#that last one is mostly spite | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yandere-daydreams · 5 months ago

Text

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus. Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, ��What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna #sukuna x reader

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viennacherries · 3 months ago

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okay hi sorry i need to talk about the lucanis romance for a moment and why i think it's absolutely perfect. spoilers below the cut ofc

so obviously there are a limited number of romance scenes. i really do believe in the case of lucanis' romance this lends itself to telling his story.

we learn through party banter with him and emmerich that his relationship with rook is his first. and that's not suprising really, he's an assassin. he faces death constantly and aside from the fact that he could die at any moment, being in a relationship gives his enemies a weak spot to exploit. love and the weakness required to accept and give it is a risk he cannot afford in his line of work.

then you add on the fact that he's been in the ossuary for a year. he was definitely sure he was never getting out of there. and then he does but he's possessed.

so here's rook. and they're flirting with him and being all enticing and he thinks they're great. but he doesn't deserve love and he certainly can't risk it. he's an abomination, he'll put them in danger. and what happens afterwards? when he goes back to taking contracts? it only takes pissing off the wrong person once for rook to be in danger. so he mostly just talks around it. tried not to think about it or aknowledge it.

and then spite breaks through for the second time. and there's rook. again. and they're soft and understanding and kind and they remind him that under everything else, all of the trauma and the fear, he's human. they make him feel so safe and he starts to let his walls down.

we can't know for sure why he pulls away in that moment, but i think it's because he reminds himself how dangerous it is for him and for rook. he wants them terribly but it's such an awful no good idea so he drags himself away.

but he still cares for them. he makes them dessert and he keeps them safe and eventually he has to admit to himself that they're not just friends anymore.

and then rook is taken into the fade by solas.

he never tells rook, you only find this out in a bellara romance, but rook is in the fade for weeks.

all that time, lucanis is there and he's just full of regret. because holy shit he's fallen in love with them and now they're gone and he should've just told them. he should've held them like he wanted. because now he can't and he never will again.

and then they're back.

and he comes into their room and his words are so simple.

"i never thought id see you again. i thought id lost you"

and obviously the rest of his dialogue can vary in this scene but all of it is SO weighted if you consider the fact that he really did think they were dead.

"i do. i know how to feel."

"it's one of the things i love about you"

"i'm not going anywhere."

he is in LOVE with them and he's tired of fighting it. he's tired of pretending he isn't. he's tired of denying himself of what he wants because he's scared. because ultimately he did lose them, despite how careful he'd been, and it hurt just the same.

"i know how to feel." because he DOES now.

so in the last battle, before you fight elgernan, he tells you again just how much he loves you. how he'll do anything he needs to to be back in your arms when it's over. because those weeks without you were torture and he never wants to do that again. he wasted all that time terrified to hurt you but you got hurt anyway. why keep pretending? why keep denying himself the person he wants more than anything in the world? he goes from 0-100 because this is so much more real now. there's so much to lose.

"i've assumed you knew my heart because it beats for you. it's been beating... when i wanted you. when i was afraid to want you... tell me this ends with me asleep in your arms and i will kill any god you ask."

this one sentence conveys EVERYTHING. all of his longing throughout the game. how long he has loved rook. he didn't say it because he was afraid. but he's not afraid anymore.

so much of lucanis' romance is about subtext. it's about the things he doesn't say rather than the things he does.

i think it's absolutely beautiful.

#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age veilgaurd spoilers #dragon age the veilgaurd spoilers #dragon age spoilers #datv spoilers #veilguard spoilers #lucanis romance #lucanis romance spoilers #datv lucanis #lucanis x rook #da4 lucanis #dragon age lucanis #lucanis dellamorte #lucanis spoilers

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fandom-flight · 3 months ago

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The S-Classes that I Raised often gets grouped with Omniscent Reader's Viewpoint and Trash of the Count's Family, but there's something distinctly different about Han Yoojin as a protagonist. I think it's that his story really makes you feel how much of a fighter he is. I'm not saying that Kim Dokja and Kim Roksoo aren't fighters exactly, but they tend to come off as schemers first and foremost. Their approach to most problems (from my perspective as someone who's read all of ORV and like a third of TCF) involves leveraging secrets of the world that only they know in order to get the better of their adversaries and achieve their goals. They plan things out a long time in advance, and sure, things don't always go their way, but they feel like chess players when they're confronted with obstacles.

Meanwhile, Han Yoojin feels like a guerilla soldier. He definitely also schemes, but SCTIR makes a dedicated effort to showing that his current knowledge of the future and the world's secrets will only take him so far. He does think ahead and plans for the future whenever he can, but most of his problems are solved by improvising. One of his greatest strengths is that he thinks on his feet and doesn't let himself be fazed by surprises. This ends up making him feel more like someone who has always had to fight desperately for every last scrap of respect and survival he could get his hands on in a way that ORV and TCF don't go for as much (as far as I can tell for TCF as of now). Kim Dokja and Kim Roksoo's plans go "first, I'm going to go to the super secret location to get a weapon that will help me in six months, and then in five weeks, I'm going to recruit an obscure powerhouse to be my spy for the operation I'll do next year..." whereas Han Yoojin's plans are more like "first, I'll get into some shit, and then, I'll figure it out."

It's kind of hard to explain the vibe difference because these characters are all defined by their cleverness, but I guess the best way to put it would be that Kim Dokja and Kim Roksoo seem more... exasperated? with the way they've been wronged in the past, whereas Han Yoojin seems more angry and spiteful about it. The first two mostly seem tired of dealing with the way their lives were going before and just want to be happy, but Han Yoojin gives off the feeling that he doesn't think he can find happiness without biting and clawing his way to it

#sctir #omniscient reader's viewpoint #trash of the count's family #han yoojin #kim dokja #cale henituse

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flowersforthemachines · 1 month ago

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Some facts about Davrin (and also Grey Wardens and griffons) gathered from the banters

I went through all companion banters on DanaDuchy's channel after playing the game to write down all facts about companions/the world that I haven't seen brought up anywhere in the game as a writing reference (and for funsies).

Note: This list may not be exhaustive. I might have missed some something or didn't write it down because I considered it common knowledge. If you have anything to add, please DM me or send an ask! (do specify what banter the information is coming from, though)

Note 2: Posts from this series (mostly) don't include information from banters specific to quests or between companions and faction members. I plan to do another playthrough to capture more of those and will add any relevant info to the character posts.

Other characters' posts: Bellara, Harding, Lucanis, Emmrich, Neve, Taash. I'm also planning a post about just the Lighthouse some time later

About Davrin

Family and past:

When he was a kid, Davrin broke his arm when his aravel sailed off a ridge

Davrin stlll considers himself Dalish and thinks that will never change

Davrin hasn’t seen his clan since he left the forest. He misses the clan (‘it comes and goes’), Dalish food – especially halla milk and butter — and the sense of a common purpose. The last is why he joined the Wardens

Eldrin lives on his own, not together with Davrin’s clan

Just like Bellara, when Davrin was little, he wondered what it was like to have his own house, shop at the market and make friends with outsiders

Davrin isn’t bothered by the idea of fighting the Elven gods because he never really believed in them, but he is worried about how the events of the Veilguard will impact the reputation of the elves

General:

Davrin drinks beer and wine

Davrin hums to himself :)

Davrin can speak some Dwarven

Davrin doesn’t get the Fade - it’s just too many things at once (the place where spirits live, origin of creation etc.). He has difficulties believing it because it’s something he can’t touch or see

Davrin would’ve left D’meta’s Crossing’s mayor to die

Davrin dumps griffon waste right into the Fade. No reservations about it whatsoever

Life with the Wardens:

Davrin says he never got used to hearing/sensing darkspawn after joining the Wardens

Davrin knows Ramish (protagonist of the Horrors of Hormkar)

The first group of Wardens Davrin fought with had a special system for fighting ogres. One of them would be “Cheese” (bait), drawing the ogre's attention while the others shot it with arrows (so Davrin can either use a bow or was always the Cheese)

Monster hunting:

Davrin can't take most books about monsters seriously, as they are not up to his standards

Fighting monsters is all about the thrill of the chase and tracking a target down rather than the victory

Davrin prefers to fight flesh-and-blood monsters rather than demons

Davrin takes full payment upfront when he hunts monsters for coin

Davrin has many monster trophies (Harding finds them disturbing)

Davrin does taxidermy

Relationships with other companions:

(In conversations with Bellara and Neve) Davrin genuinely believes Lucanis/Spite can kill them all

(In conversation with Harding) Davrin proudly says Lucanis couldn’t take him

Davrin made a little statue with a skull for a face as a gift for Emmrich’s colleague at his request

(If Emmrich becomes a lich) Davrin offers Emmrich to become a monster-hunting team (“Warden and lich. From darkspawn to demons, we've got you covered.”), thinking they could score a lot of coin

Davrin also offers Neve to set up shop together. “Minrathous Monsters and Murders. If it's claws and fangs stirring up trouble, we've got it covered.” Neve suggests Emmrich (and Manfred, if he's alive) joins them

Davrin and Neve met before the events of the Veilagurd on what Neve calls “The Vol Dorma Job”

About Assan and griffons:

Griffons like shiny things. Assan even once stole one of Bellara’s crystals (but later brought it back)

(If Sent to Arlathan Forest) Griffons seem to 'remember' patrolling the forest, like it's a genetic thing

(If sent to the Wardens) Griffons listen to Evka

There’s no definite age for when a griffon is ready to carry a rider. It’s more about size and discipline

(If Rook is in romance with Davrin) Assan gets a little moody/jealous after Davrin and Rook get together

Fade spooks Assan, so he doesn’t fly too far away from the Lighthouse

Assan eats pastries from the kitchen

Assan doesn't like eating vegetables, but Davrin got him to eat carrots after Taash pointed out he needed more fibre in his diet

Assan misses Manfred when he dies

Assan can dive underwater and eat fish

Assan is curious about Neve’s wisps

About Wardens/misc:

Wardens slip Worry Weed into each other’s ale for kicks (it causes paranoia)

There is no definite timeline of how long a blighted person can survive without the Joining. It all depends on the person

Evka is good at telling spooky stories

Weisshaupt has a world-class library with books over a thousand years old

Wooden carvings can become haunted if blood gets on them

Wardens usually eat cold gruel for meals. Nobody knows what's inside it

#dragon age the veilguard #dragon age veilguard #datv #dragon age #veilguard spoilers #davrin #emmrich volkarin #neve gallus #lucanis dellamorte #assan #datv banters #flowers.txt #meta #references #grey wardens #flowers blogs

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cherrixpie · 2 months ago

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HOW NOT TO DATE A SLYTHERIN

part two of five

↬ being harry potter's sister wouldn't make dating theodore nott any easier - which was why you tried to hide it. only, you had some very perceptive friends.

↬ sfw; mostly fluff; wc: 3.4k; cw: none; secret relationship trope, potter!reader, griffindor! reader

get added to the tag list by commenting!

( masterlist )

“Be careful,” you whispered to him, words leaving your lips and being breathed in by Theo’s, just a fraction of an inch apart from yours. “Someone might already be up,” you said worriedly, pushing lightly at his chest. “Go!”

Theo didn't want to go. In moments like these, having you pressed up against your dorm door, hair disheveled from sleep, looking just about ready to be devoured, it was hard to keep being the sensible one. But you were right. Stealing one last kiss, full of morning breath and murmured Italian endearments, Theo parted from you. “See you later, principessa,” he promised seductively, relishing in the little blush that took over your cheeks.

“If you aren't taken apart by a stray griffindor on your way back,” you retorted in a hushed tone and Theo chuckled carelessly. Sparing you one last glance, heavy with something undefined, he took the stairs down. The wooden steps of the griffindor tower creaked faintly under his careful steps, the sound swallowed by the quiet hum of the early morning.

The griffindor common room was empty, save for the dying embers in the fireplace casting flickering shadows on the walls. In a few steps, he had crossed the length of the room and paused near the portrait hole, his sharp eyes scanning the room one last time before pushing the frame open, scrunching together his eyebrows when the fat lady stirred and muttered something in her sleep.

He stepped into the cool corridor, reminiscing in the memories of last night. A particularly haunting nightmare had made him restless, so restless, in fact, that he couldn't resist to grab his broom and fly a few rounds around the quiddditch pitch. Only, that hadn't helped the images popping up in his head any time he closed his eyes. So he flew up to your window daringly, knocking and damn near giving you a heart attack.

Luckily, your fellow dormitory students were already fast asleep when you opened the window for him. After some exchanged hushes of worry and excitement, you had pulled him into your bed, letting him engulf you in a hug as you rested against his chest. Which was how you awoke the next morning, with you getting him out of your dormitory before your friends woke up.

Theo congratulated himself on sneaking out of enemy territory unseen. Enemy, of course, except for you. A smile tugged at his lips in spite of himself as his mind vividly recounted your hands in his hair, soothing him to sleep. There was no other person who he could trust this unconditionally, not just with his body, but with his soul. Soul. Unbelievable, that he was starting to lament over such sentimental crap. But looking into your eyes, it was a challenge not to become one of the lovesick, sappy idiots he used to sneer at.

“What are you doing here?”

Theo was ripped out of his reminiscent haze by a shrude voice and he cursed himself for letting down his guard and deviating from his usual vigilance. Ron Weasley stood in front of him, panting in his quidditch attire with a broom clutched in his hand. Tensely, he stared at Theo, looking just about ready to jump him.

“I didn't know borrowing books was a reasonable offense now,” Theo remarked with a disparaging smile, brushing past the ginger without a second glance to avoid further questioning.

The boy opened his mouth in protest and shot around in the direction Nott had taken off, but the corridor was empty, save for the portraits who had watched the exchange with mild interest. Some of them sniggered and Ron threw a nasty scowl their way, pushing open the portrait hole. Strange. But he shrugged it off, opting to catch a few minutes of sleep before breakfast.

“Have you slept a single hour last night?” Hermoine asked pointedly when you yawned for the third time since breakfast. Propping up her book so Slughorn wouldn't catch the two of you whispering, she raised a brow. “You look really tired, maybe you should-”

“I’m fine,” you cut her off with a reassuring smile, copying down the ingredients for an amortentia potion. Indeed, you had been a little caught up with staring at your sleeping boyfriend's face last night other than sleeping. But how were you supposed to rest when your heart beat like a jackhammer at his arm around your waist. “You’ll just have to coordinate the brewing, I’m afraid, or I’ll release a biochemical weapon onto the class.” Hermoine laughed.

Just then, Slughorn demanded the class’s attention, waving a sheet of parchment in his hands. “For this lesson, I thought we would switch things up a bit.” A loud groan echoed through the class and Hermoine and you exchanged exasperated glances. Only Slughorn seemed truly delighted by the idea as he flattened the parchment, reading out the assigned pairs.

Hermoine got paired up with Malfoy, to her great displeasure, but when Slughorn got to the letter ‘P’, he paired up Harry with Dean and you with- “Mr Nott,” Slughorn announced, rolling up the parchment. “Please, get together in your assigned pairs. You have one hour to brew an amortentia potion. Start … now!”

“Poor us,” Hermoine sighed, packing her things. Oh, yes. Poor you. Sneaking a glance at Theo, you saw him hoist his quill, parchment and books into his arms to come over. The bags under his eyes were a little more pronounced than usual, and you knew why. Looking at him made your heart beat louder once more. “It’s just one hour,” you attempted to comfort Hermoine who took off, steering towards a very displeased looking Malfoy.

“May I sit here?” a grave voice whispered way too close to your ear. Flinching, you jerked your head back and made room for Theo to sit, sending him a firm look. But no movement disturbed the perfect symmetry of his features as he sat down, collecting the ingredients on the table before you. Shyly, you dared brush your hand with his and saw his perfect lips twitch in the corner of your eye.

His hand fell under the table as if by chance, and he hooked his pinkie finger around yours, squeezing it gently. A silent exchange. Releasing your hand, Theo opened his book and propped it up, igniting the fire beneath your cauldron with a simple flick of his wand. If you hadn't known better, you’d have been deeply intimidated by the irked glance he spared you. “Focus, Potter. I don't want to fail this lesson because of you.”

“Are your skills so poor they deflate in the presence of my humble self?” you retorted, attempting to suppress a grin. He was better at this, at controlling his expression to a tee, masking his true feelings with indifference and disdain. You, on the other hand, were faced with the challenge of not breaking out into a bright smile any time you two locked eyes, if you didn't want to blow your cover.

Without another comment, Theo assigned the task of cutting up the ingredients to you, giving you exasperated looks any time you didn't chop them up fast enough. But when your half-finished potion let out a loud hiss and puffed out a thick cloud of smoke, as described in the instructions, he leaned over, a tender smile on his lips. “You’re doing very good, tesoro,” he whispered and left you scrambling to hide your gleeful smile once the smoke had subsided.

Catching Zabini staring at the two of you, you kicked Theo under the table who understood immediately and gave you a slighting glare. "Careful, Potter. If you don't chop those properly, Slughorn's going to lecture both of us."

You gave him an equally dirty look, pointing the cutting knife at him. "Why don't you do it, then? Afraid you'll ruin those perfectly manicured nails?" Theo's eyes glinted, lingering in the knife until they flickered up at your eyes and you recognized the expression. Of course Theo liked knifes, you thought to yourself sarcastically and went back to chopping the ingredients, with Theo still looming over you, the sole focus of his attention.

"Didn't notice you fancied my hands so much, Potter." Yes, he did. Only a week ago had he teased you about it when your gaze lingered on them for a second too long. Long enough to catch his attentive eye and earn you a string of teasing comments and insinuations that had left you as a flustered mess. Feeling someone's eyes on you, you glanced up and met Hermoine's, so you turned to Theo sharply and glared as convincingly as possible.

"You're a distracting batard, you know? And if I get caught making mistakes because of you, I'm blaming you in front of Slughorn." The amused expression in his eyes revealed to you just how entertaining this was for him, this throwing around backhanded insults, flirting just subtly enough to avoid suspicion, teetering the edge with every sentence and challenging himself to absolute composure and self control. And you found yourself growing quite excited in expectation of his retort, eyes lingering on the dangerous curl of his perfect lips.

"Oh no," Theo remarked with faux distress. "Anything but the wrath of a Griffindor with hurt feelings." You'd have loved it to shove your elbow into his side, but settled for a cold glower. "One of these days, I'm going to wipe that smirk off your face, Nott."

Theo sure wasn't lying when he chuckled: "Looking forward to it, Potter." Casually, his gaze brushed over the ingredients you had chopped increasingly unevenly over the course of your banter. "If you're trying to sabotage this potion, you're doing an excellent job."

Caught red handed, you pouted at him defiantly, knowing it would rile him up. "I don't need your approval, Nott." When he replied, his voice was much closer to your ear than expected. "That's funny, considering how much time you spend trying to impress me."

Jolting back in your seat, you looked around the room frantically, but for once, your classmates seemed to mind their own business. But still, you turned back to Theo with fake fury laced into your tone. "Impress you? Please. You'd be lucky if I even noticed you existed outside of this table."

A delighted little smile made its way to Theo's stone cold expression, soon replaced by a mocking expression. "Oh, I think you notice plenty, Potter."

Every single one of his snide comments and remarks, eagerly returned by you, were accompanied by a glint of amusement in his eyes, and if he was feeling particularly bold, a soft squeeze of your thigh under the table. The first time he did it, you flinched and caught a weird look from Hermoine. When you frowned at Theo, he simply smiled indesipherably.

Slowly, your potion started taking on it’s signature smell. Breathing in, you could've rolled your eyes when the smell of smoke penetrated your nose, paired with that of parchment and mint. When you looked up, you found Theo already looking at you with an unmistakably hungry expression that had you blink meekly in your seat before burying your flushed face in your potions book.

At the end of the lesson, your potion was as pinkish as described in the instructions and Slughorn smiled at you both with a pleased expression. “Amortentia indeed. Miss Potter, Mr Nott, you make a rather fine pair, this is just right. Not that I would have expected anything less from either of you…”

You resisted the urge to look at Theo, because you knew whatever expression graced his face, it would surely make you smile traitorously. With an extra O on your wrap sheet, you left the classroom for lunch with Hermoine, Harry and Ron, eager to meet with Theo later that day. But your plans were cut short when Hermoine asked: “Will you be in the common room tonight? I heard the library is closing early.”

“Really?” you exclaimed in surprise. The library had been your common excuse for dates with Theo, and you also sensed that Hermoine was watching your reaction closely. “Well,” you said, feeling it would be suspicious if you didn't agree, “I guess so, yeah.”

“Good,” Hermoine said heartily as you strolled past the Slytherins and you resisted the urge to look at Theo. “Because Harry, Ron and I-” Both boys violently shook their heads at her and she rolled her eyes. “Fine, because I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Already suspicious about what that ‘something’ might be, you forced an unasuming smile upon your face. “Great, just great.”

Hermoines eyes bored themselves into your back as you excused yourself to go to the toilet, watching your frame diasappear behind a corner. Ron raised his brows as he stilled in his step. “You coming, or what?” Shooting him a nasty look, she trailed along, but before she could scold Ron, he raised his voice once more, in a blatant attempt to distract her. “Hey, guess who I ran into this morning leaving the Griffindor tower?”

“Who?” Harry and Hermoine asked and Ron lowered his voice for dramatic effect. “Theodore Nott,” he revealed theatricly, clasping his hands together. “Said he was 'borrowing a book' but he looked like he was in quite a hurry, and pretty disheveled at that. And you know how prim and proper that bloke strolls around the halls. Hair like a bird’s nest, I tell you.” His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Bet that he planted some kind of trap there, maybe we should check the common room tonight.”

“Maybe,” Hermoine said, lost in thought, looking out of the window onto the grey sky.

“Maybe he was looking for our quidditch strategies,” Harry speculated, taking to steps at a time. “We're playing them this weekend, after all.”

“Yeah, that’ll be it!” Ron exclaimed, but Hermoine did not look convinced.

Neither of them brought the topic up again though, until it quite literally ran into them. As they walked around a corner, they saw Nott himself striding out of a corridor and disappearing in the direction of the great hall. “What was he doing in the corridor of the girl's toilets?” Ron laughed once he was out of earshot. As daring as he was, he was not stupid enough to challenge Nott to an altercation.

But the topic of lunch soon became the more pressing one as they entered the great hall, no one noticing your late arrival, disheveled hair or un-tucked shirt.

Theodore Nott would not describe himself as a romantic. In spite of his Italian heritage, he was everything but sappy. In fact, he thought he had a rather raw opinion of life and the world. Theo did not smile to himself while delving in memories, he did not savor touch or words, he didn't spend afternoons thinking of dates, he didn't believe in love as anything other than hormones. Until you came along and disrupted his whole worldview.

Relationships had always been transactions for him, mostly sexual, pushing people away before he had a chance to get attached. Theo didn't need love or pining or butterflies in his stomach, or daydreams of you, there was a damn war on the doorstep. And that it had to be you, specifically. But of course, he would fall for someone so far out of his reach that he had to go to truly ridiculous lengths to see you. And still, it was worth it a hundred times.

“Mate, you have been staring daggers at the Griffindor table for the last five minutes,” Blaise said, nudging him and making Theo blink in irritation. He had been watching you intently as you talked with your friends, trying to balance food, the conversation and the book you had to read for your next lesson. Cute. Utterly endearing, in fact.

“It’s scary. You haven't blinked once for at least five minutes,” Blaise continued, stealing the untouched food from Theo’s plate who couldn't care any less. You had just risen from your seat, almost tripping over the bench and laughing about your mistake as you threw your back over your shoulder and hurried out of the hall. When Theo showed no reaction to his comment, Blaise nudged him again and Theo begrudgingly took his eyes off you. “What's got your head in a wrap, you old grump?”

“Nothing,” Theo said, rubbing his eyes. Not only had he had a nightmare, he also had had a hard time sleeping last night when you were just inches from him, in your fucking bed in your cute pyjamas and those starry eyes, looking just about ripe to be devoured-

“Theo, how much did you sleep tonight?” Enzo asked worriedly, a spoonful of sauce halting its movement halfway to his mouth.

“And more importantly, where?” called Mattheo from next to him, flicking his fork at Theo that he dodged.

“Common room,” he muttered, but the boys glanced sceptically at each other. “You weren't on the quidditch pitch all night, were you?” Draco groaned and rolled his eyes when Theo didn't answer. “Hey, the team needs you at your best this weekend, if Potter wins I might actually have to throw myself off the Astronomy tower!”

“And what a loss for the world that would be,” Theo remarked sarcastically, prompting the others to laugh while Draco kicked him under the table.

“So, what did you want to talk about?” you asked expectantly, sitting down on the couch next to Hermoine who glanced at you wearily. It was almost midnight and the common room was empty, save for the four of you lounging by the fire, the sound of the cackling fire occasionally disrupted by a short conversation.

“You…,” Hermoine hesitated, “You’ve been a little distant lately and we were just wondering… is everything alright?” You were so stunned by the question which you really should have seen coming that you didn't answer for a few seconds. Blinking at the three frowning faces in varying stages of worry and suspicion, you smiled.

“That's really sweet of you, but I’m fine, really. Just… a lot of school,” you said, giving them a convincing smile.

But Hermoine didn't seem satisfied with your answer. “You told me you would visit the library last week. Well, I was there. You weren't.” Right. You hadn't been at the library because you had snuck out to the school grounds, making your way to the lake swiftly where Theo was already waiting for you.

Sometimes the two of you needed words and sometimes you didn't. That day, you didn't. Instead, he had guided you between his legs to sit down, his arms engulfing you from behind and shielding you against the cold. Lost in your individual trains of thought, you had watched the shimmering reflections of the enlightened windows decrease in number until there was only the cool light of the moon. That was when Theo had risen at last, pulling you up with him. He had taken your hand, like it was the most normal thing in the world, and the two of you had walked back to the castle. Like the gentleman he was, he had even taken you to Griffindor tower and kissed you good night, dismissing the risk of Filch catching him.

The two of you had barely talked that evening, but it had left you so calm and fulfilled as if you had shared a heartfelt conversation. And maybe you had. Maybe you had discovered other means than words to convey your feelings to each other.

“It was kinda crowded in there,” you tried to talk your way out of the situation, fiddling with your fingers in your lap. Once more, you were reminded that nonchalance was not something you could simply pick up from somebody- or you’d have lied your way out of this one already.

“Oh, come on,” Ron groaned, shooting you an exasperated look. “You’re acting weird. You’re always off doing something, and when you’re with us you’re not really there because we gotta talk to you several times for you to notice it!”

“Now, that's a massive exaggeration!” you protested, folding your arms over your chest. Sure, maybe you’d gotten lost in thought a few times over the last months, but not remotely as often as Ron made it sound.

“You’re acting shifty,” Ron pressed, pointing an accusing finger at you. “And I know shifty!”

Hermoine rolled her eyes at him, looking like she was contemplating a crime. “I only wanted to say,” she sighed, “that we're a bit worried. Is there maybe… I mean,” - she raised her brow suggestively - “Are you … seeing someone?”

“What?” Harry exclaimed and splurted out a full mouth of butterbeer into the hissing fire, seeming utterly stunned by the possibility. “You mean-” He looked from Hermoine at you and back again. “Wait, seriously?”

“Well,” Hermoine interrupted him. “It's really none of our business. We just wanted to make sure.”

“Wait a second,” Harry chimed in and you couldn't help but laugh at the incredulous on his face. “This is serious, I need to know this, I’m your brother!” “When did you start getting all browy and overprotective?” you sneered, laughing at his expression. “What do you even care? Did I pry when you started dating Cho?”

Harry mumbled something under his breath, but Ron looked amused. “Assuming you won't reveal the identity of whatever bloke you’re dating-” “Hold up, when did I confirm I was dating anybody?” “-who might the mystery man be?” The topic seemed much more interesting to him than his potions homework which lay discarded worryingly close to the fire. Propping himself on one elbow, he scanned you up and down. “I bet you’re not dating Seamus or Dean or we would know. And you don't seem like the type to go for older guys.” He glanced at Hermoine. “Someone in Ravenclaw maybe?”

Hermoine’s glare had him growing quiet. “This is childish, Ron. And who says she isn't dating a girl?”

“You all seem pretty dead-set on the dating theory,” you remarked but it went unheard, or at least overheard.

“As long as it’s not a Slytherin,” Ron told you in a comforting tone, “It's fine and we’ll live with it.” As if it was a truly ridiculous idea, he began bellowing with laughter, but you only joined in half-heartedly. If you had needed any more confirmation that nobody could know about you and Theo, here it was, laughing you in the face.

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#theodore nott x reader #theo nott x you #theodore nott x you #theodore nott #theo nott x reader #theo nott #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #harry potter x reader #harry potter #wizarding world x reader #wizarding world

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spider-stark · 8 months ago

Text

SPARRING PARTNER

Aegon II Targaryen x Cousin!Reader

Summary - You and Aegon have hardly spoken since sharing a particularly sensual moment a month ago. Now he thinks he stands a chance at beating you in a sparring match.

Warnings - targcest (lightly implied that reader is Daemon's daughter), vague hints regarding smut, blood, horny/stupid aegon & reader, ! MINORS DNI !

Word Count - 2.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

“Care for a partner?”

Aegon’s gruff voice had come as a surprise, knocking you from a state of concentration as you swung for one of the training dummies.

Your body jolts. You fumble, then miss your mark by a fraction of an inch. The tip of your blade grazes against the dummies wooden neck, rather than slicing its head clean off.

Gritting your teeth, blood thrums in your ears as you whirl around to face your cousin. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s dangerous to sneak up on an armed woman?”

He’s standing within an arm’s length of you—much too close, considering you had been swinging a sword around. One wrong move, and it could’ve been his head that you had taken off.

In spite of this, Aegon appears utterly at ease. Standing with his hands stuffed in his pockets, he shrugs at you, a lopsided smirk pulling at his lips. “I prefer for my women to be dangerous.”

“I’m the furthest thing from one of your women.”

“Really?” He cocks a brow, that stupid smirk growing wider. “Must I jog your memory, then? Remind you of Aemond’s name-day celebrations when-”

You cut him off with a narrow-eyed glare, raising your blade in a feigned-threat. The tip is poised at his navel when you hiss, “Enough.”

Obedient as always, Aegon’s mouth snaps shut at your command. His mouth remains curved, though, silently taunting you. Memories from last month flash through your mind—the two of you, drunk and stumbling away from the Banquet Hall, hands roaming freely along each other's bodies.

A mistake.

That’s all it was: an ignorant, drunken, mistake.

Still, you feel your cheeks heating at the thought of that night. You huff, sliding your sword back into the leather-sheath strapped around your hips. “I’m not one of your women,” you huff, though you’re not so sure the reminder is meant for him. “You have a type, Aegon—and that type consists wholly of whores.”

You had nothing against the whores, of course. Many of the ladies working on the Street of Silk were fine women—if anything, you felt bad that they had to deal with him.

At least they get paid for it, though. You deal with his flirtations free of charge.

“Well,” Aegon drones, his lilac eyes dipping further south. Sweat soaks through your tunic, making it cling to your skin in a way that accentuates the curve of your waist. “Not wholly of whores.”

Your expression falls flat. “How flattering.”

With that, you spin on your heel, fully intending on continuing your training on the other side of the yard. You make it less than a full step before his fingers snag on your wrist, whirling you back around.

Your free hand finds the hilt of your sword, a warning flashing in your eyes. Worry flashes across his face, though it’s mostly shrouded by arrogance.

“You never answered my question,” his voice carries a subtle wobble, hardly noticeable. You catch it, though, unable to suppress a self-satisfied grin. “Would you like a partner?”

“A sparring partner?”

The question is phrased like an insult—and, maybe, you had meant it that way. Your focus hones in on the hand still wrapped around your wrist. His smooth, uncalloused, princelike hands. When was the last time he had even held a sword?

A puzzled frown accentuates the pout of his bottom lip. When he speaks, his voice is so unusually tentative that his response sounds more like a question than an answer. “Yes?”

You try holding in a laugh—and fail miserably. Aegon’s confusion gives way to annoyance, embarrassment tinging his pale cheeks red.

“What’s so funny?”

Several biting remarks instantly come to mind, each a bit more insulting than the last. You hold your tongue. Surely he doesn’t actually believe himself capable of sparring with you, right? When it comes to swordfighting, you’re leagues above him. It wouldn’t even be close to a fair match.

“Nothing,” you respond quickly, tight-lipped as you hold back another laugh. “But you know what? Sure—I could use some decent competition.”

Aegon’s chest puffs slightly, confidence soaring.

You nip that in the bud, “Mind fetching your brother for me?”

He deflates at the mention of his brother, shoulders slumping forward as he scoffs. “You truly believe Aemond to be better than me?”

“Without question.”

Aemond was a bit of a twat—but he was undeniably skilled at swordplay.

“Do you forget that Aemond and I were trained by the same knight?” Aegon asks, brows raised. “I’m just as skilled with a blade as my brother. If not more.”

Another laughable statement that has you biting your cheek, trying not to insult him any more than you already had.

It was true that, same as Aemond, Aegon had been trained by Ser Criston, a knight of the Kingsguard, when he was a boy. But if the softness of his palms was any indicator, then he hadn’t done a good job at keeping up with that training.

“Doubtful.” Sighing, you then gesture to his clothes, “Besides, you’re not even dressed for a fight, Aegon. You can’t move in that!”

Glancing down at himself, he observes his tight-fitted emerald tunic, slim trousers, and shiny black boots. Fashionable—but terrible for a fight.

“I assure you that I can move just fine,” he huffs, weakly defending himself. Bringing a hand to his hip, he slides a dagger from a small black sheath. “I’ll prove it!”

You stare at the weapon, unblinking. Incredulity lines each syllable as you ask, “You plan to fight me with that?”

It was, admittedly, a very pretty dagger.

No expense had been spared in its creation. The pommel was forged of shimmering gold, rounded and delicately crafted to emulate the appearance of glistening dragon scales. Dark shagreen wrapped the hilt, and the blade itself was made of steel so dark it appeared onyx, its tip curved ever-so-slightly, making it ideal for carving through flesh.

Pretty, but still just a dagger. A weapon designed for close-range attacks would do him little good against a sword.

“It’s a weapon, is it not?” If Aegon’s at all embarrassed by your teasing, he doesn’t show it. His jaw flexes, lilac eyes boring into you. “Fight me.”

“This is foolish-” you start.

“Fight me,” Aegon growls, cutting you off. He takes a step closer. Your spine turns to a steel rod, chin held high as his stare narrows on you. “Unless you’re too afraid to lose,” he purrs.

Your blood simmers.

He’s goading you. You know that—and take the bait anyway.

“Fine,” you answer bluntly.

Rolling your shoulders, you take your stance a few paces back from him. Feet apart and hands raised defensively, you don’t even bother with drawing your weapon—making his brow raise.

“What about your sword?” He asks, eyeing the sheath at your waist.

“Don’t need it.”

Cocky—but true, nonetheless. If you were to spar with a weapon, then you would probably have him disarmed in seconds. Doing it this way, unarmed, you at least stand a chance of getting a good workout before your inevitable victory.

“Let’s go.” Curling your fingers, you beckon him closer, a taunt in your voice, “Give it your best shot, Aeg.”

A shiver crawls up his spine, thinking back to Aemond’s name-day, the last time you had called him that. The two of you had been so impatient that you hadn’t made it further than an empty broom closet; his teeth grazing against your neck, and his name oozing from your tongue like honey.

His hand tightens around the hilt, remembering how it felt to be gripping your bare waist, instead. Remembering, too, how it felt as his touch drifted lower and lower, his fingers hooking along the waistband of your smallclothes just as a maid pushed the door open and started screaming.

You hadn’t called him Aeg since that night—since you rushed to fix your gown and darted out the door, leaving him to deal with the maid. To hear it again now—after a month of dreaming of it—was pure bliss, as well as a confirmation that, perhaps, you don’t regret that night as much as you wish you did.

Voice low, he asks, “Ready?”

You almost smile. Aegon had been trained by the Kingsguard, taught to spar with honor, to wait until your opponent was ready to strike.

But you were trained by the Rogue Prince. Taught to say fuck honor—strike first, ask questions never.

A split second and you’re lunging forwards, making a move for his dominant side.

Aegon’s eyes go wide—then his guard snaps up, forcing him to focus.

Caught off guard, his movements are desperate and sloppy as he stumbles backwards, evading your strike.

Your fingertips brush the sleeve of his tunic. If he’d moved a second later, you would have caught him by the wrist. A second later, and you would have already won.

“Sneaky,” he chastises.

You open your mouth to respond, only for the words to be cut off by a yelp. He takes you by surprise, barreling straight for you. Steel glimmers as the onyx blade sweeps towards you, slicing through the air much faster than you would’ve thought.

There’s no time to dodge the strike—not without the risk of tripping over your own feet. You lift your forearm, aiming to block rather than dodge. Aegon notices this—a heartbeat too late—and purposefully slows his own blow.

You hiss as cold steel grazes against your skin. Crimson trickles towards your elbow, minuscule compared to what it could have been. If Aegon hadn’t hindered his own strike, the blade could have very well cut-through to pure-ivory bone.

Anger sparks in his eyes. “You could’ve dodged that,” he pants.

Taking several small steps backwards, you grin at him through gritted teeth. “And you could’ve struck harder.”

Aegon’s stare narrows and, instantly, that spark flares to an all-consuming wildfire. Lilac flames lick at his irises, the heat of them nipping at your skin, sweat beading along your brow.

He moves first.

Slicing from the left, you duck to the right. His counter is swift, aiming for your bicep. But he’s too hesitant—giving you just enough time to twist your body out of the way.

His movements are as fast and relentless as they are unsustainable. Aegon’s chest heaves, evidence of his fraying endurance. You bide your time, weaving and dodging his blade's curved tip. Letting him push you back and back and back, focusing on evading rather than striking.

Swinging low, his blade cuts through the front of your tunic, hardly a fucking centimeter from tearing into your sternum. A bit panicked, you snap your arm up. It rams into the side of his dominant wrist, striking a particularly sensitive nerve.

He hisses. Takes a step back to regroup.

Never loses his grip, though, knuckles turning white around the hilt.

“Impressive,” you bite out, feeling your own temper flare.

Taking advantage of the small window, you move towards him. Swept towards his ankle with your leg, hoping to knock him off balance but—

—He predicts your movement, jumping back only to immediately press forward again. Every movement is aggressive; not calculated or precise, but still swift and near inescapable.

You block and block, stumbling back and back. Your footwork turns sloppy, your focus hazy. Then, suddenly, your back is slamming into rough stone. Blade poised at your chest, Aegon grins even as he fights to catch his breath.

You curse at yourself, realization settling into your bones.

You counted on him being a poor swordsman—on being out of practice and out of shape. Waiting for his stamina to deplete, knowing that when it did, you could easily overpower him.

You hadn’t considered that maybe he’d had a strategy of his own, though.

Aegon had tricked you. Overexerted himself on purpose. Moved faster and faster, ensuring that you were focusing on him and not your surroundings, allowing him to back you into a godsdamned corner.

Your temper flares. Instincts kick in.

Your hand thrusts upwards, aiming for the chain dangling around his neck. His freehand shoots up at the same time, catching your fingers just as they wrap around the thick metal. He doesn’t move your hand away, letting the warmth of your touch linger against the column of his throat.

You had planned to choke him, and Aegon knows this. And yet neither fear nor worry clouds his gaze. His lilac eyes remain bright, glittering with intrigue, of all things.

A low chuckle rumbles deep in his chest, which is only mere inches from your own. “If you were this desperate to touch me,” Aegon purrs, the sweetness of arbor red permeating your senses as his breath fans across your cheek, “then you should’ve just asked.”

“You’re insufferable,” you grind out.

Aegon leans closer, the tip of his nose bumping against yours as your foreheads touch. Your heartbeat stutters, then quickens. He loosens his grip on your fingers, not caring that you could easily attack him again. As he brushes a strand of sweat-soaked hair behind your ear, you’re fairly certain that, at this moment, Aegon has no cares at all.

“You were wrong,” he whispers.

The world around you begins to fade, your vision hollowing until all that remains is him. You just stare at him—wide-eyed and confused, utterly ensnared.

“Earlier,” Aegon continues. “You said that you were the furthest thing from my type of woman. But you were wrong–” his touch drifts from your hairline, traveling along your jaw in a soft caress, “–you’re the only type of woman that I want.”

A serrated breath escape escapes you as Aegon pushes himself against you, further caging you against the stone. Close enough that, with each breath, his plush lips brush against yours. Close enough that you can feel his hardening length buried against your thigh.

“Every night,” his voice drops to a whimper now. “I’ve thought of you every night since then. Dreamed of you, even.”

You bite your tongue, scared that if you don’t, you might say something stupid—might tell him that you dreamt of him, too. Of the warmth of his touch, fingertips burning against your skin as they dipped lower lower lower.

Weakness wins out, a strangled moan slipping from parted lips, “Aeg-”

“Have you thought of me?” Aegon asks, brows furrowing into an unbearably innocent expression. You squirm against him, your back arching off the stone, hips desperately searching for friction. He clicks his tongue. “Words, dove. Use them.”

Gods—how you hate yourself for this. For how easy it is for him to toy with you. For how much you enjoy it.

You rasp, “Yes-”

In response, a satisfied hum. “Good.”

For a moment, somehow both brief and eternal, you wait for him to close that gap between you. Wait to feel his lips crash against yours, to taste the sweetness of his tongue. To have his touch once again strike a match within your soul, leaving you to burn in the ecstasy of his embrace.

And then, suddenly, you feel it—

—the tip of his fucking dagger pressed against the underside of your jaw, a single bead of warmth trickling down the column of your throat.

Lip curling into a snarl, you glare at Aegon.

He looks all too pleased with himself, smirking as he asks, “Now am I better than Aemond?”

You don’t answer him—not with words, at least. But he can see the response simmering in your eyes; a certainty that excited him far more than it scared him.

You were going to kill him.

a/n - honestly just wanted to practice writing a short little fight scene with this! originally this was going to be about aemond, but my love for aegon won out as it always does.

as always, like's comments and reblogs are appreciated! and if any of you want to talk about all things aegon or hotd/asoiaf, my asks/dms are open (please none of my irl friends like hotd i'm begging)

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