hear Gareth trying to speak to you from behind but you're bolted to the spot, your eyelids fluttering in sync with your heart which you are now suddenly over aware of thundering inside of your chest.

You move a hand to where it beats beneath the skin, clutching at the fabric of your sheer pink blouse as you fight the urge to collapse- but unfortunately for you, your efforts go to waste. Eddie made sure of that.

-

You come to a small flashlight being shone in your eyes and a worried paramedic frowning at you.

“She’s awake!” Gareth yells over to Jeff and both of them appear in your line of vision, they are a bit distorted figure wise but you recognise them nonetheless.

“You’re backstage. You’re in your dressing room, can you tell me which town you are in?” The paramedics voice feels like it is a thumping base inside of your head and you wince inwardly to yourself. Gulping thickly before you reply.

“Hawkins.” You bark rather harshly, your throat dry, “Water? Please?” Gareth nods and both him and Jeff leave the room to go grab you a refreshment. Trust those two to make a one person job into a two person job.

“You’ll be alright, it was probably dehydration.” With a click of a button the flashlight turns off and it is placed back in the medics equipment bag, “I’d recommend taking it easy for the rest of the night- but I know you young ones don’t really listen to anyone these days… so take some pain medication and drink some bloody water, please.” With a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders he exits the room, heaving a sigh and leaving you to recollect your fractured thoughts.

What the Hell happened?

“You collapsed. Is what happened, love.” His voice comes from behind you, a hissing in your ear like a serpents tongue. Which seems impossible because you are situated on a sofa which is pressed against a wall. Logically, no one should be able to get behind you.

Whipping your head over your shoulders frantically, your eyes shot wide with terror as you search the room, only for your gaze to land on him cackling in front of you evilly. The tiredness has been shaken from your bones and the adrenaline flooding your bloodstream is enough for you to jump and go straight through the ceiling.

You know him. You know this man.

“Boo?” He remarks with a sinister grin.

You always thought, when put in these situations, that your trigger response would be fight or flight.. but you are frozen as cold as ice, to the spot.

“This is the part where you try to run away but I ultimately catch you.” His voice is strained, like he is longing for a drink of water, “Cat and mouse, my favourite game.” His large hand finds his chest in a sentimental gesture, “Usually it would warm my heart- but I don’t have one anymore.”

Not anymore? Confusion wraps a noose around your mind. What is he talking about? And why does he look so familiar and yet so alien?

Noticing your rigid unmoving frame Eddie frowns mockingly, “Awh,” He starts with a coo, “You’re no fun.” His bottom lip pokes out before he is biting back a smile. Flashing what you can almost pinpoint as fangs…

“I recognise you…” Your weak voice sounds pathetic as it leaves your throat in the form of a gulp- starting strong and then fizzling out into a whisper. Eddie cocks a brow, his hawk like eyes narrowing in on you.

“I’d like to hope so, sweetheart, considering you were just singing my lyrics.” He leans against your vanity mirror, crossing his strong arms against his chest, not having a single care for any of the products he has just swiped off of the desk.

“Eddie?” Your eyebrows knit together tightly on your face, eyes pinching as you shake your head, “I must be hallucinating. This isn’t real.” You let out a breathy laugh, bringing your palm to your face where you run it down your skin semi-aggressively.

“I must’ve hit my head hard!” You continue to laugh, your mind reeling. Eddie stares at you- a mix of amusement and impatience dominating his features.

“That’s adorable.” He pushes himself from the vanity mirror and within seconds he is in front of you, pinning you down onto the worn leather of the decades old sofa, “I don’t know if I should find you cute or annoying.” His fingers grip your face with a punishingly tight force and you squirm beneath him, fear replacing every one of your comedic thoughts.

“Please,” you squeak out, hoping there is some humanity left inside of him. But you would be wrong to assume, “Eddie, please…”

Your feeble attempts make him snicker beneath his breath, his grip only worsening on your cheeks, “This isn’t a dream, baby. I’m real, I’m here- I may not be alive… but I bet this pain feels pretty human to you, doesn’t it?” He quirks his head slightly, like a psychotic interested dog and you wince, your fingers clawing desperately at his wrist to try and get him to ease up, “It’s a shame that you might have bruises left on this pretty face of yours. I can see why Gareth chose you.” His chest rises and falls with more distorted laughter, “Poor lad, he so clearly wants to fuck you… but you don’t want him, do you?”

The dark sounds of his strangled cackle fills the room, you can hardly breathe with his weight on top of you. He is too strong, so unwavering. It makes you question..

What is he?

“You’ve replaced me.” He clicks his tongue, evidentially displeased, “You replaced me- and you hadn’t even met me.” He brings his face dangerously close to yours, your breathing is erratic and uncontrollable and only now are you able to really hone in on his appearance.

His eyes are blown to an impure murky shade of black and his lips are crusted ever so slightly with a tinged shade of red. Spider web like veins have crept themselves up his neck and arms- the hue of them being a deep purple… almost like the veins are dead- void of any blood at all.

“That’s it, baby, take it all in.” His pointed tongue sticks out, the muscle meets your face as he licks a long strip from your cheek to the corner of your eyes. You hadn’t noticed the tears streaming down your face, but Eddie was relishing in the saltiness of the liquid, “Tastes good, but not really what I’m gunning for.”

His obsidian eyes settle on your neck and you can feel your pulse quickening. Your legs have entered the equation as you start to thrash more violently against him, coming up short.

“Eddie stop! Please! Please!” You’re wailing now, screaming for your life and it irks Eddie beyond description. Violently he lets go of your face, only to clamp his hand steadily across your mouth.

“Those aren’t the type of begs I want to hear, gorgeous.” Your fists pound against his hollow chest and he brushes your attempts at self defence off like it is nothing. He even fake yawns at your bratty behaviour.

“You sounded so pretty up there on stage, I just had to meet you. That’s why you had that little dizzy spell.. that was me, you following along?” He sniffs at your hair, his nose tickling down to the shell of your ear, “Call me obsessed- but I might be your biggest fan.”

Heaven opens the floodgates to your eyes and you are a quivering, sobbing mess beneath Eddie. Your limbs are much too tired to fight against him and you can see your demise approaching.

“I’m not going to kill you,” He answers your thoughts, almost like he can hear you think, “I’m just so fucking hungry.” Craning your neck off to one side Eddie nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, his nose poking and prodding at your skin- right above your main artery, “I also want my position back as lead guitarist.” His voice is much gentler now, a breathy whisper against your flesh, “I’m sure we can find room for you somewhere though, hmm?” You can tell that his words have a demented double meaning and you muster up enough energy to try and push him off again.

Your limbs feel like jello, weak and boneless. Eddie feels as though he is made of steel. Weighty with effortless leverage against you. Your eyelids feel fluttery as you look at the dressing room door- hoping Gareth and Jeff are just outside.

You can see shadowy figures dancing beneath the crack in the door and you mumble out a cry from beneath Eddie’s palm, “They won’t be able to help you.” His words are punctured by his teeth piercing your skin- harshly but with surgeon like precision.

Fire scorches your blood at the contact and your eyes shoot open with furious panic. You can’t scream against his hand, but you try. Choking out sobs and knocking at Eddie’s body. He doesn’t give, if anything he sucks at your neck harder, growling lowly into your ear. All you know is pain, it’s all you know- no more fear, no more terror. Just pain. Agonising. Paralysing… and then..

Nothing. You go numb. Your body falls limp against the cushions, the hard wooden beam running through the sofa presses against your spine in an almost relieving way and you let out a large sigh through flared nostrils.

Eddie finishes with you, unhooking his talon like teeth from your veins and studying your expression closely, “You might feel a bit lightheaded, but you’ll be okay.” His fingers stroke against your cheek which is aching from his previous grasp, “You look so pretty… so exhausted.” With a clasped hand he strokes your hair back and away from your face, only to grasp it roughly and pull you up from the leather material which now has a very prominent outline of your body wedged into. You yelp out, your hands flying to the back of your head where you grab his wrist.

“Now go and open that door, and tell them we were having a quickie… maybe I’ll reward you later if you’re good.” With a knowing wink he pushes you away from him brutishly, slapping your ass and laughing as he watches you move on wobbly legs toward the dressing room door. You don’t understand why, but you listen to him. His voice is like music to your ears- and you’d do anything to hear him speak to you again.

And being the good, obedient, brainwashed girl that you are- you open the door to Jeff and Gareth, looking like your world just got rocked.

-

taglist: @colorful-white-ideas @littlered0000 @ali-r3n @daisy-munson @serenadingtigers

[dollgxtz]

Why’d you write Sylus so crazy? You’re turning him into one of those booktok men and he’s anything BUT that. I just don’t get it :/

Hi anon! I know my yandere!Sylus story is disturbing. And while yes, I do take great pleasure in writing such topics such as kidnapping n such, I genuinely just wanted to write a dark Sylus fic exploring a different version of him where his desires and upbringing lead him to hurt even the people he loves. I love tragic characters and stories!

Think about if you watch a horror movie. You know murdering and killing is bad and yet you still watch it for entertainment, to see what happens!

By the way, this isn’t to argue or call you out anon, just hoping to shed some light on my perspective as the author. I love when people ask about my work, and I’m happy to answer regardless of the context! My ask box is always open if any of you have questions!

Below is a breakdown of some of the complexities I wanted to portray!

Yandere!Sylus Breakdown

I envisioned him as a deeply complex character—not necessarily in his emotions, because yandere!Sylus always knows exactly what he wants—but in the way he rationalizes his actions and interprets his “wrongdoings.”

On the surface, his actions are undeniably wrong. Kidnapping a girl, forcing her into a life of isolation, and desiring to have children with her while keeping her away from everyone she’s ever loved is, by all moral standards, reprehensible. However, Yandere!Sylus doesn’t see it that way. To him, these actions are justifiable as long as they fulfill a purpose in his grand design.

He operates with a calculated mindset, never doing anything unless he believes it will ultimately benefit him, even if it means causing immense suffering. The fact that the reader might hate him only reinforces his resolve; he views it as a challenge, something to be overcome or “fixed” rather than a deterrent.

This doesn’t mean he doesn’t love reader, he does. But he is inherently selfish at his core since that was what was needed to survive. I intend to break this down further!

In yandere!Sylus’s twisted logic, he genuinely believes that if he can get the reader pregnant, she will inevitably develop a bond with the child. He sees this as a means to an end—a way to “tame” her, to anchor her to him emotionally.

He is convinced that motherhood will soften her resistance, leading her to accept the life he has meticulously crafted for them. To him, this is not just a strategy but a deeply held belief that love, however twisted, can be cultivated through shared ties, like the birth of a child.

This version of Sylus is driven by a yearning for the idealized version of happiness that society often romanticizes—the “big happy family” with “children running around” and a “loving wife.” It’s a vision that he clings to desperately, not because he understands it in the way most people do, but because he was denied such love and stability as a child.

Sylus grew up in a world where love was scarce and survival was paramount, as depicted in the original story. This lack of nurturing has warped his understanding of love and family, leading him to believe that these things can be engineered or forced into existence.

In blending elements of the original story into this version of Sylus and the reader, I wanted to show the core aspects of his character while exploring new dimensions of his psyche. However, I didn’t want it to be an exact replication, as the reader in this version isn’t the canonical main character from the original universe. Instead, she represents an alternative narrative where Sylus’s obsessions and desires manifest differently, yet still retain the disturbing intensity that defines his character! ^o^

All in all, if this story isn’t for you. Don’t read it please. I write for a certain demographic of people who enjoy twisted media. It’s fiction after all! No one is truly getting hurt. I hope this helps with your confusion anon!

[voxceleste]

hiiiii you’re one of my favorite fic writers ever and i admire you so much. i wondered if you had any advice for other writers of how to improve? especially for someone who has been writing for years but feels like they’ve hit a point of stagnation/knows they’re “good” at writing but feels like they’re just not hitting their full potential. also, if you had any advice for the differences in working on shorter pieces vs longfics, any guidance or methods that worked for you would be so appreciated!! your work has been very genuinely inspirational to me and i hope you have a great day <3

thank you for your kind words! <3

mileage varies more with regards to writing advice than maybe anything else, so it's possible none of this will work for you.

a common framework in education theory/neurobiology/psychology/etc is that there's a goldilocks zone between comfort and frustration wherein most learning happens. games studies has a similar idea, that a game has to be mentally engaging enough to keep the player invested without making it so punishingly hard that they quit.

writing is pretty much free. unlike most other creative mediums, the scope of a project has no relationship to the value of the materials or tools needed to produce it. you're only limited by your own energy, time, and effort--which can be formidable restrictions, to be fair, but it's not like being a filmmaker, where good-quality equipment and collaborators simply take more resources to afford. writers should take advantage of this. we're really lucky in this way.

the best thing you can do to improve your writing is to attempt projects that feel a little too big for you, or that you're not confident you can pull off. it doesn't have to be "big" in terms of length; a short piece could qualify if the style, tone, structure, subject matter, etc is outside of your comfort zone, but in my experience this has often looked like longer and more complex projects. then again, i love writing long stuff, so take it with a grain of salt--some people just don't, but you mention wanting to try your hand at longfic, so i assume it's relevant. the point is that in order to grow your skills, you have to stretch them.

past fic projects that stick out in my mind for having pushed me to grow as a writer:

story with 4 POV characters, alternating POVs at a regular cadence, where goings-on in each section would affect the other chapters

story with a real-world historical setting that required research wrt material culture as well as timeline/"who was where when"

story that blended a codified and formulaic genre template (het romance novel) with seemingly incongruous story elements (protag being a passively suicidal closeted trans woman and ex-evil mastermind)

the common denominator is having a very specific story i wanted to tell about these specific characters, and digging my teeth into how to do that in a way that felt specific and not just a recycling of common fanficisms… though in all cases, there were at least one or two other fics i looked at for inspiration, if only in a distant way. (those fics, in turn, are often what i'd consider examples of "fanfic that is also just good, ambitious writing," whether or not they would stand alone as original fiction--but that's a different post that's already been made by others.) (they are also full of tropes and are very fanficcy in their own ways!) i had to put a lot of thought into how to approach them in a way that was most true to what they wanted to be in my heart, and usually had one or two specific touchpoints of non-fanfic media that i used to get my bearings, which is a good habit to get into whether or not you're interested in branching out into original fiction writing.

with regards to the transition into longfic writing… writing processes are idiosyncratic and whatever advice i give you has a good chance of being totally useless. it'll probably involve a lot of trial and error, unfortunately. some tidbits:

the worst thing a story can be is boring and this is doubly true for long stuff. i would always rather an author turn the dial a little too far than not far enough to be impactful

can't overstate the utility of a good beta reader as well as a good cheerleader or two to whom you can dump your 2am story thoughts and troubleshoot your plot issues

start the story at the latest possible point in time; many a longfic idea dies on the vine because the author thinks they have to do way more setup than is actually required. this doesn't mean you have to open in medias res with an action sequence, but if you're opening on something more quiet or "expositiony," you should know *why* you're starting there, and should be able to draw up that scene vividly and characterfully

putting a little bit of effort into fleshing out your setting and side characters can help you a ton if you write yourself into a corner. if you're stuck, it's hard to come up with a story element from nothing when your story revolves around two floating heads in featureless rooms

the period between being 1/3-2/3 done is the actual fucking worst. it's miserable every time. the story is no longer a beautiful shining thing in your head, it's an ugly blob of misshapen clay, and you haven't seen it all start to come together yet. it's not you or your project, it just sucks and there's no way out but through

trust your idea! trust your own ability! trust the magic that can be worked in the edit!

if you bite off more than you can chew with a project and aren't able to finish it, or you're disappointed by how it turns out, that's really disappointing and difficult, which i don't want to downplay. but it's not wasted time, even if no one else sees the results of your work. that effort and experience will make you a better writer.

other advice that may or may not work for you:

read a lot of fiction; read fiction that is not fanfiction, especially; read outside of your usual genres/favourite authors; read authors who are known for unusual or singular styles. challenge yourself to write something imitating one of their styles, even for a page or two. what are the characteristics of a paragraph by octavia butler? how does she approach sentences? how is that different from a similar length of text by victor hugo?

read about writing craft, not from bloggers but via well-regarded books. even if you don't agree with all the advice (which you probably won't) or it's not all directly relevant to you, these texts will address fundamentals that apply to almost all kinds of prose and prompt you to develop unglamorous good habits. steering the craft by ursula k. le guin spends each chapter on an element of writing, such as sound & rhythm or punctuation, and includes exercises to put her principles into practice. on writing well by william zinsser is a classic--its focus is nonfiction, but much of the advice is widely applicable. both of these texts are full of example excerpts from great english prose stylists. books like this aren't likely to introduce groundbreaking new ideas so much as train you to become more consciously aware of elements of style you may be less attentive to than you could be.

your only hard limitation as a writer is your own creativity; drive your stories like cars in GTA. you're here for a wild time, not a long time, and if it blows up you can just get a new one.

[mariacallous]

Salman Rushdie has just published Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder. In August 2022, he was giving a talk at the Chautauqua Institution in New York. Hadi Matar, a 24-year-old from New Jersey, rushed the stage and stabbed him 15 times. It was astonishing that Salman survived. He lost the sight in one eye and sustained terrible injuries, but he’s still with us and he’s still writing, and unlike Hadi Matar, he’s still worth hearing.

We think of fanatics as stalkers with an obsessive knowledge of their targets.  Like the antisemites who compile lists of Jews in the media or the homophobes who so focus on the details of gay sex they might almost be closet cases

Most terrorists and bigots are not like that. They are like soldiers in an army who kill and hate for no other reason than tradition or men in authority have told them to kill and hate. If we were less fascinated by the pseudo-glamour of violence, we would see them for what they are: dullards and jerks.

In Knife Salman is almost as angered by the sheer lazy stupidity of his wannabee assassin as his violence.

“I do not want to use his name in this account. My Assailant, my would-be Assassin, the Asinine man who made Assumptions about me, and with whom I had a near-lethal Assignation … I have found myself thinking of him, perhaps forgivably, as an Ass.”

The ass “didn’t bother to inform himself about the man he decided to kill. By his own admission he read barely two pages of my writing and watched a couple of YouTube videos”.

That was enough, apparently, along with a little light indoctrination in the Levant.

We know from Matar’s mother that her son changed from a popular young man to a moody religious zealot after visiting her ex-husband in the Hezbollah-controlled town of Yaroun in Lebanon, a mile or so from the Israeli border.

“I was expecting him to come back motivated, to complete school, to get his degree and a job. But instead, he locked himself in the basement. He had changed a lot. He didn't say anything to me or his sisters for months.”

Salman quotes a wonderfully perceptive line from Jodi Picoult

“If you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it’s not because they enjoy solitude. It’s because they have tried to blend into the world before, and people continue to disappoint them.”

Rushdie is openly contemptuous, as he has every right to be.

“I see you now at twenty-four,” he writes, “already disappointed by life, disappointed in your mother, your sisters, your father, your lack of boxing talent, your lack of any talent at all; disappointed in the bleak future you saw stretching ahead of you, for which you refused to blame yourself.”

This has always been the way. Readers old enough to remember 1989 when the Ayatollah Khomeini ordered Salman’s execution for writing a blasphemous satire of Islam’s origin story in the Satanic Verses,will know that Khomeini had not read it. Nor had the furious demonstrators in the streets or the regressive leftists and Tory ministers who upbraided him for the non-crime of causing offence.

Those of us who had read the book pointed out that it was a magical realist fiction which contained sympathetic accounts of the racism Muslim immigrants in the UK suffered. Indeed, the Tories of the day loathed Salman, we continued, because of his confrontations with official racism.

But after a while we fell silent. Pleading with his enemies felt demeaning. It gave them undeserved credit, as if they were reasonable people, who could be swayed by evidence rather than just, well, pillocks.

In Knife Salman attempts an imaginary conversation with his persecutor.

OK, he says, Islam, unlike Judaism and Christianity, holds that man is not made in God’s image. God has no human qualities, it says.

But isn’t language a human quality? To have language, God would have to have a mouth, a tongue, vocal cords and a voice, just like a man. The terrorist’s understanding is that God cannot be like a man, however. So, God could not have spoken to Gabriel in Arabic. Gabriel must have translated his message when he came to the prophet.

The angel made it comprehensible to Muhammed by delivering it in human speech which is not the speech of God.

Thus, the version of Islamic instruction Matar received in his basement when he switched from playing video games to listening to Imams was an interpretation of a translation.

“I’m trying to suggest to you that, even according to your own tradition, there is uncertainty. Some of your own early philosophers have suggested this. They say everything can be interpreted, even the Book. It can be interpreted according to the times in which the interpreter lives. Literalism is a mistake.”

For a while, Rushdie says he wants to meet Matar again at the trial, as if he wants to have the argument in the flesh.

He tells a story about Samuel Beckett, which could only have happened to Samuel Beckett.

Beckett was walking through Paris in 1938 when he was confronted by a pimp named Prudent, who wanted money from him. Beckett pushed Prudent away, whereupon the pimp pulled out a knife and stabbed him in the chest, narrowly missing the left lung and the heart.

Beckett was taken to the nearest hospital, bleeding heavily. He only just survived.

You will never guess who paid for his treatment. James Joyce, of course, he did.

Anyway, Beckett went to the pimp’s trial. He met Prudent in the courtroom, and asked him why he had done it. This was the pimp’s reply: “Je ne sais pas, monsieur. Je m’excuse.” (I don’t know, sir. I’m sorry.)

But the more he thought about it, the less Rushdie had to say to his enemy. The idea that you can have theological arguments with a man who wants to kill you for writing a book he hasn’t even read felt ridiculous.

Although popular culture is full of stories about murderers, and true crime podcasts top the charts, killers and fanatics are nearly always less interesting than their victims. More often than not they are just thick. Nasty and vicious, but thick first of all.

We are about to see the stupidity of fanatics deployed on a mass scale. Two thirds of Republican voters (and nearly 3 in 10 Americans) continue to believe that the 2020 election was stolen from Donald Trump, and that Joe Biden was not lawfully elected. They think it because that is what Trump told them to think.

Islamists told Matar that Salman was an apostate, and that was all he needed to know. Trump told Republicans the election was stolen and ditto.

If Republicans were consistent people, they would not vote for Trump in 2024. What would be the point? They would have every reason to fear that the deep state would rig the 2024 presidential election as it rigged the 2020 presidential election.

But they will vote for him because, once again, that is what he tells them to do.

In the end there is a limit to how much attention you can pay the vicious and the stupid.

They are not interesting enough, as Rushdie concluded with marvellous disdain as he contemplated the life sentence Matar will face.

"Here we stand: the man who failed to kill an unarmed seventy-five-year-old writer, and the now 76-year-old writer. Somewhat to my surprise, I find I have very little to say to you. Our lives touched each other for an instant and then separated. Mine has improved since that day, while yours has deteriorated. You made a bad gamble and lost. I was the one with the luck… Perhaps, in the incarcerated decades that stretch out before you, you will learn introspection, and come to understand that you did something wrong. But you know what? I don’t care. This, I think, is what I have come to this courtroom to say to you. I don’t care about you, or the ideology that you claim to represent, and which you represent so poorly. I have my life, and my work, and there are people who love me. I care about those things.”

[nino-rox]

ANOMALY | CHAPTER THREE

Stiles Stilinski x Original Male Reader | M.O

Warnings : Explicit content, Teen Wolf AU, Teen Wolf x Original Male Character, Teen Wolf SPOILER ALERT, Gore.

Disclaimer : This is a Fan-fiction story written for entertainment purposes only, no part of the story implies or affirms anything regarding real world events or individuals. Please be of the appropriate age ( i.e, Adult as per your country’s stipulations and regulations) before interacting with this post

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Woman with curly hair is Scott’s mother. Woman with straight hair and a killer gaze is y/n’s mother - inspired by Addison Shepherd {Grey’s Anatomy} Played by Kate Walsh. Thank you for the support ! Please request for part 4 ! Also doesn’t Jackson look so hot like HELLO ?? Not proof read yet!

A loud bang woke him up; the sunlight coming through his window blinded him as he opened his eyes; it took a few seconds for him to realise.

The morning arrived slowly, the pale light filtering through the thin curtains. Your shoulder throbbed, pulling you out of sleep like an anchor. The dream—no, nightmare—lingered at the edges of your mind: the cold air clinging to your skin, the scent of wet earth and leaves, those yellow, slitted eyes watching from the dark.

You groaned, shifting onto your side, but the movement sent a sharp pulse of pain shooting through your arm, travelling all the way down to your fingertips. The ache was relentless, like something festering beneath your skin.

Dragging yourself to the mirror, you peeled off your shirt. The bruise had spread overnight—dark veins curling outward from the centre, spidering across your shoulder like cracks in the glass. It looked swollen and angry, almost as if it were growing, spreading with every heartbeat.

You brushed your fingers along the edge, hissing as pain jolted through you. The skin was feverish—hot to the touch, like it didn't belong to you anymore. There was something wrong with it, something alive.

You grabbed your shirt from the floor and tugged it back on, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise. It felt like the weight of the bruise had sunk into your bones, dragging you down.

Your phone buzzed from the nightstand, Maria's name flashing across the screen.

"Still alive? Or has Creepyville swallowed you whole?"

A slight, tired grin tugged at the corners of your mouth. "Barely. Already having nightmares."

Her reply was instant: "Werewolf nightmares? Please say yes."

"Just weird pain. No claws yet."

"Lame. If you grow claws, send pics immediately," she wrote.

Her humour cut through some of the weight pressing on your chest, though the ache in your shoulder refused to ease. You slipped on your shoes, grabbed your bag, and headed out the door.

The drive to school was uneventful. Beacon Hills stretched out in front of you, all quiet streets and thick woods, the kind of place that looked normal on the surface but felt... off. The bruise on your shoulder throbbed with every turn of the steering wheel, and by the time you pulled into the parking lot, you were ready to crawl back into bed.

The school building loomed ahead, old bricks and rusted metal, students milling around in clumps. You slipped through the crowd, blending in with the chaos, your hood pulled low over your face.

When you slid into your seat in AP Biology, Stiles grinned at you from across the table, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"You look like death," he whispered. "Let me guess—rough night, or did you finally meet our resident monster?"

You rolled your eyes. "Something like that."

Stiles leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Careful. Beacon Hills has a way of... finding people."

You shot him a sceptical look. "And you're, what? The local monster expert?"

He grinned. "Something like that. Stick with me—I'll keep you safe."

You snorted despite yourself. "Safe from what, exactly?"

"From everything," Stiles said, as if that explained anything. "Besides, you seem like the brooding, mysterious type. You and I? We're going to get along just fine."

Before you could respond, Mr. Harris began the lecture, pacing in front of the whiteboard.

"Today, we're discussing genetic mutations—small changes that can significantly impact an organism's structure," he announced.

The words settled uncomfortably in your chest. The bruise on your shoulder pulsed, almost like it was trying to remind you of something.

"Some mutations are beneficial," Harris continued, "but others..." He trailed off, glancing around the room. "Well, not every change is for the better."

Stiles leaned over again, whispering, "Feeling mutated yet?"

"Not yet," you muttered, rubbing absently at your shoulder. "Give it time."

Class dragged on, each minute heavier than the last. By the time the bell rang, the ache in your shoulder had spread, wrapping around your muscles like a vice. You followed the stream of students out into the hallway, your steps slower, heavier.

The locker room was warm and humid, the scent of sweat and damp tile hanging in the air. You pulled off your hoodie with a sigh, wincing as the fabric scraped over the bruise.

The door swung open, and Jackson Whittemore walked in, shirt already gone, his presence filling the room like a storm waiting to break.

Every movement was deliberate and controlled, his muscles shifting beneath smooth, tanned skin. His scent—woodsy, with just a hint of spice—wrapped around you, clinging to the steam-filled air.

He glanced at your shoulder, and for a moment, the smirk slipped from his face. Something flickered in his expression—curiosity, maybe concern—but it vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"That looks bad," Jackson murmured, stepping closer.

"It's fine," you muttered, though the words felt empty.

Jackson didn't move away. He stood close, too close, his shoulder brushing against yours. His presence was heavy, magnetic like gravity pulling you in.

Without a word, his hand rose, his fingers grazing the edge of the bruise. The light and deliberate touch sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the pain.

"You should get that checked out," Jackson whispered, his thumb tracing slow circles along the bruise.

"I'll live," you whispered back, though your pulse hammered in your chest.

For a moment, the air between you buzzed with unspoken tension, thick and electric.

Jackson's thumb pressed harder, dragging across your skin in a way that made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked to your lips, lingering long enough to make your heart stutter - even if only for a second.

"You should stay away from people like me," Jackson murmured, though the way his thumb lingered told a different story.

His breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind. For a second, it felt like he might close the distance between you, his gaze dark and intent.

"Like I said," Jackson whispered, "it would be safer for you if you stayed away."

"Well past safe and saving," you murmured.

Jackson chuckled, the sound vibrating in your bones. "Is that so." He whispered into your ear, his breath tickling your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

But neither of you moved, and the air crackled with anticipation.

It was dangerous, reckless, and utterly stupid. You knew it would end badly, but Jackson was magnetic, irresistible, like gravity pulling you closer and closer, and you would do anything to get your mind off the pain.

Your bodies were almost touching, just a hair's breadth away, the tension between you thick and electric. Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed his hand on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.

The hot water blasting from the showers onto you was the only sound you could hear; the warmth was comforting, making you feel less alone, like someone else was there with you, protecting you from whatever was outside.

The water dripped off your skin, the warmth enveloping your body.

You couldn't help but wonder how this boy did what everyone else had failed, making you want him - even if just in the moment.

"What are you doing?" You whispered, though you already knew the answer.

"Whatever I want," Jackson murmured, his lips brushing against your ear.

Your breath caught in your throat, his words sending a shiver down your spine. He pressed closer, his skin burning hot against yours. His hand trailed lower, his thumb grazing your v-line.

"Are you going to stop me?" Jackson asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"No," you whispered.

Jackson's breath was warm against your neck, his scent filling every corner of your mind as he gently placed itself on your waist, his thumb gently stroking the exposed skin.

You were trapped between the wall and his body, his hands roaming freely over your bare skin.

"Good," Jackson growled, his voice vibrating against your neck.

His lips brushed against your ear, his breath on your neck as he began to gently kiss your neck, his hands slowly moving downwards.

Your hands wandered down his muscular torso, exploring his body.

"I didn't think you'd actually want this," Jackson whispered, his voice thick with desire.

Jackson let out a low chuckle, his lips trailing down your neck.

"Who said I did?" you replied. However, you couldn't stop your body from responding, your arms instinctively snaking over his neck, drawing him closer.

"I know you do," Jackson murmured. "I can smell it on you."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, your breath hitching as his hand slid lower, hands squeezing your ass, pulling you flush against him.

A cough interrupted the moment. Both of you turned to see Stiles standing in the doorway, his face a mixture of surprise and annoyance.

"Sorry," Stiles said, though his tone didn't match his words.

Jackson stepped back, leaving you buzzing from the ghost of his touch, glancing before leaving you alone with the buzz-cut boy.

"Stiles, It's not what it looks like."

"Yeah, right. Whatever, man," Stiles muttered, though his tone didn't match his words.

Stiles couldn't help but wonder why all the hot guys were attracted to Y/N; he didn't mean that he had a crush; hell no, he's not that desperate; he's not gonna be the 4th wheel. But something about Y/N did intrigue him.

"Stiles, wait," Y/N called, running after the buzz-cut.

"What?" Stiles snapped, though he instantly regretted his harsh tone.

Y/N looked taken aback, his eyes wide and confused.

"Nothing," Y/N mumbled, looking away. Stiles was only just starting to notice the massive bruise on his shoulder, feeling a bit bad for snapping.

"No, I didn't mean—sorry, I just meant...look, I get it, okay? You and Jackson. And whatever. It's fine," Stiles said, his voice softer now, but you REALLY should stay away from him.

As Stiles completed that sentence, he noticed something else: Y/N was very … naked; a blush crept up his face as he turned around to leave - still upset by what he saw - he wanted to ask about the bruise…he wanted to worry, but it was just not the moment.

The ache in your shoulder followed you out of the locker room, heavier now, as if the memory of Jackson's touch had settled beneath your skin.

Later that evening, you made your way to the hospital; it felt colder than usual, the sterile scent of antiseptic cutting through the warmth that still clung to you from the locker room - Y/N would never admit it. Still, that little random thing greatly distracted him from his shoulder - and y/n was grateful.

Y/N mentally prepared himself to speak to his mother and "explain" the 2-foot bruise spanning his body as he walked to the reception. 

Y/N: Hello, I'm looking for Addison Shepherd, I was wondering if you knew where I could find her

Nurse: Hi. Are you sure you have an appointment with her?

Y/N: No, I'm her son, Y/N. I was hoping to speak to her if she's free

One thing Y/N never hated about himself was that his formal, polite social self could kick in no matter the situation…or the pain - while really, somewhere deep down, he wondered what made him such an excellent liar.

Nurse: She's in surgery; she'll be done in about 40 minutes; maybe you can wait? Oh, and also Y/N? You're Scott's new friend, right? I had no idea Dr.Shepherd was your mother! We're all so happy to have a woman of her calibre working with us.

Y/N Forced a smile instinctively.

Y/N: Haha, I'm so glad to hear that! She was a bit nervous about her first day here… oh, how do you know Scott?

Nurse: Oh well, he's my so—

Person: That's Scott's Mom

… the sudden answer caught both the nurse and Y/N off guard as Y/n turned towards the exceedingly familiar annoying voice.

Nurse: Jesus, when did you get here? You need to stop sneaking up like that.

Stiles: Awww … but it's my signature move. 

The buzz-cut boy said, grinning and making a pouty face, to which Y/N just shot a weirded-out look that said… "Ew… grow up."

(Author's Note: Scott McCall's mother's name is Melissa McCall)

Nurse: Anyway, I'm Melissa, Scott's mom. I'm glad to see that you're running about making friends so soon already

The lady said, smiling politely, a smile which racked Y/N with guilt as he didn't really consider the odd duo his friends… it's not that Scott and Stiles weren't great. It's just that, in Y/N's life, he grew to associate the term friendship with a relatively close and protective personal bond…Scott and Stiles…?….they were just… classmates.

Stiles: Well, of course, he's making friends already. Look at the great crowd he hangs out with!

Stiles said excitedly, pointing to himself, a gesture that simply made Y/N feel worse for not considering him a friend…

Y/N tried, but despite being an excellent liar, he couldn't match Stiles' enthusiastic tone when he replied to the boy, which was something Melissa was quick to catch.

Y/N knew Melissa noticed it and quickly changed the topic of conversation.

"Oh, by the way, how come you're at the hospital ?" Y/N asked Stiles while shooting him a questioning look.

Internally dreading that he was stuck in this conversation after a highly awkward morning with Stiles.

Stiles: My dad is the sheriff; Scott and I are waiting for him here.

Melissa: Scott's here? 

Stiles: Yep, he's in the cafeteria 

Melissa: Oh, I should say hi, I'll see you two boys later. Stay safe!

Stiles and Y/N waved her goodbye.

After she left, stiles turned around.

"So are we gonna talk about what happened, or— Am I Pretending that I never saw you naked in the locker room with Jackson Whittemore?" Stiles asked you sarcastically.

Y/N couldn't quite figure out why Stiles would bring it up? After he already made it clear, nothing really happened. Was he upset? Was he mocking him? Either way, Y/N was not in the mood.

Stiles: Uh, Too soon to joke about it?

Y/N: …

Stiles: Got it. So what happened with the, you know…bruise the size of Texas.

Y/N: Why the hell are you so nosy?

Stiles: Because it's the size of Texas?

Y/N: …

Stiles: okay! Wow, you are not in the mood

Y/N: It's been a day.

Stiles: Right.

The two boys fell silent, the air between them heavy and awkward. Y/N shifted his weight, and the bruise on his shoulder ached with every movement.

Stiles couldn't help but keep glancing at it. As if he could see the bruise through your clothes.

"It's fine," you murmured.

"Really? Because it looks—"

"Fine," you interrupted.

Stiles frowned. "If you say so."

Y/N didn't answer, and the air between you crackled with tension.

Stiles shuffled awkwardly; not knowing what to say, he decided to 'wing it.'

"Okay," Stiles said, breaking the silence. "Then tell me about you.

"What?" you asked, justifiably confused by his statement.

"Because that's what people do. They talk about themselves," Stiles replied, grinning.

"I don't."

"Why?"

"Why are you asking me all these questions?" Y/N shot back.

Stiles shrugged. "I'm bored."

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn't hide the slight smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"So. You moved from LA. What was that like?" Stiles asked.

"Hot," you replied, deadpan.

Stiles snorted. "Yeah, I bet. Must've been a big change, though."

"Not really," you said, though the words felt empty.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow, but he didn't press. "Okay. What did you do there?"

"Stuff."

"Omg, no shit, really? Fascinating… ." Stiles shot a look at you.

"I'm not much of a social bee personally." 

—silence—

When Y/N said "he's not a talker", he did it to try and justify why he said the word "stuff" so vaguely; since he isn't used to talking so much personally in informal social settings, it didn't come easy to him to always respond in the most appropriate ways in personal conversations - But unfortunately what it came off as to Stiles was…I really, really don't wanna be talking to you."

Stiles looked a little taken aback by what Y/N said - essentially misunderstanding the meaning as "stop talking to me" - when the truth was actually quite the opposite, and the truth is that Y/N was Just slowly actually getting used to the sarcasm and constant state of "joking-need" enjoying the little conversation, he found himself wanting to get annoyed by Stiles stupid quips - it was a new feeling for Y/N, one that scared him a bit.

With a hint of sadness, giving up on speaking to you, Stiles got up from the creaky waiting room couch, "Uhm, anyway, I think I go," he said, almost coldly, turning and leaving, giving a small wave.

Y/N couldn't help but watch the boy walk away, a strange emptiness filling his chest.

(Author's note: SOS GUYS SEND HELP. I DON'T KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING; I'M JUST WRITING AS IT COMES TO ME LIKE I'M POSSESSED BY THE FANFIC GHOST)

An arm rested on his shoulder before Y/N could spiral into his thoughts and emotions.

He looked up, his mother standing before him, a soft expression on her face.

"Mom," you murmured.

"You know, it's never good when you come to see me at work," she said, her voice gentle.

"I'm sorry."

Addison sighed. "Don't apologise. Come, I'll show you my new office."

Y/N followed her through the labyrinthine halls, past doctors, nurses and patients.

As Y/N walked through the cafeteria, he saw a familiar buzz-cut, accompanied by his taller, athletic, crooked-jaw friend and Melissa.

They were having a light and carefree conversation, smiling and laughing, and the air between them was calm and comfortable. That was until Stiles' eyes met y/n's.

Suddenly, everything froze as if time itself had stopped. For a second, all Y/N could hear was the sound of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears. All he could see was the look on Stiles' face—that mixture of surprise and hurt, his mouth open slightly, as if he was going to say something, say hi.

But y/n didn't give him a chance. He didn't like how Stiles made him feel so on edge and overly concerned for someone he hadn't considered a friend; he wasn't used to feeling so...restless.

Without a word, y/n turned and walked away, the ache in your shoulder heavier than before, his gaze lingering like a ghost on your skin.

— Stiles — POV—

I think he really hates me, Stiles thought to himself as Y/N coldly walked by.

"Oh, there's Y/N and his mom, too, Scott. Why don't you go invite Y/N over for dinner tonight ?" Melissa chimed in, noticing both the boys look towards y/n.

Scott: I mean, sure, but what if he says no?

Melissa: he seems like a nice guy, and his mother is right there; I doubt you'll get a no.

Stiles: Oh, I'm so coming too. Where's my invite?

Melissa: Coming? Coming where you already basically live in my house

Stiles: Are you asking me to move in? <3 

Scott: NO, NO, SHE IS NOT, AND you can come. I'll go ask Y/N.

Stiles watched Scott follow Y/N out of the cafeteria as they turned the hallway, wondering what the boy would do. Would he casually approach the man and ask him, or would he just stand awkwardly?

Scott saw Y/N enter an office and start stalking; not wanting to interrupt, he decided to wait outside the room; though he felt like he was eavesdropping because of his werewolf super hearing, it just couldn't be helped; he couldn't really "turn it off" on a whim.

Y/N's POV —

After walking out of the cafeteria, I sighed deeply, which made my mother shoot me a questioning look.

"I'm just tired, the packing, the moving, the having no social battery left, nothing out of the ordinary." I quickly said, hoping my mom wouldn't press too hard about it because I didn't have the energy to deal with it.

"So this is the new office, not as big or fancy, but it's warm, isn't it."

The walls were a bright white, a large desk and chair sat at the far end, and a large bookshelf full of textbooks and medical journals sat behind it.

Despite the cold air conditioning, the room had a comforting and warm vibe.

Addison: Apparently, the hospital has been kind to me. Apparently, I have a reputation.

Y/N: HA That you do. And kind? I could fit two cars into your previous office.

Addison: You, young sir, must learn to be grateful for the little things.

Y/N: Yes, yes, WE KNOW.

y/n chuckled, pulling his T-shirt off abruptly; unbeknown to him, a curious Scott could see and hear everything from outside.

Addison: oh wow. What is THAT, a bruise? And a big one.

Y/N: Umm, yeah, it kinda appeared, no big deal.

Addison: No big deal? It's quite literally a 'BIG' deal. And how did you manage to get yourself into this?

Y/N: Well, I kinda don't know… I just got home and went to bed, I had a horrible nightmare, and I woke up, and this colossal mark was here, so I think maybe I was sleepwalking or something? I don't know, really, but yeah…

Addison: Are you sure it was sleepwalking? Tell me more about the nightmare. 

Y/N: I - I-Don— I don't know. It felt real, like I was awake or something. I was in bed, but then I wasn't... I was in the woods. I know it's not real, or I think it isn't because I remember the pain and getting caught in a bear trap, but I'm fine. However, there was something there when I was caught in the bear trap. It was, I don't know, this sounds crazy, it was … I don't know … it was a monster? It looked almost human, reptilian, kinda like the lizard man from Spider-Man. I KNOW, I KNOW, IT SOUNDS CRAZY, but it attacked me. My whole body couldn't move or breathe, and this is where it gets weird when I supposedly "died"/or rather "woke up" from the nightmare I was in the room, but where that ..thing… attacked me … I had this huge bruise. And I know this sounds like a cock and bull-bullshit story, but I swear I'm not lying.

Addison: Well, you are right about it. It sounds crazy, but I trust you. You know there's a thing called Phantom pain.

Y/N: MOM, I didn't imagine the pain. It's real! I have a bruise!

Addison: Oh honey, it stemming from something in your head doesn't mean it's any less real, or painful. Sometimes, when our body goes through a traumatic experience, it can leave this sort of "lasting pain." When someone gets their leg amputated, they feel a lot of extremely real pain in their "leg", the leg that's not even attached - despite this, their body produces actual pain and chemicals biologically, so the pain is very real. I'm no expert on Sleep studies, I'll have you shown to someone in a week or so, but my best guess is that the nightmare, which could have been caused by a thousand reasons like stress from moving and this and that probably inherently was traumatic enough for your body to "read it/ experience it as real pain" so even if it happened in your dream, it was damaging enough to your psyche for it to physically manifest as an actual bruise.

Y/N: So what I'm hearing is I need a shrink.

Addison: Honey, you'll realise this when you grow up, everybody needs a fucking shrink…Now I have to get back to work. I'll write you some meds for the pain, and to help it heal, don't physically exert yourself. That includes, you know, things with other people. 

Y/N: Trust me, girls aren't exactly lining up for dates right now, so you don't need to worry about it.

Addison: Aww, I love you, baby.

Y/N: Love you too.

When Y/N was done with his mother, a tall boy stood there waiting for him. It was Scott McCall.

Y/N: Uhh, Hello, Scott...

Scott: Hey, sorry, I was just waiting for you.

Addison: Who's this?

Scott: I'm Scott McCall, I am in a couple classes with your son and we were talking earlier I was just wondering if y/n wanted to come over for dinner?

Y/N: oh, umm, yeah, that sounds nice, but I wouldn't want to impose.

Addison: Oh, nonsense! He would love to come over for dinner, and it's always lovely for Y/N to make friends, isn't that right?

Y/N: MOTHER: I have friends.

Addison: Sure, baby, and that reminds me, when was the last time you called them

Y/N: Why does everyone in this world have it out for me

Addison: Mhm.

Scott: Well, that sounds great! We're leaving in 10 minutes. Can I drive you?

Y/N internally sighed. There was no winning today. Maybe Destiny just really wants Y/N to hang out with these two boys…FUCK.

THANK YOU FOR READING ! Please Like for Next Part ! Lots of Love - Nino