The Witch Of The Mountain
Yandere Sukuna x Reader
Are monsters capable of love? Ask the girl in the cage
The “witch” survived the fire. The witch survived the hate. The witch did not survive being loved by the monster. You did not survive Sukuna
Warnings : MDNI, 18+, Yandere, Heian Sukuna, captivity, obsession, dead dove do not eat, single mother reader, dark, fanfic, death of side characters (Brief), period typical misogyny, power imbalance, coercive control.
ONESHOT
Heian era
The villagers called you a witch.
You had heard every version of your own story.
That you had lain with a demon to get your power. That your son had no father because you’d eaten him. That the herbs you grew in your garden could kill a man three ways depending on how you ground them.
Two of those things were true.
You had survived seventeen winters on this mountain by being useful, by answering the door when the village women came in secret… my husband doesn’t know I’m here, please, I can’t have another child, I just can’t…. and by keeping your mouth shut about every secret you carried.
You kept records in your head because writing anything down would’ve been the last mistake you ever made.
The stake had come close enough. You still remember the rage of that crowd,the voices rising together, “Burn the witch.”
The way your son had screamed, just two years old and not understanding why everyone was so angry at his mother. You had kept your face still because you refused to give them the satisfaction of watching you break.
The village leader’s son had developed something rotting in his leg the next morning.
And suddenly, the witch was no longer meant for burning. They spared your life in exchange for the cure.
Funny how that worked.
The village still looked at you with the same hate in their eyes when they came to collect remedies.
Sukuna
You knew something was wrong the morning your dog wouldn’t stop whining.
Animals didn’t lie. People did.
The dog stayed near the treeline and refused to move, ears flat, and you stood in your doorway looking out at the mountain and felt, deep in your bones, that something was up there, and it was moving closer to you door.
You got your son inside and put him to sleep with something mild in his evening broth, because you needed him unconscious and not screaming. Then you sat at your table with a knife that would be useless against a real danger.
The protection ward you had built into the mountain path stung something. You felt it like a vibration behind your teeth.
Whatever it had stung didn’t stop walking.
When Sukuna made his way down toward your home, he wasn’t expecting much.
He had come to kill you because you were a mild inconvenience.
Some witch on a mountain whose remedies had broken a curse he’d placed on a valley three weeks prior. Not on purpose, apparently. Just a woman who grew herbs and didn’t know what she was touching. He’d planned to spend maybe four minutes here.
Then your protection ward hit him.
It wasn’t strong but it was precise. Something had built that ward understanding exactly what kind of cursed energy would be passing through, and that was not something a village witch was supposed to be able to do.
He stood in front of a small house and looked at the door and felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time, which was mild curiosity.
Interesting.
You
You opened the door before he knocked.
That was the first thing he noticed
You looked at him the way one looks at a flood… not like you think you can stop it, but like you’re already calculating which direction you can run.
He could see the fear in your eyes. You weren’t hiding it from him. You were holding it the same way you held your posture, straight backed, chin up, like if you stood your ground the world would leave you alone.
“You’re the thing that tripped my ward,” you said.
He had expected screaming. Pleas for mercy. Tears. This, however, was far more interesting.
Sukuna looked at you for a moment.
“You built it well,” he said. “For a woman who doesn’t know what she’s doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.” Your hands were shaking but your chin tipped up, daring him to contradict you “I don’t know what you’re doing here.”
“Did you really think a barrier would stop me?” The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, like he was savoring the look on your face.
You swallowed hard, steadying yourself with a deep breath. You didn’t step back
“Why are you here?” you asked. “Is this about the curse I exorcised?”
He stared at you, eyes narrowing slightly, like he was trying to decide whether you were brave or simply stupid. “You’re a strange little thing”
Sukuna
He didn’t know what made him stay.
He’d come to kill you and instead he was standing in your house watching you make tea with hands that wouldn’t quite stop shaking, and he found he didn’t feel like leaving yet.
You were trying keeping your voice steady, probably hoping that if you were useful enough the monster at your table would go away satisfied. He’d seen it before in royal councils and battlefields. People bargaining for their lives with intelligence instead of begging.
“Your ward targeted my cursed energy directly,” he said as you set a cup in front of him that he did not touch. “Who taught you that?”
“No one.” You sat across from him, which took some nerve. “I worked it out.”
There was a sound from the room down the hall. A child turning over in sleep.
Your body reacted before your mind did, putting yourself between him and the room as if your flesh and bone could stop him.
Sukuna said nothing. A faint smirk tugged on his lips as he turned and left.
You were relieved, unaware that it marked the beginning of something far worse.
You
The first visit you had survived.
The second time he appeared in the woods you thought you were dead.
The third time you were almost… almost… starting to understand the shape of what was happening.
He didn’t want your remedies. He didn’t want anything you could name. He asked you questions about your work, interrupted your answers, corrected you twice about curse theory and you couldn’t argue because he was right, and left without explanation each time.
The village found out. Of course.
Now instead of just witch they called you demon’s whore and you just laughed at that.
“Your village hates you,” he said once, watching from your doorway while you worked.
“My village has always hated me,” you said. “They just hate me more now that something they’re afraid of seems to prefer my company.”
“Does that bother you.”
“No,” you scoffed softly. “I stopped letting them bother me a long time ago. They were going to burn me but then they needed my remedy. That’s all people are.”
Something changed in his face. It wasn’t obvious, but it wasn’t nothing either. His jaw tightened. His eyes went colder. You didn’t know what it meant, only that it felt dangerous.
Sukuna
Here’s what Sukuna would never tell anyone….
You were the only person he had spoken to in three hundred years who didn’t measure her words before she let them out.
Not because you were reckless… you weren’t. You were careful in the way only survivors are. You were just too tired to pretend anymore.
You had already burned through all your performances keeping yourself alive.
He came back because he wanted to watch you work. That was the justification he let himself have.
He came back because something about you mixing herbs with shaking hands and steady eyes made him want to see what else you could hold.
He didn’t name the feeling growing in his chest. He had no interest in naming it.
But he started noticing things.
The shadows under your eyes when your son was sick. The way you never ate until the child had eaten. The way you forgot yourself the moment he needed you.
It made him furious in a way he couldn’t explain.
You
The end of of the life you had built… came on a winter night when the village finally decided that a witch friendly with a monster was a worse witch than a regular one.
They came in a group, torches burning in their hands like before
You got your son up and got him to the back window. You had a route planned… you’d always had an escape plan, you weren’t stupid.
Sukuna was already standing in the yard when you came out the back.
He looked at the mob. Looked at you.
Then he turned to the crowd and did something you couldn’t bring yourself to watch. You heard the crack of bones, the thud of bodies hitting the ground.
When it was quiet you were shaking so hard you could barely hold your son.
“You can’t stay here,” he said, his gaze checking you over as if to make sure you were unharmed.
“I know,”
“You’ll come with me.”
You looked up at him. Your son had his face buried in your neck. The torches were still burning but there was no one left to hold them.
“Take me with you.”
You went willingly. Like a silly little rabbit stepping right where the rope was waiting. Oh, you sweet, foolish thing.
The cage
A year is a long time to understand you made the wrong choice.
You know that now. Sitting on the floor of his chamber with the chain loose around your ankle… like he’d thought about your comfort…. you know it the way you know your own heartbeat… a useless information.
You remember the first month clearly because it had been fine…. more than fine. It was perfect
That was the trap of it. That was the thing you couldn’t have known… that a monster could be patient enough to let you feel safe first.
He had given you rooms. Given your son a nursemaid, a woman who was kind enough.
Given you access to a garden. Herbs to grow, to use as you pleased. You had thought… you had genuinely thought… this is what salvation looked like.
You had been grateful to him. Felt something warm and treacherous in your chest when he came to sit with you and asked about your work like he actually wanted to know.
He was the first person in seventeen years who’d spoken to you like you were worth listening to. Not a witch. Not a threat. Just… a normal person who knew things worth knowing.
You had been so starved for it.. you hadn’t noticed the doors locking behind you.
It started small.
You couldn’t visit your son after dark…. “He needs routine.” You couldn’t walk the outer corridors without an escort… “it isn’t safe.”You couldn’t send word outside… “who would you send to? Your village is gone. There’s no one.”
All of it reasonable. All of it said softly, without anger.
By month four you understood that you hadn’t seen your son unsupervised in six weeks. That every hour of your day existed within whatever radius Sukuna had silently decided.
That his attention… which had felt like warmth… was flames consuming you.
You had tried to talk to him about it. You knew how to talk to difficult men who had power over you, which was a skill you had been practicing your whole life.
“I need to spend more time with my son,” you said.
“You’ll see him tomorrow.”
“I need to see him today. Please. He’s two years old and he barely knows my face anymore and I need…”
“Tomorrow.”
Just like that…he closed the door with no handle on your side.
That was the night you stopped sleeping well.
By month six you weren’t sleeping at all. You would lie in the dark and feel the walls of his chamber laughing at your misery and think about the mountain… the cold, the isolation, the vile looks from villagers who would spit near your feet and then knock on your door at midnight for help with a difficult birth.
You thought about how you had hated it. But the hatred at least had air in it.
The feeling that the world was large and you were small in it but free in that smallness.
Here you were everything to someone who wanted everything, and it was suffocating.
You planned the escape when it became unbearable. You waited for a shift change you had memorized. Got your son from the nurse’s room while the woman slept, the boy confused and sleepy and mercifully quiet. You had made it forty feet down the outer corridor.
Sukuna was standing at the end of it.
You suspected he had always known, that he had watched you plan it…. Like a moth circling a flame…. interested in how long it takes.
He looked at you then looked at your son on your hip.
You held your son tighter
“Give him back to the nurse,” he said softly. He never raised his voice at you. The affection in his voice was reserved only for you.
You didn’t sleep for three days after that. The chain was on your ankles by morning.
That was five months ago.
Now you sit on the floor because you prefer it to the bed, small resistances being all you have left.
The chain is long enough to reach the window but not open it. Enough to make you feel like maybe it isn’t that bad.
Your son comes in the mornings. If you’ve been cooperative. If you’ve been…. good. The boy is healthy. Fed. Clothed. He calls you mama and climbs into your lap and you hold him with both arms and count the minutes because you know how many you get.
Sukuna comes in the evenings and looks at you like he can finally breathe. That same suffocating love
“Say it back,” he told you last night.
“No,”
“Then the chain stays.” He said calmly, but his eyes looked hurt
“Then the chain stays,” you turned your face to the wall.
He had told you plainly, the first night after the escape…
“I will keep you here until you return what I feel. I am not in a hurry.”
***
You had survived the stake.
Six winters. A mob. A monster’s first visit.
You did not survive being loved
A dove caught is still a dove.
But the cage is warm
and the captor is patient
A/n : Your Reblogs and comments are appreciated
Not proofread. I’m sorry . You are 26 in this fic.
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