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mushibashiraas · 11 months

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djsjxjsj i hope i'm not late?? i probably am. aaaa my own faultcjxjsj [but] i haven't written for my fave disney nrc malewife (/j ily, jamil bbg—) in a while. but i forgot the contest either ends on the 10th?? or submissions close on the 10th aka. i missed the deadline?? aaaaa for submissions to @merotwst 's and @cvlutos 's #jamilsummercontest (here) aaaaaa also was this also an excuse to write for najma/write some najma-jamil brother-sister action? uhhhh looks away. LISTEN. i love them! the crumbs we got of their interactions are still on my mind aaaaaa lastly, am i also using this fic as an opportunity to brainrot about the new spiderverse movie and its album? yes.

mention of the ramshackle prefect (gn!yuu). but it'll mainly be about jamil and najma bc i love his sister almost as much. spoilers for al'ab naariya story, scarabia chapter plot, jamil's backstory, and maybe???? a spoiler for the new spiderverse movie?? if you squint. also really bad arabic.... i tried.... other than that, i present very cute, soft fluffy letters between reader and jamil detailing their lives apart during summer break (assuming the scalding sands' fireworks festival is in the summer. aaaa).

jamil could practically see (name)'s red face as they read his letter briefly written amidst the asim family chaos.

Dearest (Name),

Kalim and Najma were disappointed you couldn't join me this year for Summer break. I actually had to stop him from convincing his father into sending for you personally... Camels, elephants, and all. You're welcome!

Despite that, they wish you all well. My mother is insisting I return to NRC after break with some of her homemade shawarma. And please tell Grim that there will be enough for him as well.

The fireworks were beautiful but it wasn't the same without you by my side, ya nujumi. I missed turning to the side and seeing your smiling face, eyes alight with a childlike wonder. My heart swells with remembering that first Al'ab Naariya. You turned back to me urging me to join you and the others to dance.

Najma just asked what I was smiling about. I tried to lie but the smug look on her face told her all she needed to know. She'd like to also say a few words.

Hello, (Name)! My older brother is laying on his bed right now screaming into his pillow. Ya ummi and I are laughing right now; she has never laughed so hard in a long time. Yesterday the Asims gave us the afternoon off to enjoy the bazaar. You should see the haul Jamil brought home for you and Grim. There's— lotliIItLyjkq

Sorry, ya shamsi. Najma does not know what she's talking about. I got them as gifts for her— ljyIL

Jamil is lying! He is so red right now, (Name)! I want to take a picture to send you but he took my phone! So awful, right? Ah, the Asims are calling for us and abina is about to bring out the belt if we don't resume our work soon.

My apologies, ya qamar, but as Najma said, I have to return to work. There are rumors from the other servants that Kalim is "missing." He's probably with the animals in the garden. I will write to you again shortly. You are always in my thoughts, (Name), ya hubi. Make sure to not stay up too late talking to Ace and Deuce. Take your medicine and potions and eat at least two full meals a day (I know you're not a fan of breakfast). Don't forget to drink plenty of water too.

With Love,

Jamil Viper.

he wanted to write more and tell them all about the new stalls selling mouthwatering foods, soft, vibrant, assorted silks, and other painted, colorful wares he saw at the bazaar. he wanted to tell her about the concert he miraculously got tickets to for one of their favorite music artists. there was also the pet parrot his parents finally let him get! it had to stay on the asims' property. but kalim said he'd personally look after iago for jamil.

there was also a new playlist he made the other night after coming home from a movie he and his sister went to see. jamil lays in bed thinking of his sister's latest fictional crush and thinking of all the things he'd do to keep his girl and her father while living his best life doing what he loved. jamil wished that were him. he wished he could have (name) by his side, still please his family, and see the world. he wanted to learn about the magic and cultures of other lands in twisted wonderland.

wishes and reality are two separate things, though. and the chance of them intersecting and wishes becoming reality was slim. for now, though, he was content and letting things be. he'll find kalim, drag him to his next meeting with possible mergers and other clients, read the evening itinerary to kalim, go home, help with dinner, wash and dry najma's hair for her, bathe, and go to bed.

....that was the original plan. however, najma must have thought it funny to hide his headphones after she finished her chores and homework.

"what are you looking for, brother?"

jamil glared at the girl leaning against his door frame as he rifled through the belongings on his desk. "you know exactly what i am looking for. drop the act, najma!"

"not until you write another letter to (name)." she grinned and crossed her arms over her chest, straightening her posture.

"huh?!" he stuttered.

"it was written all over your face. you wanted to write and tell them more about everything that you saw and experienced yesterday and today. ever since you came home from school with your friends and (name), you've changed. mom and dad haven't stopped talking about it; they think i went to bed but i can hear them. they aren't as quiet as they think." the younger sister laughed at jamil's stunned face. "you don't know all this since you sleep like that one princess in those fae tales. i've caught you snoring a few times, actually. wanna hear it? i can show you if you don't believe m—"

jamil grabs najma's phone again before she can pull up the videos. "just—! give me back my headphones. and i'll write to (name)."

"nah," najma shrugged and walked off. "letter first. mom and dad are out finishing up some business with kalim's parents in their estate. you can blast your music all you want."

groaning in exasperation, he still couldn't deny that he'd rather have sent (name) a proper letter rather than the one he mailed earlier that afternoon.

normally, he and (name) would text each other or call. but one magic carpet ride after a rough exam, they told him about how they used to write letters to their childhood friends whenever they'd change schools. so the first time jamil and (name)'s other night raven college friends went home for holiday break, he started writing letters to them. and ever since that sweet, thoughtful surprise, whenever they were apart, jamil'd write letters to them while they'd send back recipe cards with handwritten notes featuring the story behind each food. sometimes they'd drop details about their family back home or include tiny magic trinkets or bits of stationary sold at sam's shop. a note and a smiley face tied around each item: "saw this and thought of you, ya qamar. ;p"

bringing himself back to reality, jamil sat down and began another letter. with this one, though, he made sure not to leave out a single detail of his day. softly he smiled as he included lines from old poets and added in folded star maps, photos of a dog he saw sitting outside a cafe, a tea bag from the little old lady next door. but this time — instead of signing off with a simple "With Love" like his last letter — he penned a lyric from their favorite song, nodding his head to the music as it played from his speakers.

"Your my star, hubi. My one light. We gon' link up, just like the rumors."

Jamil Viper.

VOCAB:

ya shamsi: my sun

ya qamar: my moon

ya nujumi: my stars

hubi/ya hubi: love/my love

ya ummi: my mother

abina: our father

— is2g if i got the arabic vocab wrong, i am going to cry. @softbajis djsjsj idk if this is right or notdjdjdj i am so upset. oh well....?

#jamilssummercontest #twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #najma viper #twst najma #twisted wonderland drabbles #twst drabbles

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malawrites · 1 year

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Revenant - Sukuna x Reader

Chapter 2

Content Warning: Porn With Plot, Cannibalism, Master/Slave

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Last Chapter

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An androgynous person covers my naked frame with a blanket, their face carefully impassive when they spot my semen-covered hair. The door shuts behind us and we walk through the halls of the temple. I wrap the blanket around myself as though it were a cloak, my feet barefoot against the cold tile. When their nimble hands grip the side of the fusuma door, I break the silence.

“What’s your name,” I hoarsely remark, my eyes fixated on the crimson zori the servant wears. They hesitate before opening the door. Curses vaguely resembling translucent women titter inside, their pupils dilated as though they have fish eyes, unblinking. They wear obis decorated with embellishments of coral reefs, the chromatic fabric of their kimonos coruscating shades of silver and blue, with the exception of one taller woman who wears bronze. The white-haired servant turns to me and shallowly bows.

“My apologies. I am unaccustomed to having guests.” They straighten themselves. “My name is Uraume. I will return after you have been bathed to show you to your chambers.” I give the transparent women a once-over, their hands seemingly dyed red with ink. They remind me of oarfish. I turn to speak to Uraume, but they have already left.

Fresh water pours over me while the nymphs gossip, moving from topic to topic before they start whispering.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Surely he wouldn’t?”

“Oh, how despicable!”

“That’s what makes him handsome.”

“Why are you guys whispering?” I interrupt.

Three of them look at me with pity, with the fourth raising their brow. “Haven’t you heard? His highness hasn’t taken a consort since the massacre.” The other women look at the servant in bronze. One immediately starts flaring her gills on the side of her neck and splashes water onto the offending woman.

“Don’t say that, Igata!”

Igata’s skin wobbles, gelatinous. “Would you rather I lie, Jun?” She flicks her skin back into place, snapping into place like a rubber band. “You’d rather I conceal the truth and let her die?”

Jun huffs, the air she inhales makes her cheeks look disgustingly round. “Better to die happy, I say.”

I look between the two of them, pleading for some form of clarification. “Uh… listen — what’s your name? I feel bad for you,” the woman closest to me says, scattering more herbs into the bath. “Where you’re at? Hah! I’d rather be ripped apart by a couple of tiger sharks and be thrown like a chew toy!”

“Abina…” Igata admonishes her, standing up to scootch a stool near the washtub.

“Alright, alright… you’re definitely not going to die and be slurped up by the King’s tummy mouth,” Abina grouses, wringing a washcloth.

Before the oldest woman can dunk the younger nymph into the water, I snap out of my shock. “What?”

The woman farthest from me runs her hands through her salmon red hair, dreamily sighing. “The way he chased after those concubines, oh God! Their entrails were scattered like algae.”

“Fusae!” Jun drags her hands down her face.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t see the appeal.”

The water clings to my skin as I abruptly stand up, the slosh of the water bringing the room to silence. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” My heartbeat quickens as the image of me being lowered into the damp, capacious maw of the king flashes into my head. Igata quickly straightens and softly settles me back into the tub, looking at me with subdued sadness. The other nymphs make themselves scarce, except for Fusae. She simply gets closer.

“He had amassed a grand total of forty-two concubines,” Igata starts, my eyes widening.

“For… forty-two?”

Fusae giggles, lathering my hair with shampoo. “There’s been emperors who have had more than three thousand,"[1] she sing-songily says.

“Quiet,” the older woman hisses, her gills flaring on her neck. She turns back to me. “Yes, forty-two. He had been perusing the swathes of humans that had been offered to him for protection —”

“The fools that begged were slaughtered, of course!”

Igata’s black hair whips to the side as she snarls, electricity sparking around the tendrils of her hair. Fusae quickly makes herself small, rinsing my hair.

“As I was saying, the King looked over at each of his concubines, slowly making his way from room to room. Stared them dead in the eyes and said, ‘Gorgeous things, aren’t you? Happy and healthy.’ And what else could they do but hang their heads? He circled from where they stood with their heads bowed, and spoke but one word. ‘Run.’

It was over quickly. He chased every last one of them to their deaths, laughing. Some were slow, dragged on by his graciousness. Others were more fortunate. He ate every last one of them. Forty-two concubines, all slaughtered by the King in one evening.”

Fusae helps me out of the bath, Jun and Abina soon follow with towels.

“No warning. No nothing,” Abina mumbles, spreading moisturizing oils on my skin.

“Had more patience in the first Golden age of Jujutsu…” Jun said, smearing a strong, medicinal scent on my shoulders.

I clear my throat at the inflammation of my nose, eyes watering from the tea tree oil. “When was this?” They all look at my glassy eyes, mistaking it for sorrow. Jun sighs, lightly dabbing my face with moisturizing cream. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but that doesn’t mean you can’t live.” She stands back to let it dry, shaking her hand. “Maybe you’ll have a chance."

Abina scoffs, massaging my cuticles. “A chance for what?”

We stay silent for a long period of time. Igata stands from her stool, her bronze kimono shifting with her weight. She clothes me, tying my black obi. “It’s best for you to get some rest,” she says, spreading beeswax onto my lips.

Uraume leads me to my chambers, a spacious, windowless room. It has a thick futon laying on top of tatami flooring, an elegantly decorated duvet, and pillows. It’s dreadfully empty of decorations, making me feel uneasy. “Is it true?”

Uraume turns to me, their plum eyes considering me. “What do you speak of?”

“His highness killed his concubines.” The air I breathe in turns biting, frost choking my neck in vengeance. They narrow their eyes, drawing closer to me.

“Do you question the King’s will? The freedom he grants you is not meant to be taken for granted.”

“I question if I will be next,” I breathe out, my heart dropping to my knees in dread.

“‘All acts are impermanent —

That’s the law of creation and destruction.

When all creation and destruction are extinguished —

That ultimate stillness is true bliss.’”[2] Uraume’s breath sends wintry hands on the side of my face, Demeter accosting me for my foolishness.

“Rest,” they say, shutting the doors. I am left in utter darkness.

Left to my own devices, I dream of nothing. The absence of any visions makes me curl up onto my side, fingers absent-mindedly playing with the stitching on the kakebuton. Chinese peacock butterflies are embroidered on the covers, lustrous black and green colors sheening from the small amount of natural lighting peeking in. I turn the covers inside-out and stare, as if I could stop my thoughts from sheer will and pretty butterflies.

Doubt covers me more than this blanket could. It was not as though I was ignorant of Sukuna’s temperance, less of a human emotion and more of a tempered steel. He was not human. It should not be surprising to me, yet I sulked, grasping the covers as though they could reassure me. Going off of the servants’ tones, it must have been recent, their deaths. My stomach growls and I sardonically laugh at the irony.

I stand up, moving to the door and wince as I step on silk. There is a fresh kimono at the foot of my bed, presumably left by Uraume or one of the other servants. It is an imperial purple with a brocade of turtles on it. I sadly smile. I leave my room, side-stepping the fabric and adjusting my kosode. The smell of cooked fish carries my feet, the source being a kitchen in which Uraume is cutting bamboo shoots, slashing indents into the vegetables. They glance at my clothing.

“Was the kimono not to your liking?” They say, dropping the bamboo shoots into a donabe and pouring water.

I avert my eyes, focusing on how they sprinkle dry red peppers and rice grains into the pot. “I… didn’t feel comfortable wearing it.”

Uraume places a otoshibuta on its surface, frowning. “It did not fit you? My eyes must be failing me. Please accept my apologies.”

“No, no,” I sheepishly flap my hand. “Nothing like that. I… It just left a sour taste in my mouth, you know?” They arch their eyebrow at me. “The sea turtles, their meaning,” I stare at the floor.

Uraume’s face relaxes, moving to the second pot on the stove. “It was a coincidence,” they say, smiling. Removing the drop lid, smoke escapes the pot, spreading the mouth-watering smell of stew.

“Right,” I tentatively return a smile, watching as they dip a ladle into the broth and blow on it, offering it to me. “Mmm… tastes delicious.”

Uraume’s smile grows a little wider, and my heart warms from their sincerity. “I’m glad I could be of service.”

We eat in comfortable silence. Our chopsticks lightly graze the ceramic chawan, plucking clumps of fluffy rice. “So,” I start, averting my eyes. “How did you meet Sukuna?”

Uraume clears their throat. “I had been living in a monastery, taken in by Buddhist monks. They fed me, clothed me, and offered me sleeping quarters. One could view their acts as faithful to the Four Noble Truths, selfless in spirit.”[3]

They look up from their plates. “They were anything but charitable. My Lord tore them to shreds and saved me.”

“Weren’t you human?”

Uraume bows their head with a knowing smile. “But of course. He was to cull me as well.” They look off into the distance, in a reverie as their eyes trace their kitchen knives. “He graciously stayed his hand as I requested to taste their flesh before my death. Oh, how many years had I waited to consume them as they did me. They were utterly repulsive.” Uraume’s face turns carefully neutral, but their cold eyes give them away. “I prayed for their deaths each and every day they defiled me, imagining their cries. And he granted me the freedom to do as I please.”

I let the tangy-sweet taste of pomegranate linger in my tongue, slowly picking up another seed from a bowl. “So that’s why you swear your fealty. The two of you share the hobby of killing and eating humans.”

They look mildly concerned at my nonchalance, minutely tilting their head to examine me. “Yes, that’s right.”

“And it’s the principle of taking away unworthy lives to consume that tethers you to him, right?”

“Correct.”

My hand gently clasps around an untouched pomegranate, cradling it as though it were a boon from the gods. The skin gleams a brilliant red, miniature grooves in its texture.

“So my death would serve as a conservation of energy, like how the food chain works.”

“I suppose.” They blow a gust of cold air onto their tea. “You are concerned about your death.” Uraume stares at me.“If my master wills it, so it shall be. Confined in a cage up against the wall, pressed against the barriers, if you linger in thought holding back your potential, you will remain mired in fear and frozen in inaction.”[4] They sip their tea, maintaining eye contact.

I see Uraume’s eyes, but I do not see them. We are no longer in the temple I know, instead surrounded by fire and brimstone. Cleaved columns of a heavenly monastery crumble before us, and as I blink, they are in awe, unseeing as I am. They look past me, on their hands and knees. Uraume shuffles towards a charred corpse, holding a man’s arm. I turn my head in shock. With all the grace of a disgraced asura, Ryomen Sukuna tramples the remnants of the temple, one of four hands clasping his trishula, his four eyes hungrily roaming the grounds. As soon as their eyes meet, their voices are stolen from me and the smog clears.

“-not aware that you were afflicted with hysteria,” is what I hear when I come to, my eyes meeting the white walls of the temple. I blink and run my hand over the hollows of my eyes.

“I’m not.” I scrutinize Uraume’s appearance, rising from my seat to inspect them further. “There was a fire, one brought from an arrow.” I circle them. “Sukuna rained his arrow upon your monastery and cleansed your burdens, yes, that makes sense.” Uraume whips their head around, their face aghast. “But why would he spare you if he holds no human regard in terms of morality? Was it made on impulse? Or were you simply spared for your usefulness?”

“You ask many questions,” they retort. “It matters not in the grand scheme of his will. He could have slaughtered me as the rest, should he have chosen to do so.” Now it is their turn to surround me, a vulture with talons of ice and white feathers. “Hmm.” Uraume takes hold of my lower jaw, leisurely examining my face. “I had thought your cursed energy was from your disallowance of your true nature, your obedience a ruse. I stand corrected.” They hum, letting go of my face. “The eyes of a seer.”

The days pass without much fanfare, the king having left the temple without a word. It seems to be a common occurrence from Uraume’s reaction, or lack thereof. They sedulously attend to their duties, maintaining the expensive tatami flooring and dusting the many ornamental scrolls that line the walls. The aquatic women who tend to me are silent. The absence of their words makes me lonely.

I wander the halls barefoot, silently padding from room-to-room in search of something to distract me, from the yawning lacuna within me. It’s as though I am in a slow turning whirlpool, gradually dragging me into its oceanic abyss. I much preferred being used and having company than being without. A door with golden rings shines in the low light of the hallway, snakes coiled amongst the frame. I open it and step inside, intaking the scent of cinnamon.

Spices and herbal scents swirl around the room, a round cushion placed on top of a zabuton on a lifted platform, a shallow staircase leading to a gilded mirror. Urns that reek of death are on either side of the room, etched with spindly leaves and crescent moons. There is ash inside of them. I sit on the zafu, feeling the reedmace settle underneath me. I am property.

My fingers follow the carved wood of women dancing amongst the clouds, my head full of fog and precipitated thoughts. I will have no other purpose than to appease the king. I curl up into a ball and run my hands through my hair. Is this freedom? Would I truly be free through his will, as Uraume says?

I chuckle with mirth, raising my head to the clear glass. Two eyes sprout onto my cheekbones, blinking and staring back at me, a kami mirrored onto me. I move closer and sigh, watching it reflect every movement I make. Another eye bursts out of my skin on my temples and a scream rings through the shrine, startling me. I quickly turn and hear a woman shriek and uncontrollably cry, the unmistakable presence weighing onto me. I exit the meditation chambers[5] and watch as Sukuna drags a woman by her hair, a malevolent smile stretching his face.

“A lively one, isn’t she?” he croons, his lower set of eyes staring at me as he walks past, dragging her into his room.

Uneven streaks of blood paint the hall’s floor, the dark blue tile becoming a muddied purple.

“Stop! Let me go! Please,” he cackles in delight at the woman’s cries. I briskly leave as the envy in my throat threatens to regurgitate bile. I can hear her through the walls, so I escape to the gardens.

There is a meadow of curses, shades intermingling and cutting dead branches of shrubbery. They speak in whispers, as though their breath was stolen. Their voices are all male.

“Meh… goo… me,” they rasp, all the entities simultaneously looking at me.

I blink, the curses’ eyes faintly glowing green in a trick of light. “Oh. You’re Megumi?”

He nods, bowing his head. His forms flicker. He looks like he wants to say something more, but sound refuses to escape him.

“It’s ok, don’t strain yourself.” I settle down on a large rock, foliage tickling my ankles. “You… look human, somehow,” I muse, watching as Megumi patiently listens.

He stays silent, pointing at me. “Me…”

I tilt my head. “Oh, so you were human?”

He takes a while to process my words, almost like a child. He slowly nods his head, a brief aura of happiness filling the grounds. He quickly shrinks into himself as he hears an echoed wail, the blobby masses of black flattening and swirling.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s fine. You’re safe, I’m not going to hurt you,” I say, raising my hands in surrender.

Megumi seems to flatten and squint at me, softly croaking. I soften my eyes at the curse, watching as his shades waddle a distance away, keeping his eyes on me.

Black surrounds me as I hear the squall of a harpy, electricity crackling through the air. Totality cuts into flesh with a howl, a flash of a hound merging with another. Megumi meets my eyes, face bloodied and teeth in an open-toothed smile. It’s as though the shadows erupt from himself. I come to with a flinch, Megumi curiously looking at me. I blink my eyes to clear the dots from my vision.

“You were a sorcerer,” I mumble, getting off of the rock and gripping my head. “You were so young.” I can feel my eyes sting with unshed tears, my glassy eyes refracting the green of his eyes. “Poor thing.”

He stares at me in awe as I pass my hands through his shadows’ hair, gingerly carding through the murky black. There’s a startled intake of air and Uraume calls out to me.

“What are you doing?” Their bob sways from side to side as they gracefully step towards me, glancing at Megumi. He flickers in place, the shadows of a candlelight squirming in fear. “Get back to work.” He quickly disappears from the entrance of the gardens, traveling through the shadowed vines of the plants. Uraume side-eyes me, pursing their lips.

“I think it is best if you do not interfere with his work. Come.”

I spend the rest of the day with Uraume. When night falls and I cannot sleep, I head to the meditation chambers, softly pressing my lips against my clasped hands. I think of the shades, a shadow of a former boy cursed to indentured servitude. I frown and flutter my lashes, but the tears refuse to fall. The mirror keeps me company.

Sukuna falls into the pattern of bedding women. They cry into the night, pleading and sobbing into his sheets. He spurs them with his hand and laughs at their futility. Does he do this because he knows I can hear? Knows that I cannot sleep, hearing what he does?

Is Uraume blind? He is the same as those repugnant beasts, the ones who desecrated their dignity. I wake each morning with shadows under my eyes, squinted with exhaustion. He has not bedded me since I arrived, countless candles burning into cold pools of wax. I do not break into broken sobs like the women he forced himself onto.

I burn quietly, the irritation simmering at the back of my head and my neck. I do as I am told, looking at Megumi from afar, wondering what led him to this cruel fate. I stay inside the temple grounds, wandering as though I were a wraith. It feels awful, though I have grown accustomed to it. The waxing crescent of the moon shines on me, its silver plated craters greeting me with an elegant wave. Chilly autumnal winds blow through the fabric of my kosode, causing me to shiver.

I feel at peace; a month has passed by already, and I can’t help but feel restless. There’s an oxymoronic quality to my emotions since I have been left to my devices, a desire for connection and being content with my distance. I merely lick the cold off of my lips and close my eyes, fulfilled for the time being. The biting air nearly lulls me to sleep, Kaguya-hime singing me a lullaby.

“You really shouldn’t be so careless.”

My eyes flutter open, yet I stay still, basking in his warmth. I had not realized he was there, his hulking form pressed against my side. There’s an intoxicating scent in the air, sweetness enveloped in herbal notes. He puffs smoke into the evening air, white fading into a whimsical sky of indigo and amber gradients. The drug stings my eyes.

“You’re the cause of my carelessness,” I sigh, pressing myself further into his side.

“What, you didn’t enjoy the show? It was entertaining,” Sukuna snorts.

One of his arms slides against my hips, blunt nails skirting the dip of my waist. I involuntarily shiver, arching my back against him.

“What are you smoking?” I forget myself in the saccharine smoke, the nauseatingly fuzzy sensation overtaking my manners.

He considers me, taking a hold of my jaw and tilting my head upwards.

Sukuna exhales a long breath onto my face, making my eyelashes flutter from the mist. The sickly sweet aroma is starting to distort my perception. His four gray eyes stare into mine, watching as my irises overtake my pupils until they are but miniscule pinpricks. I let out a small breath as one of his large hands pulls my kosode up, exposing my thigh. It is a pendulum of sensation, moving back and forth.

Cold breezes ghost my skin with phantom touches. His palm keeps them at bay. Sukuna traces slow circles into my inner thigh, trailing warmth into my core. I exhale softly, gradually lifting my thigh at his touch. He stills as he sees the red underneath my robes, straightening himself. He pushes me onto the engawa and straddles my hips.

“Oh? You’re bleeding,” he coos, kneading the soft fat on my thighs. Sukuna’s brobdingnagian body leans over mine, his balsamic breath warming the top of my head. His two pairs of eyes scrutinize my body, one side of his face melded into a wave of wooden carvings, flesh mimicking the solid texture of trees.

“I am,” I mumble, staring back at him. His lips tug into a lopsided smile and his eyes darken. The rest of my robes are hiked up to my chest and I yelp at the swift smack against my folds, blood smearing against the palm of his hand. Sukuna salaciously licks my blood off of his hand, groaning.

“Mind your manners. I won’t repeat myself,” he says, grasping my thighs and pulling me towards him.

“Ah!” My back bows as he swirls his tongue against my clit, making my thighs squeeze his head. He digs his blunt nails into my thighs while he tastes me, the slick concoction of my menses and juices dripping onto his tongue.

“Ryomen…!”

Sharp claws pierce through the flesh of my thighs, digging indents of blood from my skin. I cry out and tremble as Sukuna drags his nails against the sides of my thighs, leaving angry red welts and weeping trails of ichor. He chuckles, languidly rubbing his fingers into my wounds.

“So easy to break.” He basks in my glassy eyes, relishing in my pain. He expects me to claw my own marks into one of his forearms and struggle against him. I do. I whine and look into those eyes made of slate, and feel his skin collect under my fingernails, his own mirrored red ribbons on his flesh. I surpass his expectations.

“More, my King,” I say, grasping one of his strong wrists. I push his black talons further into my flesh and I keen, trembling at the pain, the swinging pendulum.

He cackles and gleefully slams me further into the wooden floor. Another swing and the pain intertwines with the swipe of his tongue against my clit. Pain turns into pleasure and pleasure into pain. Coalesced sensations oscillating from each state to the next, my screams ringing throughout the shrine a testament to his glory. When I come to consciousness, I feel coldness flash against my thigh, then fat, then sinew. He’s taken a bite of me, a chunk of my flesh in his mouth.

My thigh screams as I shiver in place, but not of the cold. I attempt to speak, but my tongue fails me. In its place, my thighs move farther apart, even as I let out a warbled cry, the marbled pink of my muscle flexing. Holy tears run down my face, sanctifying my flesh. His four eyes are affixed to my body, cruor red anointed onto his canines, a stray ligament across his teeth.

“Delicious,” he croons.

Sukuna laps at the seams of my wound, flattening his tongue against the wavering strands of muscle. He moans. I bite my finger to tamp down my cries. One hand spreads my folds, dripping clear globs of slick marred with crimson. Another splits open and descends onto my cunt, his palm’s mouth ravishing me. My unwounded leg kicks out, rocking his pipe from its place on the engawa. I look at it as he renders me thoughtless. Teeth graze my clit and I cry out, my vision blurring.

“Please!”

His eyes are crescents as he partakes in my chastening, witnessing my desecration: my unbitten hand writhing and curling towards his discarded pipe, my diaphragm quaking with each discarded breath, the gossamer tears tainting my reddened cheeks, and the strings of sinew that quiver amongst my partially exposed femur. It delights him.

“Oh? You would be so forward as to interrupt my supper?”

I shake my head and shudder. “No… my Lord, I,” my pulse frantically rocks against my ribcage. “I want to be drugged.”

Sukuna’s eyes search for my countenance. He accedes after a few seconds, his fourth hand grabbing his pipe, another retracting from my slit and forming the Suchi mudra. He snaps his fingers and the orb of opium smolders in gold, its cocoon of black exorcized by his flame. “Swallow the smoke.”

I do as he says and briefly inhale, exhaling a sweet plume of smoke. Sukuna surrounds me, his chest to my back. His arms cover my diminutive frame, the monstrous appendages weaving amidst my legs, caressing my wounds.

The pain disappears and a fog of incomprehension falls over me. He presses languid kisses against my neck, where my carotid artery is. Nipping at my sensitive skin, leaving broken capillaries. I moan, throwing my head back. I roll my hips into the warmth behind me and chase the psychedelic pleasure, puffs of maudlin madness coursing through me. He merely grins, his charcoal claws burning into my thighs. There is a pleasant heat nestled upon my clit and I follow it, sliding myself against it. Sukuna hisses and his nails dig deeper into me.

“You naughty bitch.”

I yelp as he pushes my thighs together, his cocks sliding between my thighs. Each pass harshly nudges my clit. The crude sound of skin against skin echoes on the engawa, my blood and arousal smearing against him.

“Been waiting for this, haven’t you?” He erotically whispers, one of his hands latching onto my tit. It sensually suckles my nipple, swirling its tongue against my sensitive nub. I gasp. “Aching and wet for my cocks,” his hand digs into my open wound, “All the while I fucked another woman.” He sneers and his thumb drags fatty yellow ochre from my femur, making me twitch and pant.

I cannot tell what blood is from my wound and which is from my sex. I pant nonetheless. I mindlessly watch his glans rub against my thighs, his foreskin gliding back with each thrust. It is smeared with blood. The occlusion of pain brings forth an indescribable veil that settles across my vessel, nerves assuaged with mist and calm. Time runs fast for me, the pendulum skipping and carving its misshapen momentum into my aorta. Breathless sighs escape my mouth as he uses me.

Globs of cum slather into the mix of ichor and slick, painting a macabre picture amidst my legs. Sukuna catches his breath. In the midst of my drugged stupor, I had not heard him climax, my hearing as dazed as my head. He releases me and cleans himself with the soft hem of my kosode. A soft graze of his hand against my thigh and the wound is healed, the seams of my skin stitching itself whole. He stands and stares at me for a moment. I can feel his four eyes on my skin.

“You’re dismissed,” Sukuna states, turning on his heel towards the corridors.

He leaves me there, lying on the wooden floor with his cum on my thighs, and the bloodied remainder of his supper. I stagger in the halls, hands sliding against the walls to remain on my feet. The hypodermis of my thigh wails in its recreation, cells muttering their discontent. The opium silences it. I open a door closest to me when my leg begins to wobble. Uraume lifts their head, a scroll in their hand.

“Sorry,” I softly say, hobbling away from the doorframe. I must look disgusting.

They stop me with a raise of their hand and close their scroll, lightly stepping towards me. “Follow me.” Uraume takes my bloodied hand in theirs.

They take me to the familiar fusuma doors, a Makara[6] of celadon green guarding the bath. Igata and the others are nowhere to be seen. Their hands diligently scrub at the debris left by their master, soundlessly performing their duties.

“How is he any different from them?” Uraume’s hands turn cold at my words. “I don’t mean any disrespect. I genuinely want to see it through your eyes.” Their plum eyes thaw at my placating words, the cold seeping through their palms calming. Water trickles down my shoulders.

“What is hell to you?”

“Physical or theoretical?”

Uraume’s lips quirk at my wit. “Answer the question.”

I sigh. “If I had to describe it… then it’d be stagnation. Stuck in the same space, cycling through the same actions, suffering the same inconveniences… though that’s subjective.”

They tilt their head and knowingly smile. “Most humans would simply parrot ‘divine punishment’ and nothing more.” They wring the water out of the washcloth, gazing at the bubbles foaming at the surface.

“He brings forth the righteous law of hell. They burn from their willful ignorance. As pigs, they poison their own cyclic lives to roll around in avidya.” Uraume helps me out of the washtub. “It is a hell of their own making. Lord Sukuna merely accelerates the process.”

“You’re saying those women deserved it?”

They narrow their eyes. “Were they not from the settlement?”

My eyes widen and study their face, ensuring they speak the truth. “...If that’s the case,” I glance at the frothing foam bathed in opaline reflections.

I crouch and blow at the bubbles at the bath’s surface, snuffing their existence. “No comment.” I can tell my cursed energy gives me away, the rushing tide of colliding emotions encapsulated within my soul. Simmering anger washes over my head before rocking into silent splashes against the coast of my neck, soaking the sand with a pleased torrent. I feel no guilt. Uraume smiles and wraps a towel around my naked body.

“You’re dripping onto the floor.”

My self drips into the wax of the morrow as there is a silent night, a blown out candle describing me well. His flames creating my purpose, a pillar of fire setting the silver of my waxing crescent to turn in on itself. Something to behold when wanted, to melt into myself when left alone. I wonder why he even keeps me. There’s a ringing in my ears when I shuffle into the covers, mind endlessly speaking.

Am I useful to him? Do I have any sort of significance? I sigh and drag my hands through my hair. Staying in bed will not grant me any sort of shut-eye for tonight, it seems. I lift myself onto my side and see silk fabric waiting at my bedside. An extravagant black kimono unfurls in my hands, strings of silver guiding sprouting white camellias. The obi is a pearlescent white, shimmering a faint pink and blue. I exit my room, mandalas of ivory in tow. Dawn has risen. Sunburnt scarlet clings to my skin as I walk across the halls, admiring the simplicity of the temple.

One would think the King of Curses would decorate his home to the utmost opulence, yet he remains complacent. There’s a pattern of minimalism throughout the temple, excluding the honden, where the kami would be enshrined. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. In all likelihood, he is playing with his food. There is no other reason for me to be alive. The unmistakable sound of bones snapping whirrs in my head, the sickening slurp of synovial fluid. Those women never left his chambers.

I cannot find it in me to feel sad. The light scratching of my zoris distracts me as I walk into the courtyard, stone dyed a rusty rose. A cat made out of shadow prowls among the torii, curling its tail. It reminds me of the strays that used to skulk around before the curses came. I smile and quickly make kissing sounds to call it.

“C’mon, pretty kitty. How are you?” I coo, watching as it tentatively walks towards me, sniffing the air. “I don’t bite! Come here, baby.” It makes a small mrrp and bumps its side against my knees, the black fur solid against me. The cat smells of cedar, some sap streaks shine on its tail. “I’m glad I found you.” I rest my head on my forearms.

“I guess you’re used to being on your lonesome.” I look down and see a pair of grinning evergreen eyes, shocking a surprised smile out of me.

“Oh, you’re smart, aren’t you?” Megumi purrs as I continuously scratch the area behind his ears, gently smoothing out the inky down of his fur. “I thought you’d be more of a dog person,” I muse, earning me a swipe from a soft paw. He glares at me. “Okay, okay! I’ll forget about it,” I beam, closing my eyes. He huffs and walks a little distance away, his tail smacking the air. “C’mon, don’t be like that!” I lean on my knees, palms on the stone. “I haven’t seen you in forever,” I softly add, staring at him.

Megumi silently makes his way back to me, keeping a small gap of space between us.

“Sheee… ki… gahme,” he whispers. I look over my shoulder and side-eye him.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble?” The cat wavers as though its surface is cowed by an invisible mass, shivering for a second. Megumi weakly shakes his head. It serves to remind me that this shade was young, younger than me when he died. He purrs louder when I rub his chin.

“Gumi,” I start, my thumb pressing against my index finger in worry, the skin reddening from the pressure. “Do you miss your family?”

He blinks. “I mean, not that I ever had one in the first place. They were all kind of assholes, but that’s beside the point,” I clear my throat. “Do you ever miss someone? Someone you hold dear to your heart?”

Megumi lowers his head and averts my eyes. His eyes are glossy. “Go… joh,” he rasps.

The afterimage of him being slain runs through my head, a flash of white falling from the sky. Crimson occluded the cerulean that was once his eyes. Throughout the heavens and the earth, he alone was the honored one. “A shame,�� I hum softly. “Pretty sure I saw him die,” I carelessly say, missing the way his eyes widen and his tail puffs. “Wasn’t even sure he cared about anyone else but himself. He seemed like he had a lot on his plate at any given day. The type of guy that busies himself so he doesn’t have to think.” I tilt my head.

“Wonder if he was stuck in the past, with how much he moved. You only distract yourself that much when you want to ignore something, or someone.” I make a subdued noise of surprise when I turn and see Megumi’s face studying mine. He doesn’t say anything else. I sigh and turn my cheek, shutting my eyes. “One day I’ll be like you.” We stay close to each other until sunrise, when Amaterasu gracefully lifts her head and ascends to her throne in the sky. She beckons the sorcerer-turned-curse back to his gardens. I am alone again.

Breakfast is served. Thin, transparent slices of fish surrounded by magnolia leaves are on my plate. The meticulous way Uraume prepared it reminds me of the camellias on my kimono, a spiraling, sharp pattern. “You have been acclimating well,” they casually remark, breaking the silence. Chopsticks clink against ceramic.

“It’s peaceful here,” I admit. “Even if I do end up eaten whole, I wouldn’t be sad about it.” I stir the lines of yellow dripping from my poached egg, mixing it into the curry. “Your food is amazing, and I’m treated well. No complaints.”

Uraume looks at me curiously. “Most do not regard cannibalism with such a calm constitution.”

“Is it really cannibalism if the two of you are curses?”

They huff a laugh, shaking their head. “Curse or not, we were once humans.”

“Hm. Either way, it’s not that awful of a concept, at least to me. People see it as taboo, but they wouldn’t say a thing if they were starving.” I blow on a spoonful of curry and press it into my mouth. “We keep animals as pets, but the moment we have no food,” I snap my fingers. “We pick and choose what we eat when the time calls for it. Even if people try to wear a guise of civility.” The ice cubes in my glass chime as I drink.

“And what does that make you?”

“The same as the rest,” I purse my lips. “Being self-aware doesn’t clear my conscience or make me any better than others. Except when it does.” I think of my time spent in the settlement, how I was looked down upon for not selling myself over to the sorcerers. Eyes constantly darting, searching for a new reason to reproach me. I was not human to them. I was a commodity, something to be sold. As long as the sorcerers took me, they would receive rations, enough rations to feed the entire encampment and then some. They could call me cold-hearted all they wanted. Licking their own wounds by condemning me, I would be better off in the hands of curses. Ironic, really.

“Thank you, by the way.”

They blink at me, momentarily confused.

“For the food, and the clothes. I appreciate it,” I add. “You put a lot of effort into your craft and it shows.” Uraume closes their eyes and lightly bows their head.

“Of course. It would be a disservice if I could not live up to my Master’s expectations.”

He is not here. The shrine tells of his absence, the miasma of misfortune clouding the halls is subdued. Only the remnants of his energy remain. I sigh and wander the halls, seeking to aimlessly relieve my boredom. I come across a set of doors I have not seen before, lingering animosity manifesting in its entryway, sinking into my shoulders. This is the King’s room.

Cinnamon and clove perfumes his chambers, a large expanse of space with an even taller ceiling. Tiger furs brush against my tabi, white zori in hand. Shikibuton are layered amongst each other, their ample width covering most of the room. His covers are neatly pressed to his mattresses, with colorations of navy, black and gold. Fit for a King.

A tray of sliced pufferfish is at his bedside with the same four entrees I had eaten, although of much higher quantity. I take a deep breath and sigh. His scent relaxes me. I have enough sense to not disturb his covers, instead sitting on his pelts. I know I am trespassing. I cannot find it in me to care, settling onto my side and pressing my face into the tiger stripes. Sleep silences my thoughts.

Screams fill my dreams, of a bygone era and a seal broken. A young boy with the hair of peach blossoms flowers into gore, multiple arms blooming from the caverns of his broken abdomen. Resorption: finger after finger embed themselves into a soul incapable to resist. The vessel serves its purpose. My mind fluctuates from the past and future, flipping sceneries faster than I can comprehend, a metronome. It is inverted from the present, parallel to the pendulum. Fixed in place, it chants a mantra of memories that are not my own.

An ancient past where Sukuna signs a pact. Cursed stitches reveal a wide smile, someone lurking within a samurai’s brain. The name Kenjaku is whispered, a mother appearing with the very same scar, holding a newborn. The same boy who perished in the beginning, Yuji. Shadows free a body once sealed and Yuji is enchained. Sukuna hovers over his body and consumes his own flesh, a snake swallowing its own tail. Kundalini surges and he is reborn.

I startle awake, shivering at the implications.

“My, my. Is my stray cat scared?” Sukuna chuckles, his lower set of eyes closed. He seems relaxed. I sigh in relief as his hands stroke my hair, closing my eyes. He must have returned while I was sleeping.

“I was having visions, my Lord,” I softly say. He raises one of his brows.

“Oh?”

I squint my eyes at the rays of sunlight that peek through his curtains. “I see the past and future, when my curse wills it. You burrowed out of a boy’s chest.” He squishes my cheeks together with his hand, looking down on me.

“Anyone who bows to me knows of my resurgence.” I avoid his eyes, careful to look at the tattoos bordering his collarbone.

“You made a vow with Kenjaku to be sealed. They were your vassal, and Yuji your vessel.” He forces me to look at him. His face is serious, scrutinizing my form for any sign of a falsehood.

“If what you claim is true, how was I unsealed, hmm?” His thumb presses into my neck. I lick my lips, my heartbeat quickening.

“Megumi. Your living corpse was in the Ten Shadows technique. You held him hostage and ate yourself.” Sukuna smiles, leaning his head on his fist.

“Ah, wonderful memories. It truly was a massacre,” he says, gray eyes stuck in a far away memory. His thumb rises to brush against my lips. “Now a sibyl is in my grasp. How exciting,” he sneers, sharp teeth teasing his bottom lip. One of his hands reaches towards his nearly empty plate, popping a pufferfish testicle[7] into his maw. He groans at the savory taste, poison coating his tongue. “You know,” he starts, plucking a lemon slice from his plate. “It was by pure chance I hadn’t killed you.” He chomps into the citrus. “Seems like fate is smiling down upon you,” he drawls. “Be grateful.”

I close my eyes. “Thank you, my King.”

Sukuna is appeased by my deference, continuing to eat without any other comment. I nearly lull back to sleep until he snorts. “Come here,” he says, pointing at his leg. I groggily crawl onto his lap, my silk robes coming in contact with his cotton hakama. His hands grab onto my waist, and another reaches around me to undo my sash. It feels more intimate, somehow.

Sukuna unwraps me as though I were a bestowed offering, carefully slipping the silken camellias off of my skin. In spite of his gentle treatment, my kosode is crudely torn by his hand, exposing my breasts. He takes them in hand and teases them, circling my areolas. My breath hitches. I let out a soft moan as he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, rolling the other in between his fingers. A sharp movement of his hand, and the rest of my clothing is cleaved in two.

My right thigh twitches in a phantom pain. It remembers him taking a chunk out of me.

I trail the tattoos on his chest and feel the faint fuzz of his body hair, appreciating his smooth skin. Sukuna lets out a pleased rumble. “Please,” I whisper. He swats my ass and smiles, his canines digging into the skin of my shoulder.

“Be patient.”

He harshly bites me, swiping his tongue against my blood. I choke back a cry. Blood seeps from my shoulder to my bosom, trickling ropes of cerise against my chest. My slit soaks his navy hakama with blood. Sukuna growls, clawing through my skin. He adorns my hips with red ribbons, leaning down and lapping up the lifeblood at my breasts. “So sweet,” he says, his tongue flitting out to collect the blood smeared on his lips.

“Had I known a sibyl’s taste, I’d have slaughtered you on the spot.” His stygian talon rakes across the center of my torso, dipping into my flesh. I whimper as he slowly takes me apart. Periosteum arms wrap around my suspended organs, hugging my sternum and eclipsing the soft flesh of my lungs. He expertly separates my skin and sinew, basking in the glory of my gaping cavity. A sacrificial lamb at his service. Beyond the splitting pain is the burgeoning warmth at my sex, his shafts hardening underneath his hakama. His breath on my split breasts makes me shiver.

“Yes… you’ll do.”

》 Notes

[1]

Fusae's referring to Emperor Xuanzong of the Tang, who was written to have 3000 concubines. Believe it or not, this is a literary mistranslation from the poet Bai Juyi! He needed a number that fitted into his meter, so he went with sānqiān, or 3000. There was a fixed number of consorts an emperor could have in the Tang dynasty, which was 122.

[2]

Uraume recites verses from the Nirvana Sutra, an ancient buddhist script dating back to 200 CE. I used the original verses instead of the Iroha, a Heian poem (1079 CE) that's made from this specific verse. It was a hard decision, but I don't see them as a very poetic sort.

[3]

The truths of the Noble Ones, from Buddhism. The four truths are suffering, craving, confinement, & path; the final truth is referring to the Noble Eightfold Path. So much nobility...

[4]

A Buddhist koan, or a paradoxical anecdote. Uraume sure knows their stuff! They basically say, "Don't let fear consume your thoughts, for your potential will be held back."

[5]

Usually, a shrine has a Haiden & a Honden, or a prayer room & the heart of the shrine (which enshrines the God, or kami). However, since Sukuna has this doubling or merging motif going on, I mixed the two of them together. He's narcissistic anyway, so it'd make sense for him to meditate on himself.

[6]

A water monster from Hindu myth, often the mount of the god, Varuna. I've based a lot of Sukuna's symbolism on Shiva & Yama from Hinduism & Buddhism, so I mentioned his opposite element, water. A god of fire's gotta have some water, amiright?

[7]

Pufferfish testicles are a delicacy in Japan. They're highly toxic!

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk smut #jjk #sukuna ryomen

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suckerpunchfemale · 1 year

Text

Chapter Nine Below!!

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Cin strode into the Bronze Room the following morning, her eyes scanning the crowd of faces before her as they turned toward the doors upon her entry.

The morning air was thick with excitement, and the sounds of chattering children filled her ears, reminding her of the home she was leaving behind.

"Good morrow, children," Cin announced, pausing at the head of the table. The three nursemaids stepped away from the table, and she gestured to Castor beside her, saying, "You may recall Castor from yesterday. He will be in charge while the High Lord and I are away."

The children, especially Basil and Fern, gave Castor a thorough look up and down. Mischief etched on the older boys' faces, and Cin knew Castor would need to have some hair on his teeth. Cin's gaze swept over the hall, noticing the lack of the white-haired siblings, and she frowned. "Where are Aeson and Aetlani?"

"Poppy took 'em to the latrine," Azalea replied, her mouth full of food.

Cin hummed her thanks, feeling a tinge of disappointment that she had missed the opportunity to say farewell to the little boy she had shared a cup of chocolate with. She would have loved nothing more than to wait for their return, but Tamlin and their entourage stood in the gardens waiting for her. She had stepped away to reintroduce Castor, but also to say her goodbyes. "Well, be good, okay?" she said awkwardly, unsure if she had any right to ask for good behavior.

"We will," Moss called out from the end of the table, rising to dish more scrambled eggs onto his plate.

Cin retreated to the hallway, and as she descended the stairs, Abina fell in step beside her. Handing Cin a hefty satchel, Abina said, "This will tide you over until you return—one cup every morning before breakfast to ensure you don't return with any surprises. I've also added your notebook with your refillable inked quill."

"And the ink pot?" Cin asked, furrowing her brow in confusion.

Abina looked amused. "No, but Ander was instructed to keep an extra pot on hand for you. He'll be your squire as much as he is Tamlin's. I really think you should consider—"

"I have considered it," Cin interrupted with a sigh, reaching the lower landing and turning to descend the final set of steps. "I am not hiring someone to be my Lady's Maid. There are enough staff waiting on my hand and foot as it is. Any more and I may run for the hills."

"The Lady's Maid would help you with your duties. She need not dress and bathe you like most do," Abina reasoned. She desperately wanted Cin to have the help she felt the Lady of Spring needed. "She would keep track of your engagements and responsibilities."

Cin chuckled. "There was a time when my only duty would have been to give the High Lord an heir." She slung the satchel over her head and hung it across her body, feeling the weight of it. The wildflowers were in full bloom, giving the foyer the most refreshing and pleasant morning aroma.

Abina scoffed as they strode into the side hallway, heading towards the doors that would lead to the inner garden. "You should have thought about that before you decided to save this court."

As they approached, Cin saw Tamlin speaking to Enzo, Ander, and Dannas, with Quiet Jon positioned behind her. The additional sentries Enzo had assigned stood in a line, three and two behind their High Lord. When they joined the group, Quiet Jon repositioned himself to stand ahead of the two sentries, bringing the total number of sentries to six.

Rafe led the second line, with Haden behind him. Despite being her personal guard, Quiet Jon's vow of silence defected his authority to Rafe, leaving Quiet Jon as her oathbound sentry.

"When Hart passes through with his new group, house them in the East Wing," Tamlin instructed, folding his arms across his chest. "No need to expose those children to militant prospects."

"Agreed, my Lord," Enzo nodded, hanging onto every word that left his High Lord's lips. Tamlin's eyes flickered to Cin, and his gaze softened. "Ready to go?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," she replied, reaching out to grasp his outstretched hand. Up until this moment, everything Cin had done for Spring had been from the safety of their home or the vegetation fields on the hills behind the Mansion. But from the moment they touched down in Monardo, everything she did for Spring would be under her new title, in the light of the sun.

Abina beamed with pride and excitement, her smile stretching from ear to ear, while Castor wished them joyous tidings on their trip. Tamlin gave them a curt nod and then winnowed the group to the boundary gates of Monardo.

As Cin and Tamlin materialized, the crowd erupted into cheers and Lord Bryony welcomed the High Lord and his bride-to-be.

Even though it had been centuries since a High Lord had taken a woman to wed, the traditions were still alive and well. Lord Bryony draped a gladiolus-woven cloak over Tamlin's broad shoulders before placing a flower crown of white lilies and red roses atop Cin's head.

Tamlin helped Cin onto the horse that had been prepared for her, his strong arms wrapping around her waist before he climbed onto his own horse. Meanwhile, Dannas and Ander piled their trunks onto the carriage, and Lord Bryony mounted his own horse, preparing to lead them into Monardo. Three sentries walked on either side of the procession as they made their way into the village, the cheers of the crowd echoing in their ears.

But as they rode, the cheers turned into a soft hum that turned into a buzz and then a whisper that called Cin's name. Above the cheering crowds, the lilies atop her head sang, Hyacinth, oh the secrets we bring, while the roses added, What will you give us?

Cin tried to ignore them, plastering a smile on her face and muttering, "Leave me be."

But the flowers wouldn't let up, their mocking tone becoming more insistent. But you must know, they giggled, You must know what they say about She Who Brings Joy To The Beast.

Cin's smile wavered, and her throat tightened as the flowers and cut grass were thrown onto the road beneath their horses' hooves.

But you must know, they sneered, You must know how they speak of a newfound grace, a light that shines upon her face as she parades the Beast, reformed.

Cin focused on the cheering crowd, trying to block out the flowers' taunts. But they only grew louder, You must know that your path is fraught with danger. A life forever changed, a world filled with anger.

Sharp words pierced through the air, calling out to her, Hear us, She Who Would Be Called Tulip! and She Who Would Be Seen Dead!

Cin's heart raced as the weight of their words sank in. The path she had chosen had always been treacherous, but she had never fully grasped the extent of the dangers. As she rode, the flowers' whispers echoed in her mind, a constant reminder of the peril that lurked around every corner.

The lilies atop Cin's head screamed their warning, while the roses around them mocked mercilessly. Their cruel words sliced into her like knives, making her heart race and her palms sweat. The clamor of the cheering crowd blended together with the voices of the flowers, creating a deafening noise that suffocated her. The weight of the world seemed to press down on her chest, crushing her lungs and making it impossible to breathe.

Cin attempted to control her breathing, but the panic was too strong, too overwhelming. She gasped for air, her chest heaving as she struggled to stay upright on her horse. Terrifying thoughts raced through her mind, one after another. She felt like she was drowning, with no one to save her. The world around her blurred and twisted, as though reality itself was warping and contorting under the weight of her fear.

Suddenly, a blood curdling shriek pierced the air. The once-veiled threats now turned into terrifying screams, echoing in her ears. The horses trampled over the cut flowers thrown on the ground, and the noise intensified. Cin tightened her grip on the reins, struggling to keep the shaking under control. The flower crown on her head felt like a lead weight, and she fought the urge to tear it off. Every muscle in her body was tense, ready to lash out at the flowers and the crowd, but she didn't have the strength. She was trapped in a nightmare, unable to wake up or escape.

Her thoughts were a tangled mess, racing through her mind like wildfire, threatening to consume her. Cin felt like she was teetering on the edge of a precipice, ready to fall apart at any moment. The world spun out of control, and she struggled to hold on to any sense of stability. She felt herself slipping away, losing her grip on reality, and it terrified her. How much longer could she endure this before she shattered completely? How could she ever hope to be the Lady of Spring if flowers in bloom had the potential to bring about her personal ruin?

With a soft pop, the world fell away and was replaced by a sudden and profound silence that felt almost deafening, as if the very air had been sucked out of the world.

For a moment, Cin felt like she was floating in a void, disconnected from everything around her. Then she heard the sound of her own heartbeat and breathing, and she realized that the quiet was a cocoon, a shelter from the chaos that had been threatening to consume her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt a gentle breeze swirl around her, carrying the scent of Tamlin's vanilla and sandalwood. It was a comfort, a lifeline, and she clung to it as she looked up at him.

His eyes were filled with concern, love, and an understanding of what she was going through. He had used his magic to shield her from the world, giving her a moment of respite.

With Tamlin's protection still lingering around her, Cin took a deep breath and squared her shoulders, determined to keep her composure. Keeping her chin lifted and her warmest smile in place, they approached the inn, dismounted from their horses, and Cin removed the floral crown in a nonchalant way, as though it were the easiest thing in the world.

She glanced around, taking in the surroundings as the muted sounds of the world gradually returned.

The inn was a quaint, four-story building with a thatched roof and wooden shutters. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat wafted from the open windows, and the sound of chatter and laughter could be heard from within.

Lord Bryony gestured for her to follow him, and Cin fell into step behind him. They entered the lobby, and Cin's eyes widened in awe. The room was decorated with lush tapestries in rich shades of green and gold. A large, roaring fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the room. The warmth of the fire enveloped her, and she could feel the heat against her skin and hear the sound of the flames dancing. The floor was made of smooth, polished stone, and a thick, colorful rug lay in the center of the room.

The furniture was made of dark, sturdy wood, with plush cushions upholstered in green velvet. Several cozy nooks with armchairs and small tables were perfect for intimate conversations. A long wooden bar dominated one wall, with shelves of bottles and jars lined up behind it. The air was filled with the scent of burning logs, and the ambiance was peaceful and inviting.

Cin's gaze flickered over to the bar where a group of men huddled together, sharing drinks and laughing. A twinge of nervousness twisted her stomach as she wondered if they were staring at her. However, she quickly pushed the feeling aside and focused on Lord Bryony as he introduced them to the innkeeper.

"This is Heath," Lord Bryony said, gesturing to the innkeeper, "he has reserved the entire first floor for us."

"The first floor?" Cin frowned.

The innkeeper chuckled nervously, casting a quick glance at their entourage. Of course, they would need multiple rooms. Tamlin cleared his throat. "Well, lead the way."

As they climbed the pine stairs behind the dark wood reception desk, with the big black book flipped open atop it, Heath launched into the tale of how the inn was founded.

Upon entering the grand suite, the soft glow of the fire danced around the room. The entourage filed in behind Tamlin and Cin, branching off to attend to their duties. Cin wasted no time admiring the beauty of the room, her gaze wandering from the intricate carvings on the four-poster bed to the plush cushions on the chaise lounge. She let out a contented sigh and sank into one of the soft chairs before the fireplace, enjoying its warmth.

Tamlin watched as Cin relaxed into the comfortable chair, a small smile playing on his lips. He walked over to her and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Are you alright?"

Cin leaned her head back against the chair and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "As alright as I can be," she murmured.

Meanwhile, Danas waited patiently by the door as the sentries searched the suite and the adjoining rooms. Once they gave the all-clear, he efficiently unpacked their trunks into the armoire.

As Cin rested by the fire, Tamlin surveyed the room. The grand suite was spacious and opulent, with a large four-poster bed in the center of the room, draped in soft linens and furs. A writing desk sat in the corner, with quills and ink pots at the ready.

"Everyone out," Tamlin commanded, his arms folded across his chest. "I need a moment alone with my Lady."

"I'm sure we can spare you a few minutes, my lord—" Lord Bryony began, but Tamlin raised a hand to silence him and looked at Quiet Jon. "No one comes in until I come out."

"But, my lord, the announcement—"

"We won't be taking the stage until after lunch, Lord Bryony. As that's still hours away, I don't see why you all need to be here right now."

Without further instruction, Quiet Jon held the door open for Lord Bryony. The lord hesitated, then conceded and strode out of the room. Once everyone had filed out, except for Danas, Tamlin threw himself down onto the sofa beside her, his eyes filled with concern as she rested her head on his chest.

"What happened, Cin?" Tamlin asked urgently. "What did the flowers say to you?"

For a moment, Cin considered not telling him, but keeping things from the man who would be her husband this early in their courtship was never a good sign.

So she told him everything the flowers had said.

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