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[4k3chi]

╰⪼ 4k3chi

About me: I go by Akechi, African American, any pronouns, pansexual.

About the blog: 18+ content. Ageless/ blank blogs will be blocked. multifandom. Male and gn reader friendly.

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[burgojo]

DISTURBIA. MAHITO / M!READER

summary. in the golden age of jujutsu, mahito had you, and lost you. a thousand years later, he seeks to bring you back.

wc. 9.1k

tags. smut | sub bottom mahito, top reader, heian era!mahito & cursed spirit!reader (manifestation of fear of night/absence of light), reader had a cult/worshippers. mention of blood & gore. mahito with a pussy, size difference, breeding kink, mention of babytrapping. fingering + oral (mahito receiving), doggystyle, exhibitionism (mention of others overhearing), jealousy, praise, multiple orgasms (mahito receiving), creampie, ahegao (?), god kink (reader), temp play (reader is naturally cold)

notes. obligatory ooc warning. also, i made up a lot of lore for the reader('s abilities), so scroll down about halfway to skip it and get to the good part :)

[ requested ]

Deep in the beech forests of Northeast Japan, Geto Suguru stands delicately amongst the verdant green undergrowth. He glances around, petting his large winged cursed spirit absently, and gathers his long dark robes in a hand. He glances over his shoulder.

"Despite your insistence on coming here, you've been awfully quiet. Is it not what you imagined?"

Bent at the waist to inspect massive green leaves as large as his face, Mahito looks up. "Huh? Oh, I was just curious about how they went about their plan. This place is maaassive. How are we supposed to find him? Maybe they cut him up? Sprinkled him from the highest mountain?" He sighs. "Whatever they did – they chose a green place to do it. Hanami would probably like it."

Dismissing his cursed spirit with a wave of his hand, Suguru chooses a direction and begins to move. He doesn't so much as walk as glide, his long skirts and the heavy undergrowth obscuring his steps. The tall, slim beeches are set just far enough apart for one person to slip between their trunks, and Mahito is forced to fall into step behind Suguru.

He flexes his fingers; stretches his arms; kicks ferns. Twigs tug at his hair and he huffs, glaring at the tree that dared touch him. He clasps the section of hair to his chest, dragging his slim fingers through it obsessively.

"You're twitchy," Suguru says without turning around. "You never did say how you heard of this curse. Seeing as you're not busy running your mouth, why don't you tell me now?"

Mahito sighs, skipping over a fallen log overrun with moss. He gazes up at the trees and notices the way the thick emerald canopy filters the sunlight until all that's left is an even, misty glow. Shadows are soft and deep around here.

"Not much to say," he hums thoughtfully, knocking a branch out of his way. "Lotta curses back in the day. Just makes sense to have some hidden around the place."

"Yes, but how did you come across such old records? Surely sorcerers would've kept something like that far, far away from prying eyes."

"Humans get tired. They get clumsy. They misplace things."

Suguru raises a brow. "And you kept it? For a thousand years, without purpose?"

Airily, he says, "So what if I did? You really expect me to act like one of you, doin' things with reason and purpose? C'mon. I liked the pictures on it."

He may think Suguru falls for it, but Suguru is nothing if not perceptive. Mahito flings his arms out too wide. Each stride is too long, each twirl around a slender beech too motivated – no, he sees it all. He's playing at carelessness when it couldn't be further from the truth.

Absurdly human of him, really.

Suguru hums, halting in his tracks. Mahito almost bumps into him. Again – too eager. Suguru lifts a hand, palm down and fingers splayed, and closes his eyes. Thrums of warm sorcery crackle through his veins – weak, barely trace amounts. Expected for thousand-year-old jujutsu. To be able to feel it still was a feat all in itself. Just how intense was the battle that raged here?

"We should be right in front of it," Suguru claims, dropping his hand and opening his eyes. They stand before a slight ridge of the earth, exposed tree roots weaving in and out of rich brown soil. A heavy blanket of moss hangs over the ridge and ivy grows beneath their feet. "Yet... I don't sense any spirits nearby."

"Hey," says Mahito suddenly. "The scroll mentioned a 'tomb'. You said in front of ya, yeah?"

Nodding, Suguru folds his hands within his robes. He watches as Mahito's arm lengthens into a massive cleaver, and he steps back at the wicked smile that spreads across his lips.

Mahito lifts his arm, pale eyes glinting dangerously. "Man, I so hope I'm right!"

With a slam that rumbles the ground beneath their feet and strips the nearby trees of their leaves, Mahito splits the earthen mound before him clean in two, leaving a shallow ravine that extends into the horizon. The soft earth parts like melted butter, soil and chipped wood exploding forth with such strength that Suguru narrowly avoids a pointed root that embeds itself into the trunk behind him.

When the dirt and leaves settle, they reveal the chiselled stone set into the earth. Split not quite perfectly in half – for Mahito loves chaos, and halves are better off-kilter – is a room carved into stone, hollowed out with a single podium erupting from the centre.

Upon the roughly-carved podium is a mid-sized box plastered with ancient seals and talismans. Peeking inside reveals that the inside of the 'room' is covered in the stuff, too – old, yellow, and faded, they flutter from wind they haven't felt in aeons. One peels off and comes to rest gently at Mahito's feet.

"Huh," he says eventually, staring at the cuttingly-familiar brushstrokes. He reaches for the wooden box, soft and rotted with age. The moment his fingers brush the surface, he pulls back with a jerk and makes a face. "Ouch! Spicy."

"Strong seals," Suguru comments, making no move to help. Mahito huffs and blasts the talismans away with a burst of cursed energy, testing the now-bare box with the tips of his fingers like one might with a freshly-microwaved plate.

He cracks the box open. Inside, innocent as a fresh lamb, lays a shallow, red-lacquered suzuri-bako.

"A... writing box?" Mahito murmurs to himself. He reaches in and takes the smooth box into his hands. It feels much heavier than it should, and an oppressive weight shudders through him, dark and cold and familiar. "Geto-san? It's a cage. I don't have the key."

"Let me take a look." Suguru stretches out a hand.

For a fleeting moment, Mahito hesitates – the slightest tilt of the box towards his chest. And Suguru knows.

With a growing smile, Suguru folds his hand back into his long sleeves. "Ah... I see. You know this spirit."

"I—" He pauses. "Maybe. Once upon a time."

"Interesting," says Suguru, "that something as old as this still has an effect on you."

"Nah – boring, actually. I'm old and sentimental." He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. He chuckles and tosses his hair over his shoulder, tracing the edges of the box. Power tingles against his skin. "Pretty thing, for a cage. Maybe I could just – ease it open—"

Suguru raises his long sleeve to shield his face as the box pulses with a sudden, growling shockwave, forcing him to step back to keep his balance. The ferns sway around his knees.

Mahito clicks his tongue, a pout forming on his lips. "Damn it! This should be simple!"

The second attempt has the birds squawking and flying into the skies as the surrounding trees shudder violently. For the third, Suguru winces slightly as Mahito slams his fist – a giant mallet – against the box, resulting in another shockwave of barbed cursed energy. He lifts a hand, placating.

"Ah, Mahito... Perhaps I can give it a go?" he suggests. "It may need a... sorcerer's touch."

Mahito's eyes widen. Of course! Those ancient douche-canoes probably knew he would come for what was his. It only made sense to weave his name into the seals.

"By all means," he replies, stepping aside. "Take a gander."

Stepping forward, Suguru tugs his sleeve to his elbow and scoops up the box from the floor. He dusts off the cover. "Lovely craftsmanship," he muses and hovers his palm over it despite every nerve in his body writhing and begging to pull away. Some instinctual, ancient force warns him off it. He lets energy seep into the age-made cracks in the seals, and from within, gently burns away the net holding its prisoner still – like taking a lighter to the end of a frayed rope, creating spaces big enough to squeeze through.

The lid cracks open.

Like a floodgate opening, freezing shadows and smoke pour out of the gap, forcing the lid to clatter uselessly to the ground. Darkness bleeds down the walls. Suguru's eyes widen as his pale fingers, deep within the thick black smoke continuing to billow forth, begin to turn blue at the tips, visible frost surging over his skin. Smoke fills the air around them, fading out the sun until it could be a misty grey night. Rivers of shadow pool thickly around his knees until he can't see his feet, and he hurries to set the box on the podium.

As he lets go, a shadowy tendril curls around his exposed hand and arm, burning white frost into his skin. His breath hitches.

A freezing hand seizes his wrist. Inch-long black nails dig rivulets of blood – his red, all-too-human blood – out of him, and his heart plummets at the sight of the hand, wrapped completely around his forearm as if it's a thin piece of rope. On instinct, he yanks back, and the hand comes with.

Then, a flood of smoky shadow spews from the open box – and a cowled figure claws its way out, formed from the very shadows that plunged them into a sudden night. It rises and straightens, towering over them both.

Suguru's arm hurts. He clutches his wrist, his blood coagulating over the delicately-patterned frost, and chances a glance back at Mahito.

Arms spread wide and palms open, an unnervingly breathless smile plastered on his lips, Mahito gazes up at the wispy figure unblinkingly. Wide-eyed and panting softly, he laughs – bright and jubilant, victorious.

"Yes! Yes! There you are!"

He skips past Suguru, giggling madly as he takes one large, clawed hand in both his own. He presses the palm to his cheek as he hops in place, stretching up to reach for the round silver brooch pinning the cloak of shadows together over the shoulder. He hasn't seen his eyes in so long, and this stupid hood is in the way!

Mahito?

The voice comes from within Suguru's head. But, unlike Hanami's, this voice slithers among his own thoughts, slipping between them as light as a ghost. It could've been his own, for all he knew, except for the fact it carries a sorrow so profound it eclipses every other thought – he can focus on nothing else.

—

Everything is on fire. Everything is on fire and it is all because of you.

Of course, the fire was the easy part. One day, perhaps your beloved will forgive you for using such an overzealous amount of cursed energy to make your grand entrance. It completely overshadowed his own.

Everything would change here. It would be your end, or your beginning. Before you stand the most powerful sorcerers in the land, all gathered to rise against you one final time – or die trying.

All so tense. A sigh flutters through your lips as you brush a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. Mahito has influenced you too much – you are bare from shoulder-to-waist, oil-slick blood coating your arms up to the elbows, and facing the strongest adversaries you have ever met. Yet, all you can fret about is your poor hakama, now no more than a shred of memory. You donned your best silks for this, and the first thing the cruel little bugs did was burn it off you.

At the very least, your sashinuki may be salvageable.

"You are strong," a white-haired sorcerer calls above the roar of the flames towering into the sky. "Some call you divine and pray to you for aid, but you do not listen."

"I listen," you reply coolly, and slick back your hair with a blood-soaked palm. "I help them to lose the burden of their regrets and relieve their physical pains. I daresay I help more than you."

"They call you a healer, but what you do is not healing. Once, you numbed a man to his wounds until he fell to exhaustion fighting in your name. You are a spiteful creature. Desperation is your lure."

"If I hear it, I answer. If they think I am their saviour, who am I to disagree? It's a rather pretty title – though, it is amusing to be lord of maggots. I like to watch them squirm."

How did a curse of night, of the endless dark, grow so powerful? Every secret done in the dark, every lie and gnawing shame, was yours. There had always been something different about you, and they were fools to ignore it, even upon your first meeting:

You, tall and regal, kimono the darkest shade of navy blue damask, had been nothing like their other curses. You looked quite human. Perhaps there was something godly in your stride, something primordial in your voice, that cowed them all like children. You spoke to them, soft and paternal, and suddenly, each and every one of them was afraid of the dark and you were their only solace against the monsters beyond the window.

Enchantment, they'd called it, upon blinking awake and finding you gone. Perhaps it was your domain, to cull their thoughts until all that remained was the ancient instinct to fear the black night. Had you heard them discussing you, hands shaking and faces drained of blood, you would have laughed.

—

Suguru's eyes flicker, and the scene flips to a forest clearing.

—

"Mahito!"

The cry of his name is guttural, a thousand voices coalescing into a roar and a shriek. Across the battlefield, he falls, and you catch the flames reflecting in the shine of his widened eyes as he grasps the unfamiliar black blade piercing his chest. His soul writhes around it, pierced by it, unable to slip away unscathed as he has so many times before.

In that split second, your attention lapses, and black chains lash your body, slamming you to your knees. You snarl, straining against them.

"Surrender," the sorcerer before you orders, white hair stained red with blood. Despite his injuries and the loss of an entire arm, he stands tall and steady above you. "We will let him go if you choose to die."

"If I choose to die?" You run your thumb over your knuckles, regenerating three lost fingers. A rather good trade, you think, for taking off his arm in the process. "You'd allow a spirit, able to shape the soul into something inhuman and unrecognisable, to walk free in exchange for my life? My, my. I must be particularly disruptive to your little society."

"You're beaten." His voice is sharp despite his clear exhaustion. He struggles to restore his arm. "No matter how many of us you kill, you will lose first. Give up."

"Such misplaced confidence. 'Choose to die'..." You sneer and the black iron chains wrapped around you tighten, far colder than you are. You have warmed, somewhat, in Mahito's presence. You cannot be bitter about it when it is he who marks your soul. "Hah! Nothing stops you from killing him anyway – so, politely, I decline. There are only so many of you. You will run out of bodies before I do."

As you speak, your image flickers in an attempt to split your consciousness into the deep shadows around you. The chains chew into your skin and you hiss as your control dissipates like a candle blown out.

"Interesting," the sorcerer murmurs, gazing down at you pensively. The red flames swirl behind him. "Interesting that your bond with that curse truly did win us this fight. I admit – I was sceptical it would work. You're... not what I expected."

You turn your gaze to Mahito, crumpled on the ground with his long, straight hair creating a curtain over his features. He grasps the handle of the blade, trembling slightly, and his breaths are shallow and rapid as he attempts to pull it out. He can only whimper in pain – too quiet for anyone to hear. But this battle is a secret under darkness and belongs to you. You close your eyes to his furious cry and panicked breaths as the blade refuses to budge and saps more of his strength with every second.

Run, you implore, and his head shoots up, pale eyes meeting yours. Cursed energy surges beneath your skin, rippling and bubbling with bloodthirst. Run and don't look back. Mahito, you must survive at all costs. Do you understand?

The chains quiver and the links bend out of shape, their strange unearthly metal creaking. Your body strains against it, fingers elongating into claws and mouth growing jagged fangs. Your skin rips and flickers, bleeding dead galaxies. The chains bite into your shadowy flesh, but you grow larger despite it.

The sorcerer takes a step back.

Go, your voice rasps in his head, syllables rough and struggling in the monstrosity of your own body. Mahito's eyes widen as the chains groan, shuddering with effort – and snap.

He pulls himself to his feet, pale grey kimono tattered and stained. He grips the blade lodged in his chest and stumbles away, chasing the safety of the tree line.

You roar, twice as tall as the sorcerers around you, cutting them down with rapid, decisive blows. In his state, he doesn't notice the sorcerer turning in his direction.

But you do. With a shriek, you launch yourself at him, breaking through the ranks of sorcerers trying to stop you in a burst of viscera and bone. You seize the man giving chase after Mahito, and his whip-like technique is nothing against the overwhelming strength of your new form. One slash of your razor-sharp claws and his technique putters out in his limp hands.

Mahito spares you one last, desperate look, before turning and running into the darkness. You pull the shadows closed after him, deepening the shadows around him until you have him in your grasp.

Live, you say wistfully, releasing him from your shadows as far away as you can by a riverbank. He collapses and attempts to slip the blade out from between his ribs. He quivers with effort, and you don't turn back to the sorcerers picking themselves up for one last push. As long as none of them find Mahito, you will accept the consequences of your hedonistic actions. Live for me. Please.

You languish in your prison for one thousand years.

—

Mahito beams, nodding so hard his head threatens to fall off. "You remember me! I knew you would!"

Slowly, as if learning how to move one muscle at a time, the hand cupping his face brushes its knuckles down the edge of his cheek. When it reaches his chin, long fingers wrap around his throat as if to choke – then, they release. Using the first three fingers, the shadowy spirit grasps Mahito's face, turning it further up towards him. The top of Mahito's head only reaches the spirit's ribs – or where they would be on a human.

Mahito, the spirit calls joyfully, lifting its other hand to cup his face with a flourish of a long, wispy sleeve. Draped over him, the spirit's shadowy robes engulf him almost entirely. Oh, Mahito, my darling pale bone-shard...

He laughs, accepting everything with a smile that seems too ancient for someone like him. It's the smile of one who's known loss – not his usual grin of frivolous naivete.

"You look awful," Mahito says, with a little pout and a frown. "Come! I'll get you back to full strength. But I suppose that guy behind me will want introductions. No number of old scrolls or tomes would get him your name."

That name was never mine, the curse declares. Humans could never know me as you do. My strength is not theirs to invoke.

"Alrighty," Mahito says. He spins on his heel, hair bouncing, and points above him, where the spirit stands – floats – behind his shoulder. "Geto-san! This is YN! I knew him back in the day. He had a bit of a cult, too, so I think you'll get along splendidly."

That piques his interest. That white-haired sorcerer – probably a member of the Gojo clan, Suguru thinks with an achy little throb, if his paleness was a family trait – had mentioned something about your perceived divinity. He wonders why you'd pay attention to any of those ignorant monkeys.

"You're probably thinking about the whole cult thing, right?" Mahito comments offhandedly, tossing and catching the silver brooch he stole from you. Despite this, you haven't pulled down your hood. The straggly ends of the cloak hang by your arms.

"I won't say I didn't wonder."

"Don't worry, it's not a long story." He clears his throat importantly. "Back in the day, we didn't have curtains or anything to hide the results of our actions, so what we did must've seemed like magic or something paranormal to humans. My YN was often seen before and after destruction like plagues and floods, so word began to spread of a beautiful man who would save those he appeared to. Of course, this was survivorship bias. If he killed 'em, not like they could say that to anyone, right? So that's how people began to worship him."

"How fascinating," Suguru murmurs, eyeing you up. "Before, I saw your... memories. Was worship how you grew so much stronger than a normal curse?"

You finally look up, having been concentrating very hard on Mahito and his new appearance. His clothes are strange, but you're beginning to come around to them. Apologies. My body is not quite... complete. Some portion of me may have passed through you as I formed. You touch Mahito's hair, rubbing the strands between your fingers, and he giggles up at you. Perhaps you are right. Evolution was always within Mahito's portfolio, not mine. I should have been constant, unchanging, like the night. Odd, isn't it?

"The form you gained right before you were sealed away – do you still have it? Or was it a result of their belief?" If he could sway you to his side – gain your abilities – it might be enough. Just enough.

You consider his question. Human emotion is potent. I may no longer have shrines made with my image or prayers whispered in my name, but there are infinitely more humans now to draw from. I may gain it back – in time.

"Fascinating," Suguru repeats. He extends his uninjured hand with a kind smile. "Then please – allow me to be your host in this new era. I own a temple with a not-insignificant number of human visitors. It may help you recover."

You glance down at Mahito. He nods encouragingly. "He's not a bad guy to be around, I promise! A little uppity, but with the strength to back it up. You'd be with me. We'd be together again."

You pause, your large hand halting on top of Mahito's head, where you'd been petting him. He blinks up at your featureless face, and shadows waft from your shoulders –  a sigh, or what passes for one with your inhuman anatomy. Very well, you relent, taking one of his ponytails and tugging lightly, I will follow. Be grateful that I bow to you.

"Oh, yes," Mahito giggles pleasantly, leaning into your stomach. He props his chin on your ribs, staring up at you with a grin. "Verily, my lord. When we arrive, I'll even show you how grateful I am."

You cup his face gently, squishing his cheeks. You run a thumb over the stitches below his eye. Dubious little creature... Lead on – we have much to talk about.

—

Recovery, you find, requires mostly time. The first thing you do when you regain sufficient strength is create a new body – one Mahito is familiar with, and which looks almost entirely human. For all your distaste, their physical anatomy is simple and useful, and you can spend less effort holding it together than most other shapes. Geto Suguru, as you come to know him, is incredibly interested in you and your capabilities, almost invasively so, and hates humanity quite a lot. You avoid him where you can.

You enter the room you were given by ducking under the lintel, one which Mahito now shares with you. Once you heard where he used to reside and what it was had been explained to you, you had been firmly insistent he come with you rather than you with him. Sewers, you claimed, were no place for the beloved of a god.

He is at the dresser in a grey kimono, which grabs your attention. He runs a brush through the pale blue-grey hair swept over his shoulder. He opens his eyes at the sound of the door sliding open, a smile automatically tugging at his lips.

"You're back," he says warmly. "What did Geto-san want this time?"

"He has trouble sleeping," you reply, taking a seat on the bed. It is odd, you thought once, that a traditional temple like this would incorporate such modern furniture, but Mahito seemed to like it, so you kept your mouth shut. "I drew him to slumber."

Mahito hums knowingly. "Humans, right? So messy. Him especially. Man, emotionally, that guy is a wreck – gets so worked up over nothing."

Politely, you ignore the invitation to complain. You may be a curse, but you have some dignity. "He freed me from a thousand years of imprisonment, Mahito. It's the least I can do to repay him."

He frowns. "I freed you."

"The seals prevented you from doing very much, Mahito," you say, amused. "If he wasn't there, you'd still be banging away at it. However, you did figure out where they kept me and kept me alive in your memories when no other did. I am grateful for that."

"If you were less judgemental of the other curses, I'm sure they woulda remembered you fondly," he rebuts. "You were too much of a lone wolf. 'Ooh, Sukuna's eating my worshippers 'cause I told him he's not cool! Kenjaku badgers me way too often about his dumb plans!' If you didn't complain about them to their faces, I'm sure they would've been happier to remember you."

You scoff. "Why should I care? I have you."

The tone of your voice warms what passes as his heart. He turns on the stool to face you, setting down the brush and picking up his hair ties. He begins to section his hair into three parts.

"I mean that much to you, do I? Little old me, more important than the favour of the great King of Curses," he coos, rising to his feet. He offers you a hair-tie with a soft smile, and you accept it. He crawls into your lap, sitting with his back to your chest. He hums as you comb your fingers through his hair, fumbling only slightly with the intricacies of a braid. It's been a long time since you've had hands.

"What does the King of Curses have that I care for? He is strong, but has many enemies. He is an arrogant, fickle creature and desires no equal, only slaves and followers." You adjust the thick locks of hair you've left loose to frame his face. He seems to like threes, so you'll keep it similar. "I like to do as I please. He is feared – I am fear."

You consider your next words. "He is also very rude."

Mahito barks out a laugh. "Careful. If he hears that, you'd be sliced up quicker than you can say 'oops'."

"You say he is now little more than a set of relicts. I wonder – if I kicked him around, would he know it and come later to kill me?"

Mahito presses a finger to his lips thoughtfully. "I don't think so. They don't seem to hold any sentience by themselves. Even curses empowered by the fingers don't look like they contain any part of 'him'."

"Interesting."

"Remind me to never let you carry his fingers."

"Of course." You tie off the end of the braid, sitting back to admire your handiwork. A human had come in with something similar, and you'd been too preoccupied with how it might look on Mahito to really care for what Geto was doing.

(You didn't care much for what any of them were doing, truthfully. Their idea for a world of curses was not quite uninhabited enough for you, as the god of the endless night and the perfect, empty void. It was only because of Mahito's unique technique that you let him live beyond your initial meeting, after all.)

"You kept your hair long," you say, voice a low murmur.

Mahito glances over his shoulder, gazing up at you through his messy bangs. A sly smile curls at his lips. "Oh, you know," he waves a hand carelessly, "you liked it better this way."

You prop your chin on top of Mahito's head. He grins. "You always wore it like this?"

"Well, I sat like a rock at the bottom of a river for a couple hundred years, so no, not always. But when I did like to have hair – yes, it was long."

You rest your hand around his throat, like a collar. Mahito smirks, dancing his fingers over your knuckles. "Hey, now... What's this doin', big guy? Careful – I'm half your size."

"You do not have to look like you do. I would adore you regardless."

"How cute! But it's no fun when we're both too big for the bed." He turns in your lap, straddling your thighs, and playfully plucks a thread loose from your haori. He cocks his head to meet your eyes with a smile when a brief scowl crosses your face. "C'mon, lighten up! You're out of the slammer! What better way to celebrate than with me? If you want, we don't have to do it on the bed. Maybe on the floor... Out in the forest... Drenched in human blood..."

"Mahito, Geto is across the hall. You are loud."

"He can plug his ears. I'm sure he's got a curse somewhere in him for that." His grin broadens freakishly. "I also want a curse inside me."

"Mahito," you growl, your grip tightening on his hips.

"Oh, say that again." He shows the whites of his eyes briefly with a teasing moan. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, wiggling around and settling comfortably in your lap. Your shoulders tense. "Such a bore. Hey – I'm better with my technique nowadays. Y'know how much fun we could have?" He leans in with a giggle, lips brushing your earlobe. "Gimme ideas. I'll make you feel so good."

Concentration was always the common denominator. He was once easily overwhelmed – he'd like to think he improved.

"I still tire quickly," you say, and not even you can obscure the annoyance in your voice. "Belief is so hard-won these days. I fear you'll have to be gentle with me."

He giggles, though his expression softens – or as much as it can for him; perhaps 'less-crazed' is a fairer term –and he drags his tongue hotly against your jaw. It's a kiss – his version of one.

"Okay," he sighs dramatically, kicking his legs childishly. "Hm... How about this? Tonight, shall I be your prince, princess, or," he winks, "your master?"

Your lips purse. "Gods do not have princes or princesses. 'Divine right'." You scoff. "Don't make me laugh."

"You'll always gimme your 'divine right', though, yeah?" He wiggles his brows cheekily. "Your sacred sceptre. Your god rod—"

"Mahito."

He sulks for only a moment before perking up again, tugging at your sashes and collar to open you up for his eyes only. He traces the marks on your skin with a hum.

"You and Sukuna have a lot in common, you know."

"He's a fool. I hope that's not what you mean."

He snorts. "Relax. I didn't mean it like that. I like you more, anyway."

"I'd certainly hope so." You flex your fingers, lifting one hand to measure against his waist. "I endured a thousand years of imprisonment for you."

"You're gonna bring that up constantly, aren't you?"

"Only when important. Do you know how small it was on the inside?"

He sighs. "I'm never winning an argument again."

"You've already won my heart."

"Your heart!" He laughs. "What a human thing to call it."

You lean back, allowing him to push your kimono off your shoulders. "Call it what you like. Be what you like. I've spent too long away from you to care for names and titles." You trace the stitches running across his hips. You lift your eyes, and Mahito's breath hitches at the hunger in them. They swirl with empty galaxies and dead stars, and he finds himself subconsciously leaning in, longing for that cold, dark and very gentle place. One day, at the end of all things, you will bring him there, lord of nothing and lord of everything. Perhaps he'll learn how to touch his soul to yours, like bubbles, and you'll never have to leave him again.

"Is this what you want?" he whispers as you strip him bare, his grey silk kimono pooling on the floor. "Me? Just me?"

"I have no need for anything else. Power, armies, what have you... Sukuna, Kenjaku, even this Geto – their plans are so short-sighted. Everything will come under my hand eventually. Until that day arrives, I am content with you."

"So romantic," Mahito murmurs, a coy smile pulling at his lips. "Can I also come under your hand? Pretty please?"

"Must you ruin everything I say with a filthy joke?"

He pushes you backwards onto the bed, hovering over you with a grin. He grinds down on your lap under the pretence of getting comfy and he relishes in your groan. "You just set them up so perfectly for me! How could I not?"

You click your tongue. "I indulge you too much."

"Not enough, I'd say. Took me way too long to get into your pants. Do you know how desperate I was at times? You expected me to see you doused in human viscera and not want you all up in my guts, too... Ridiculous, in my humble opinion."

"Sex is such a human notion."

"You say it like it's a bad thing," he whines. "I have to say, it's pretty fun. You like it, too, don't you?"

"Hm."

"C'mon, we're both here because of humans. We aren't, like, appropriating anything." He reaches down, palming the bulge below your kimono. His grin widens. "If you don't like it, why did you give yourself the parts for it? Ha! Checkmate."

He yelps as you grab him and toss him down onto the bed, pinning him under your weight. He stares up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his loosened kimono gaping at the chest and stomach.

You rake your eyes down his lithe, pale body, humming when his breath hitches at your touch. You glide your hand down his side, tracing the smooth curve of his waist and hip.

You reach down by his hips and part his kimono further. When the silk falls open, you are greeted by a neat patch of grey hair – and glistening pink folds.

He giggles at your expression. He twirls his hair around a finger and bats his lashes, which might be thicker and longer than usual. "Now we match."

Clicking your tongue, you curl your fingers around his slender thigh and part his legs, eyeing him unblinkingly. He's not sure if he should be aroused or offended – you're hard to read and he's never sure what you like. Perhaps that's part of why he stayed – you were like a game – but now, a thousand years later, he can't help but feel... unsure? Nervous?

Afraid?

He wants to laugh at the concept. Him? Afraid of your opinion of him? How disgustingly fragile.

You're talking now, and the sound of it snaps him out of his spiralling thoughts. You've always had that effect on him.

"I'm not sure how we match at all, Mahito," you're saying. "As spirits, we are incapable of siring spawn. I would say we match less."

He whines. "Hey...! I put all this work into looking nice for you, and you're telling me now that you don't like it? Besides, who're you to say we can't have some little curse babies, asshole? There's never been another me – maybe I'm the exception. Maybe I'm better than the rest of 'em."

At last, you lift your eyes. Mahito wants to curl up beneath your gaze – you are terrifying and comforting all at once. "No," you say softly. "You are one of a kind."

A smile splits his face, cocky, and he sits up, leaning back on his palms. His kimono slips teasingly from his shoulder. "Mmhm, that's right... Boy, you sure know how to make a guy feel special."

You tilt your head, considering something. You stroke his thigh, absent-minded, and he presses into your touch. "You don't know for certain – about spawn."

"Obviously not. I was sitting among the rocks of the Shinano River for, like, eight hundred years. You want me to fuck a fish?"

"Why?" You lift a hand as he opens his mouth to snark at you. "About the river, Mahito. Not the fish."

He frowns, his lower lip jutting out slightly. "You told me to survive! I did just that. I'm not sure why you sound so disappointed."

"You, resting in the same place for hundreds of years? Wouldn't you have grown bored? I'm sure it did not take that long to heal from your wounds."

He huffs, crossing his arms. He tugs his leg out of your grasp. His hair falls over his features. "You were dead, for all I knew! When I didn't know much about anything, you were there to teach me. For the first time ever, you were gone, and if they'd managed to kill you, what would they do to me?" He flicks a wrist, sleeve whipping your side. "You told me to live. To survive. So I did, okay? After all, it was the last thing you ever said to me. I had nothing else left of you."

The air is heavy. Neither of you moves a muscle.

"Mahito," you say softly.

He throws himself backwards onto the bed with a bounce and a soft thump, hands over his eyes. He tries to kick you, but you catch his ankle. He scowls. "Stupid. Asshole. Jerkface. Don't say my name like that."

"Mahito."

He gulps as you close the distance between you, your palm pressed to the mattress beside his head. His breath hitches as your hand glides from his ankle to his calf, holding it over your shoulder. You don't quite pin it there, but you leave your palm open, steady against the outside of his knee as it presses against you.

"You've grown soft," you observe.

He crosses his arms and tries to glare. It's a little hard when you're kneeling between his legs, your lips six inches from his own. Do you still taste the same? "No, I haven't. You just knew me before I lost everything."

"Let me return this to you, then." You part his kimono fully, the silk pooling on the bed. You reach for your own clothes, though your eyes remain trained on his. They remind him of a fox, quick and clever and sly. "Can I make it up to you, Mahito?"

He sniffs, glancing aside. His arms uncross. "Fine."

"Thank you."

You're so stupid. And polite. Ugh.

Your fingers travel down between his thighs. His throat bobs as you slide your middle finger between his wet folds, coating it in his slick. He shifts as you thrust it in gently, exploring him. Your warm palm cups him, something possessive in your touch, and as he relaxes around you, you slip a second finger in.

He gasps sharply, his hands shooting up to wrap around your biceps. You halt, buried in to the knuckle. It's hard not to be – his walls pulse around you, sucking you in.

"Am I hurting you?"

He shakes his head. He offers a brief, breathless grin. "Nah. Just feels different. Good different. Keep going."

You nod, sitting back on your heels to watch the way his cunt flutters around you. You stroke the leg thrown over your shoulder, kissing the ankle, and Mahito lets out a muffled mewl as your thumb presses against his clit.

"Sensitive," you murmur to yourself. You glance up. "Have you done this before?"

He licks his lips, steadying his voice. "What, changing myself like this?"

"Yes. For your own pleasure, rather than for battle."

"No," he admits, legs tightening around you. "This is the first time."

Humming, you glance up at him, allowing a smile to grace your features. "Then we can explore it together."

You pull your fingers from him – and with a thoughtful look, you place them in your mouth. Mahito's breath hitches as you swirl your tongue around your fingers, relishing in the taste.

"Sweet," you declare, and place his leg gently down on the bed. You settle at the base of the bed and tug him down by the thighs, staring up at him with playful eyes. "You wouldn't mind if I had a taste from the source, would you?"

He shakes his head, and it tips back with a moan as you bury your head between his thighs. You lap at his soft pink folds, and as you push your tongue inside, he slickens up, walls hot and pulsing around you. He squelches as you push in deeper, slick dripping from his eager hole. He grips your hair with both hands, moaning in delight as you fuck your long tongue in and out of him, curling roughly against the spot inside him that makes his head spin.

"Awh, fuck," he whines, laughing breathily as his spine arches and hot pleasure laps at the base of his spine. "F-Feels even better than I thought it would—! Ah, hah, gimme more!"

You draw your tongue out of him, making him whine and pull your face further into his fluttering cunt. You suck at his clit, lifting a hand to raise the hood of it as your tongue circles and your teeth graze it – he jolts in surprise, hands tightening in your hair. 

"Patience," you purr, tongue laving over his reddened clit. You push it inside him, wriggling about experimentally as his throbbing walls stroke the length of it, hungry and devouring.

"I already waited a thousand years!" he says, almost angrily. His heels dig into your shoulders as he lifts his hips, chasing a high. Your tongue is so long – it massages that rough patch of nerves at the back of his cunt and he seizes, crying your name as you grip his hips and lift him to your lips.

He takes what he wants rather inconsiderately, slick dripping down your chin as you kiss his hot folds. He's practically humping your face, grinding against your mouth and the tongue sinfully deep inside of him. You groan as his moans pitch higher, whorish, and he begins to tremble around you.

So quickly? You're amused. He's missed you more than he's willing to let on.

You fuck him with your tongue, saliva and slick mixing on his fair skin, and he's positively dripping, every thrust squelching and pushing out a sweet gush of pleasure into your waiting mouth. You swallow it blissfully, your thumb circling the wet nub of his clit.

With a wobbly, high-pitched cry, he shoves your face into his gummy cunt and comes on your waiting, writhing tongue, thighs seizing around your head and locking you in place as he coats your chin in his hot, sticky slick.

With your tongue buried deep inside him, flicking about and pressing curiously against his soft walls, he lets out a shaky whine, grinding against you with rough rolls of his hips. It's not an unfamiliar motion. He takes you so prettily, soft smooth folds now dark with lust.

Shakily, Mahito releases you, body sagging into the mattress. He pants and gasps, the tense heat between his legs unbearably achy and needy. He wants to melt.

"S-So… good," he sighs, a broad grin crossing his face. You lap at him lazily, and he twitches. "Mm… Now gimme your cock, 'kay? Nice 'n' deep. Promise me."

"Promise what?" you ask, licking your lips and wiping away his come. Your eyes glint with satisfaction as you set down his unsteady legs and crawl between them, the bulge in your trousers straining in its confines.

"That you'll fuck me up," he whines, turning onto his stomach and lifting his perky ass. He gazes over his shoulder at you, wiggling his hips and spreading his knees further to show off his tight holes. "You can have either one – jus' want you in me, okay? I miss having a big cock in my belly, miss being fucked and filled up until 'm all swollen and can't move." He pouts, his eyes half-lidded, and presses his ass against your bulge, grinding lazily. "C'mon, big guy. Don't you wanna put your baby in me?"

His eyes shoot wide open and his jaw drops as a thick, throbbing intrusion splits his pussy apart. He can't help his eager moans as you set a steady pace, his loosened pussy sucking you in with ease. He scrabbles at the sheets as your grip tightens on his waist and drags him down to match every thrust – he grabs the headboard as your cock kisses his cervix, making his eyes roll back.

"Oh! Y-You're cold – big – so muh – much," he cries brokenly, pressing his palm against his stomach. He shudders at the icy temperature of you inside him, making his hot walls ache and throb with such need that it borders on pain.

On every harsh thrust, he feels you glide against his palm, filling him up so completely that he can barely breathe – that feeling, of every breath physically restricted, makes his eyelids flutter and his pussy clench and flutter. His wet warmth surges down your thighs with his high, and you groan as he jolts and whines.

"You can handle it, Mahito," you note with a soft hum. Your touch grazes his clit and his breath stutters. "You have before, haven't you?"

"I-I'm rusty," he tries to joke, but it comes out flimsy as you shift and he clamps down punishingly around your cock with a moan. "Oh, fuck!"

Your hips snap into him and he fumbles slightly, grabbing one of your hands on his hip. He slumps into the mattress, lifting his hips as you fuck into his swollen heat, slick and soft around you. Little chained moans fall from his lips as he twists the sheets in his fist; his body jolts back and forth with your thrusts, his long blue-grey braid bouncing over his shoulder.

"Feels so g-good," he slurs, legs shaking like leaves. He spreads them, reaching down to split his sticky pussy lips with the V of his fingers. His lower lip quivers as he gazes at you over his shoulder. His bangs are a mess over his lust-blown eyes. "More – more, more, I want more—! Make me yours again, ah, right there—"

"Quiet now," you murmur amongst his choppy moans. "Geto will hear you."

"Wh-Whose fault is that?" he whines, the expression on his face fucked out and deeply flushed. "H-Hah – bet he'd be jealous, anyway! He wants you but you're all mine! Mh—"

You chuckle softly, leaning over him with a palm braced by his head. He feels small like this – protected. He whines into the bedsheets, his pussy dripping down his inner thighs.

"Mahito," you say, almost admonishingly. "Are you jealous?"

"Of that – ah – human? No!"

You trail your lips up his shoulder and neck, nipping at his ear. "Mm, of course. But I do think it would be prudent to watch him carefully. That technique of his may prove... troublesome."

Mahito sniffles, come-slick walls clamping around you and making you grunt. "S-Stop talking about him."

"So you are jealous."

"I just don't like it when you talk about other people when you're inside me." He attempts a glare, but his ruined expression quivers when your cock kisses his womb, tears welling up along his lashes and sticking them together. "Th-That's a normal, hn, r-reaction."

"Would you like me to talk about you, then?"

He averts his eyes and nods, tiny, into the sheets. You press your lips to the stitches trailing over his shoulders, admiring the contrast between the dark lines and Mahito's pale skin. You pick up the pace, thighs clapping against his ass, and his moans grow louder, more desperate, as his pussy flutters dangerously around you.

"My Mahito is so sweet to me, greeting me with this little piece of heaven here," you purr with a particularly teasing thrust into his cunt, nuzzling into his hair as he grips your forearms for stability. He nods reverently, lips parting and eyes rolling as you shift your hips and fuck him quick and hard into the mattress. His toes curl as he cries out, every thrust knocking a whiny moan from his throat. "My Mahito did so well, listening to me all that time ago... You're so good at obeying me, aren't you?"

"M-Mmhm," he whimpers. "Yes! Yes, I did, I always listen to you, oh, god—"

"Ah-ah-ah... You've been spending far too much time around humans, Mahito." You kiss his neck, and he shudders, your cock filling his belly until he can think of nothing else. He whines as you stroke his side, fingers fluttering over his stomach.

"I am your god," you murmur. "I taught you. I saved you. Perhaps I can even..." You press the smooth bump in his stomach and he lets out a ruined noise, muscles tensing. "Gods create, don't they?"

A choked, whorish wail rips past his lips. The glide comes easy – hotter, wetter. Waves of heat pulse through his core. His hole squelches as a thick ring of white forms around your base.

"Mahito." You tug his braid sharply and he whimpers as his head jerks back. "If you cry out to a god, it will be my name on your lips. You are mine. I won't tolerate anything less than your total loyalty. Do you understand?"

He babbles, whimpered half-words slipping from his lips. He nods to the best of his ability with your grip on his braid, arousal curling hot and powerful in his gut at the growl in your voice. "Yes!" he cries, his ass ricocheting off your hips. The rough pace makes his knees knock together. "Yes, yes, I'm your bitch, 'm sorry – you're my god – hnn, f-fuck, don't stop—!"

"Good, Mahito. Always so obedient for me."

Perhaps he reshapes himself because suddenly he's vice-tight, throbbing around you with a gooey slickness that tugs pink around your shaft when you try to draw your hips back. You suck in a sharp breath.

"Mahito," you coo, stroking his stitched cheek, and he whimpers, tears clouding his vision. "Let me go, dear. I can't give you what you want if I can't move."

"I don't want you to leave again," he sobs, curling his fingers through yours.  He can't think straight.

If – if he gave you a child, an heir... you wouldn't leave him, right? You couldn't. You liked him for his uniqueness – he wasn't like any other curse you'd ever met. You told him so. With the return of the Six Eyes, each day brings forth more powerful spirits, and you are like Ryomen Sukuna, whatever you say. You, too, are fickle, and you are cold as the night over which you reign. If some other curse – or, fuck him, a human – catches your attention, it's not impossible you might drop him for them.

After all, you're so much older than him. What is he but an indulgent curiosity?

As his thoughts spiral away from him, his body reacts to you – his glossy, silken pussy hugs your twitching cock, and the smell of sex lingers heavy in the air. "Oh god, oh god," he whimpers sweetly, brainless and drooling and pierced on thick cock, "oh, god—"

"Yes," you hiss. "You belong to me." You bury your nose in his hair, skin slapping rhythmically and rocking the bed. You bury yourself in his sloppy cunt over and over again, wrapped so perfectly around you. With a low growl that has Mahito's pussy throbbing, ropes of thick come paint his insides, filling him up and dripping from his hot, slippery folds.

He arches into your cold, firm embrace with a frenzied wail of your name, a sound wrecked with pleasure and pent-up desire. He trembles as he creams around you, milking your cock with a hungry desperation, and the pale curls over his pussy are damp with a filthy mixture of slick and come. He throws his head back. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and his eyes roll back at the feeling of your seed spurting deep within him, his insides so much more sensitive.

Or maybe he's just missed you. Either way, his throat feels raw, and the shattered whimpers that crumble from his lips as he collapses into the bedsheets are all he can manage, his pale eyes half-lidded and fluttering as you continue to pump him full. You stroke his stomach as if he's something sacred and murmur sweet nothings into his ear as he twitches in your arms.

He mewls, panting, as you eventually pull out, his gaping pussy clenching around nothing as your seed dribbles down his thigh. Without your grip on his hips to keep him up, he crumples to the bed in a dazed, soiled heap. His cunt squelches when he moves and he licks his lips, trembling slightly as he raises his head to look at you.

You're beside him now, gazing back with those beautiful eyes of yours. If he stares into them long enough, deep enough, he might catch a glimpse of clashing black holes and dying stars.

That battle an age ago left you with something inescapable. Things used to be easier – you were of the night, and the night was simple with the whisper of something shadowy within the dark. Now you have sparks of something hotter within you. Evolution, change, all of it – Mahito had more of an effect on you than anyone could've guessed.

He presses himself into your side and you wrap his lean body in your embrace. You stroke his hair with a soft hum, combing your fingers through his bangs and tucking them behind his ear.

At last, he speaks up, head resting upon your chest. "I got all dolled up for you," he says quietly. "You made a mess of me. Ruined my hard work."

You kiss his forehead. "Is that not what you wanted?"

"Hey... Don't twist my words."

"I'm sorry."

Silently, he leans up and nips at your jawline, soothing the spot with a kitten lick. He settles back down and you trace the stitches crossing his body, making him hum as you reach the ones following the V of his hips.

"I won't leave you, Mahito. Not again."

He glances up, a fist curling gently on your chest. "Really?"

You nod, staring at the ceiling. He fits perfectly into your side and you clutch him there, protective and possessive in the way he adores. "Yes."

He stares up at you, an unreadable look in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches.

"Okay," he says, and closes his eyes with a secret little smile.

[aroacexuemeng]

not the twitter migrants putting "reblog heavy" in their bios on here... like yeah. that's what we do here

[doggirlhen]

reblog heavy

[l1tw1ck]

A Mortal's Blessing

sub!bottom!ftm venti x dom!top!male reader

[part one]

🕯️: it's still 12AM here but it's valentine's day somewhere... so happy valentine's 😭

cw: afab language, public + rough sex, daddy kink, creampie

Venti climbs onto your lap and squishes your cock with his cunt, swaying his hips back and forth. "Was I good enough?" He looks at you with too much confidence. He thinks he's asking a rhetorical question.

"You were a bit too demanding." You try not to smirk at his sad expression. "But I'll let you win this time, you deserve it." You stand up and lay him down on the table. "As long as you're a good boy and follow my orders."

Venti nods so dramatically it gives him vertigo. He shifts his legs up so that his calves are centimeters away from his thighs and spreads his legs, wordlessly inviting you to spank his pussy. He ignores all the boners in the vicinity and keeps his eyes focused on your face.

"Venti," You teasingly run your hand up his sensitive cunt. His breathing stills, you rarely ever call him by his name. You lean into his ear. "You can hear their whispers, can't you?"

"Yes– yes, daddy." He bites down on his lip as you slip two fingers inside him.

"What do they think?"

"Th- that you don't...deserve me-" He arches his back, prompting you to cease your movements to deny his obvious oncoming orgasm. "and that they'd better for me."

"You think they'd make you feel good?"

Venti shakes his head fervently. "No- only you can! I'd rather die than let anyone else touch me, daddy."

You bring him into a kiss, completely neglecting the rest of his body. He grabs the back of your shirt and moans just from feeling your back and your lips against his. The crowd watches with clear interest as he squirts, just like you knew he would.

"Even– even if you never fucked me, I'd never want anyone else." He throws his head back against the table as your hand returns to his pussy.

"Even when I die?"

"You– you won't. I won't let you. I'm already...working on it."

You smile, your heart is pounding. "Yeah? Forget the punishment then, I'll do whatever you want me to. Just for tonight. You deserve it, baby." You slot your cock in between his thighs.

Venti lets out a loud moan. "Fuck me, please!"

You shove yourself inside him, not bothering to take your time because you and him both know he can take it. He digs his nails into you as you roughly fuck him. Everyone can't help but listen to his melodious voice, he sounds even sexier when he's getting pounded.

"You'll come inside, right~?"

"Of course, you're a proper cock sleeve now." You grab his thighs and push him into a mating press, causing him to squirt once more. His divine body makes him so fun to use, he can come so many times without needing a break. It's incredible how you've managed to restrain yourself for so long, but you had to make sure he was loyal. Being a mortal in a relationship with a god is bound to make someone feel insecure, you couldn't let yourself get attached to someone that had every reason to leave you for someone or something else. You had to detach yourself just to stop yourself from feeling so inadequate and vulnerable. You'll have to really breed him from now on to make up for it all.

Venti grins as you turn him around and have him bend over, facing the crowd of masturbating spectators and the kamera that's aiming towards him. It captures his euphoric face perfectly as you dump your first ever load inside him. His already messy hair becomes completely undone as you grab it and use it a rein to fuck him better. The eager photographer makes sure to snap photos of Venti's beautifully arched back. Just the idea of having pictures of a god getting his brains fucked out scattered all around Mondstadt makes you feral. This is your first time at this event but you'll have to turn it into a regular thing. Maybe Diluc should be paying the two of you for all the revenue you'll bring in.

You pull out and position Venti into one last pose, showing off all the cum that's dribbling out of his pussy to the kamera.

[4k3chi]

Back to repost smut for my birthday!!!

[l1tw1ck]

The Duke's New Bride

sub!bottom!ftm Flins x dom!top!male reader

Being the last born child, Flins was treated with less care and attention than the family heir. Which left him powerless and weak, a perfectly soft clay to mold however you wish

cw: non-con, daddy kink, afab language used, age gap, manipulation, cervix stimulation, royalty au, arranged marriage, power + strength imbalance, corruption, cunnilingus, squirting, asphyxiation

“Do you need anything, sir?” Flins tucked his hair behind his ear, unaware of how flirtatiously he was coming off.

He visited your territory to celebrate your son's, his good friend, latest achievement and since it's so far from his home, he was staying over for a few nights. You entered the guest bedroom as he was changing and caught him in just an undershirt and leggings. He's good at putting on a mask but you didn't miss the slight flicker of fear and confusion when he saw you locking the door.

“You’ll be getting married to me soon, it's all been arranged.” You walked towards him with clear intentions but he didn't run away. Your bloody history on the battlefield frightened him. He's utterly powerless in his family but he didn't think it would be so easy for him to be married off without him catching onto it first. “You’ll devote yourself to me and I'll do the same.” You grabbed him and tossed him onto the bed.

Flins’ breath hitched and for the first time, you saw his facade crumble. It's not strange for a marriage to happen with an age gap like this but he was still horrified of how a relationship with you would turn out to be. You have more experience and evidently, more desires than him. On top of that, you have the battle stamina of a beast and he's sure that translates into bed with extreme accuracy. He had never been more afraid. He was paralyzed with fear and didn't fight back as you stripped him nude.

“You're just as beautiful underneath those troublesome clothes.” You spread his legs and dove in between them. You felt even further encouraged by the muffled sounds of him crying and moaning. He was all but unresponsive as your tongue lovingly slivered down his folds and into his entrance. He hated how gentle you were, how you acted as if you were pleasuring your lover and not a toy you’ll likely throw away after thoroughly corrupting. He didn't realize this was an act of manipulation, an act you were already succeeding at.

It made him feel gross and scared but his emotions didn't stop him from squirting in your mouth, which made you more eager to claim him.

“It hurts–!” Flins’ words became hoarse and strained when you wrapped your hand around his throat and as your fat cock sank deeper inside his pussy. He foolishly scratched your arm in an attempt to get you to stop, only to be choked harder and to have his cervix roughly slammed into. His eyes rolled to the back of his skull and his skin turned paler with a subtle flush of red.

“Don't ever do that again or I’ll cut your hands off.”

He would've wailed if he had enough air to do so. His body went limp but he was still conscious, just paralyzed once again. You let go of his throat and watched him writhe and twitch around. You went easy on him for the rest of the night and deluded him into believing you really loved him. You started off with an apology, assuring him that you'd never hurt him as long as he didn't hurt you. You enforced false ideas of what would be considered hurtful into his mind, making him believe he owed you his body and denying you of it would be too painful for you to bear. Then you showered him with compliments and calmed him with exaggerated stories of all the moments that led up to you "falling in love" with him. He lacked a proper example of true love to help him see past your lies and the forcefully weakened state of his body made it too easy to convince him.

“Daddy~!” He cried out, grabbing your back. You were barely exerting any energy with your thrusts but he acted as if you were hammering him into the mattress. He was so overstimulated that everything you did was too much to handle. His hair was a mess and his face was flushed and wet. That sight made it so hard for you to stop yourself from being more aggressive.

“Baby,” Your voice was far, far calmer than his as your thrusts halted. He looked at you like a shy rabbit, his parted lips quivered as he batted his lashes with an obvious lack of seductive intent. “I love you.” You reinforced your lie before you brought him into a kiss, sliding your tongue in between the gap he graciously left open for you. You picked up your thrusts and properly fucked him. His nails dragged blood out of your back as you dragged the air out of his lungs.

By the time you let him breathe again, his face was a mix of blue and red but he was no longer interested in retaliation or running so he allowed you to break him in like a new pair of boots.

[4k3chi]

Oomf with another banger🤤🤤🤤

[4k3chi]

idek why that took me so long to change...it barely has anything in it...fuck my stupid baka life

[4k3chi]

r you ever gonna go back 2 writing? or is it like an undefined hiatus

Uh h h h h not anytime soon…I should prob take that part out of my bio…SPEAKING of I need to update it…ughh h h h

[l1tw1ck]

Thunder

Bottom!FTM Cloud Strife x Top!Male Reader

⛈️ Word Count: 1,799 ⛈️

While out on a mission, you and Cloud get caught in a sudden thunderstorm, forcing you to find shelter for the night until it stops. But after a couple days, there aren't any signs of it letting up

AFAB Language Used | I had writer's block and got bored so i decided to finally continue playing final fantasy. I stopped like 30 minutes in to write this fic at 12AM. i put down the game (temporarily! i love it) after the section 8 stuff so i'm sorry for any inaccuracies, just needed to take advantage of this burst of motivation

CW: Rape/Non-Con, Somnophilia, Power Imbalance, Frottage, Teasing, Creampie

You peek outside the window, or what was left of it, of the broken down building you're in then turn to Cloud. “Looks like we’ll have to stay the night.” Lightning strikes to reinforce your words. “Think you can handle it, pretty boy?”

“Stop treating me like a rookie.” Cloud sighs. “And stop calling me pretty boy.”

“It's hard when you look like an adorable little kitten.” You smile.

He rolls his eyes and looks around for burnable items.

“It's like watching a lion cub hunt and gather.”

“I can't wait for this night to be over.” He groans. “How about you do something useful, captain?”

“Like what, kitty?”

Cloud grips the damp piece of wood in his hand in annoyance. “Like maybe finding things to keep the water out of here.” He tosses the wood aside.

“Sure.” You stretch.

The two of you worked together to make the old building livable for the night and went to sleep thinking it’d be over by morning.

Cloud wakes up to the loud sound of thunder and sighs. He sees you leaning against the wall. “It's still raining.”

“It sure is.” You chuckle. “We might be here for a while, kitty. Unless you want to run out and somehow dodge all that lightning?”

The two of you are way too far from the base to even consider doing that. The job pays well but not enough for Cloud to not be annoyed with this sudden detour. “I better get a bonus for this.”

“Of course. You could get paid even more if you did me a little favor.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“About 60,000 gil plus your bonus pay.”

“What is it?” He asks, attentive.

You smirk. “Since we're gonna be stuck here for who knows how long, I think it’d be nice to do something as a…pastime of sorts.”

“Stop beating around the bush.”

You motion for him to come over. He rolls his eyes and gets up. “I know you're talented in so many ways,” You grab his wrist and pull him close to you. “And I wanna see if you're talented in this way too.”

He pushes you and steps back, his cheeks red. “Don't even think about it.”

“It was worth a shot.” You laugh.

He shakes his head and decides to explore the building more, far from you.

The sun set and the sky continued to pour. Then days passed. You rationed food and managed to find other edible things to keep yourselves alive but the situation isn't all that great for you. You're still functioning, but just by a small margin.

The two of you were able to collect rainwater to drink and help yourselves clean up. Cloud insisted on doing it upstairs so you wouldn't watch him. You promised you wouldn't but you were lying.

As time went on, it was getting harder and harder to keep it in your pants. Your mental state started to get a little wonky thanks to your body not getting all the nutrients it needs. You couldn't stop thinking about how much you wanted him, especially since it was better than thinking about food. It got to a point where you couldn't even fall asleep.

You look at Cloud’s sleeping face, studying the slight movements in his facial muscles as he dreams. The soft glow of your lamp allows you to properly see him despite the darkness. His chest slowly rises and falls. You know if you made an attempt, he’d wake up, any good soldier would. But it's getting hard to control yourself. Being in such close proximity with him is driving you mad. You hesitantly, and very softly, touch his shoulder. He doesn't react. You poke his cheek. Nothing. You pause.

You trace your finger down his chest and to his pants. You carefully unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. He doesn't seem to notice you pulling them down. You take in a small breath. You're so nervous it feels like there's a hole in your chest. You remove his boxers at an agonizingly slow pace. You gulp as you start to see his pussy. Light blond tufts of hair beautifully surround his soft, pudgy cunt and his t-dick. You look at him. He's sleeping peacefully. He must be more tired than usual tonight.

You gently pull his underwear down his ankles and place it on the end of the blanket he’s laying on. You carefully spread his legs and slot yourself in between them. As you begin to free your aching hard dick, you start to feel a little bad. You tell yourself to give him a huge bonus after this. You gently rub your cock along his pussy, knowing you can definitely get off just by doing this. You don't want it to hurt, at least not too much, so you decide not to penetrate him since your luck would probably run out if you tried to prep him properly.

You bite down on your lip. The view is making you feel dizzy. Your ears drown out the sounds of the thunder storm and focus entirely on Cloud. On his soft, gentle breaths and the squelching sound of his wet pussy, aroused by your cock pressing itself against it. Your heart starts to pound louder, ruining your focus on Cloud.

You let out a breathy gasp as you begin to feel your climax approaching. Your eyes flicker over to his face, watching to make sure he's still asleep. You don't know how you’ve gotten this far but you're no longer so sure that you’ll be able to stop here. Your movements stutter as your cum splatters on his body.

“Cloud..” You whisper. His lack of reaction emboldens you to keep going. You move back and slide your middle finger inside his cunt. Squelch. It sucks it in with ease, and same with your ring finger. You slowly open him up while using your free hand to jerk yourself off. He twitches. You pause and look at him before continuing.

You eventually decide to stop and finally get to the good part. You gently lift Cloud’s legs and position the tip of your cock in front of his entrance. You take your time easing into him while constantly checking if he's awake.

Once you're finally fully inside, you take a couple minutes to take everything in. You're in serious disbelief but way too horny to be concerned about it. You know that, at this point, if he wakes up, you’ll be able to overpower him.

You slowly thrust into him, happily indulging in the wonders of Cloud Strife’s pussy. You gently caress his t-dick, smiling when you start to hear him whimper. “You feel so good, Cloud– ‘s like you were made for me, to tempt me..” You murmur, gradually picking up the pace. “I didn't think it’d be so easy…”

“Maybe you're not even asleep. No properly trained soldier would sleep through something like this…I wonder if you're enjoying this. Getting off on me assaulting you in your sleep like a slut.” You notice his cheeks starting to turn red. A chill runs down your spine as you start to get a feeling your assumption is correct. “You like this, Cloud? Letting yourself get taken advantage of? Does it feel good getting treated like a cocksleeve?”

He whimpers, his cunt squeezing you.

“I know you're awake. Answer me.”

His eyes flutter open, his face flushed and deliciously seductive. “It– it feels good-!” He moans.

“Good boy.” You grin. You never would've thought Cloud would be into something like this. You roughly pound into him. He cries out in pleasure, feeling his orgasm approaching. “‘M gonna come inside and you're gonna take it like the good kitty you are.”

“Ye- yes–!” He shuts his eyes, squirting on your dick. His mouth hangs open as the aftershocks hit him. He smiles dreamily as he feels your cum flow inside of him.

You stop and catch your breath. “Did you reject me hoping this would happen?”

Cloud nods softly. “I didn't think it would…but I wanted it to.”

…..........

He pushes you and steps back. “Don't even think about it.”

“It was worth a shot.”

He shakes his head and decides to explore the building more, far from you.

Cloud climbed the semi-intact stairs and explored the second floor of the building. There wasn't anything noteworthy inside but it did give him much needed privacy. No room to lay down but he didn't need to anyway.

He walked behind a wall to hide himself in case you decided to follow him, and unbuckled his pants. He stuck his hand down them and gently caressed his t-dick. He always knew you were attracted to him, it wasn't like you were hiding it, and he pretended that he hated it. He loves your pet names and the lustful way you look at his body. Part of him hoped that one day, you’d just force yourself on him and claim him like a prize. He didn't think it'd ever happen but he never got tired of fantasizing about it. He hoped he'd have some sort of opportunity for you to finally make your move.

He'd imagine you cornering him in the locker room showers and covering his mouth to make sure no one finds out.

Cloud sneakily rubs his sensitive nipples against the cold wall tiles as you enter him. “Shh, this is what you get for being such a tease.” You spank him, your cock forcefully entering his pussy. Cloud shivers at the sounds of your heavy breathing. He can tell how aroused you are and how much you love his body. He rolls his eyes back as you stretch him wide open, his own heavy breaths making him feel lightheaded.

Or he’d imagine you giving him an ultimatum and forcing him to submit to you in exchange for keeping his job.

Cloud fakes a look of disgust as he stares at your rock hard cock. He looks up at you then back at your length, hesitating before enveloping it in his mouth. “There you go, Cloud, finally doing what I hired you for.” You praise him. He shudders at the thought, his pussy throbbing with need. “This is what you should be doing, not out on the battlefield but here, pleasing me.”

He looks up at you, trying to look angry. You smirk and push his head down, forcing him to shift his focus back.

His latest fantasy was about being trapped together. He hoped that something would happen to keep the two of you together for a long time. And he’d tease you even more to frustrate you. Then you’d finally do it.

He didn't think that exact scenario would actually play out.

[xifere]

18+ | just thought of vampire!reader and sub!nagumo | biting n blood

Something was off about you from the moment he met you. He could never put his finger on it, as if you were already aware he was onto you, but you didn’t let anything slip by.

But he never missed how your eyes trailed from his lips to his jaw, gaze steady when it rested near his jugular. How your eyes lingered for just a half-second longer than at his other features, before you swiftly returned your eyes to his dark ones.

You hid your fangs well, but just once you licked his finger jokingly, sharp canines grazing against his tattooed knuckles before you realized any further would tempt you too much.

It kept him on his toes. Was he simply a blood bag you were keeping around, or was there something more behind your hesitancy?

What he couldn’t deny was his interest—what would it feel like to have your fangs piercing through his flesh? Is it as sedative as they say? How much could he take before he passed out? How would his blood compare to the others you’ve drunk from? Why haven’t you tried his blood yet?

How could he make you lose control? Putting his life on the line purely for his curiosity wasn’t anything new, but he was starting to think his interest was growing into something else. Surely, he wouldn’t be aroused if he was bitten by you…

So can you imagine the euphoria he felt when you succumbed to your desire, gripping his waist as he bared his neck for you, finally—finally, your fangs were sinking themselves deep, the sharp pain accompanied by a rush of dopamine, heat spreading through his veins like a wildfire. Blood trickled from the wound, staining his white t-shirt.

He was all but whimpering, his breathing suddenly ragged, small noises abruptly leaving his mouth each second. Even as his knees began to grow weak, he couldn’t see himself asking you to stop, not when he realized his dick actually enjoyed this. The ache overshadowed any rational thoughts, his mind only thinking of succumbing to your touch.

“Don’t stop…” he mumbled. “And don’t think of drinking—hah—anyone else’s blood—mmngh—besides mine…”

[4k3chi]

I barely have any sfw reposts…gotta get on the cuddles and hugs grindset…

[dvlboy]

imagine “geto” showing up at your door, robes painfully low and unusually sultry as he asks to come in.. you know he’s gone, but there’s just something so shocking about fully seeing him in the flesh.. he even grabs your hand, slipping it into the opening of his robes,, whispering about how much he’s missed you

AKA READER finds his hardest battle yet (SEXY MAN)

[4k3chi]

Non oomf speak your truth…❤️

[carnalcrows]

SAY PLEASE

pairing: abby saja x top male reader

synopsis: Abby’s been throwing hints left and right—flirty touches, cocky smirks, lingering glances that scream take the damn bait already. But his manager just keeps smiling at him like nothing’s going on. Sweet. Harmless. So when Abby finally snaps after a brutal night and drags him into a supply closet, desperate to blow off steam, he figures he knows how this ends. A quick hookup. A little control. Easy.

He doesn’t expect the guy he’s been teasing for weeks to turn around and beg for something filthier. Something softer. Something that leaves Abby shaking by the end of it.

And the worst part? He kind of loves it.

content warnings: 18+, smut, brat Abby, top male reader, power dynamics, closet scene, manager x idol, begging, dom/sub elements, praise kink (good boy, prince), manhandling, ass eating, overstimulation, [smut], post-scenario emotional softness, mild internalized shame, possessive behavior, freaky obsession (hidden under a sweet exterior)

word count: 1.2k

"You gonna help me or not?" Abby asked, breath short, jaw tight.

You blinked up at him from where he dropped you. “...What kind of help are we talking about?”

He exhaled like he was about to throw something. “Are you serious right now?”

"I mean—" You sat up slowly. "You’ve been kinda vague."

Abby crouched in front of you, both hands planted on either side of your thighs. His eyes were glassy with frustration. "I dragged you into a closet. What do you think I want?"

You tilted your head, all soft lashes and fake innocence. “Hug?”

His face twitched. “You are such a fucking menace.”

"Then why do you keep flirting with me?"

“I—what—?” He paused, short-circuited.

“You think I haven’t noticed?” you asked, voice dropping a little, just enough to make his breath catch. “You think I haven’t been waiting for you to finally do something about it?”

His mouth opened, but no sound came out. You were already rising to your knees, closing the space between you, until you could hear the way his breath stuttered when you leaned in.

Abby blinked, startled. “Wait—so you knew?”

“Oh, baby,” you breathed, brushing your fingers under his chin, “I’ve been starving for you.”

His whole body tensed, heat crawling up his neck.

You smiled. “So. How do you want me?”

Abby licked his lips, fast. “I thought you’d maybe wanna… I dunno. Suck me off. Or let me—”

“Nope.”

You kissed the corner of his jaw. “Wanna eat you out.”

He jerked back like you slapped him. “You what?”

“I said—”

“No, no, I heard you. I just. What the fuck.”

You shrugged. “You dragged me in here. You said you were stressed. Let me help.”

“That’s not—Guys don’t usually—I’m not—” He looked like he was glitching out. “You’re fucking with me, right?”

You gave him that look. Soft. Puppyish. Lips parted, a little pouty. Not even putting it on.

“Please?” you whispered. “Want you so bad, Abby. Been thinking about it forever.”

His throat bobbed.

"You're not gonna tell anyone, right?"

"Course not."

You kissed him.

That shut him up fast.

Abby stiffened, caught off guard, but he didn’t pull away. His hands twitched at your sides like he couldn’t decide whether to push you off or pull you in. And then—slowly—he kissed you back. Tentative at first. Almost shy, like the fire he’d come in with was starting to burn inward now.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, cheeks flushed, breath catching like he’d just realized what he was agreeing to.

“I can’t believe I’m letting you do this,” he muttered.

You tilted your head, smiling gently. “You don’t have to.”

He hesitated. Really hesitated this time. You could see it—pride and desire wrestling under his skin, chewing at the edge of his mouth. His fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt like he needed to hold something while he decided.

Then finally, he let out a breath and nodded.

“Okay,” he said softly. “But if I tell you to stop, you have to stop. No matter what.”

You beamed up at him, pressing a quick kiss to his jaw. “Deal,” you agreed easily. “Now turn around and brace yourself against the wall.”

Abby did as you asked, hands splaying against the shelves as you positioned yourself behind him—before pushing his pants down, along with his boxers. You could see the way his body trembled with anticipation, hear the shaky inhale of his breath.

"Tell me if you need me to slow down or stop," you reminded him gently, hands coming to rest on his hips. "I'll check in with you throughout."

With that, you leaned forward and dragged the flat of your tongue over his entrance. Abby jerked, a gasp leaving his lips at the sudden contact. You hummed encouragingly, licking again before sealing your mouth around him and sucking lightly.

"Oh fuck," Abby breathed, fingers scrabbling at the shelves. "That feels... holy shit."

You just continued your ministrations, varying your technique to figure out what he liked best. It didn't take long before he was pushing back against your face, breath coming in short pants as you worked him open with lips and tongue.

"Please," he whined after a few minutes, hips rolling desperately against the wall. "I need more. Need your fingers or something."

You pulled back just long enough to slick up two fingers before pressing them inside him, curling them just so to hit his prostate. Abby cried out, back arching as he struggled to take the new stretch.

"Right there," he gasped, head thrashing from side to side. "Fuck yes, just like that. Don't stop."

You didn't, doubling down on your efforts until he was babbling incoherently, thighs shaking with the force of his pleasure. Only then did you pull your fingers free, sealing your lips back around him and sucking hard as you pushed three fingers inside this time.

"Shit," Abby panted, eyes rolling back as he struggled to take the new stretch. "So fucking full. Can't... can't take much more."

You just stayed there behind him, gaze locked on every twitch, every shiver, working him over with your mouth and hands like you were starving for it. Abby’s fingers scrabbled against the wall of the closet, breath hitching. His head dropped forward with a soft, choked sound—he couldn’t see you, but he didn’t need to. Every nerve in his body was screaming for you.

"Gonna come," he warned shakily, hips starting to stutter. "Fuck, I'm gonna come."

You just hummed around him, continuing to work on his prostate until he was screaming your name, spilling a hot and sticky mess from his cock, that dribbled down to his hole and across your tongue. You swallowed it down greedily, continuing to work him through his orgasm with lips and tongue until he was spent and shaking.

Only then did you pull away, licking your lips clean as you rose to your feet. Abby looked up at you with glassy, satisfied eyes, a dopey grin on his face— reaching up to pull you down for a proper kiss. You went willingly, letting him taste himself on your tongue as he clung to you.

You were both still on the floor ten minutes later.

Well. You were on the floor. Abby was draped across your chest like a dramatic little prince, sweat cooling along his collarbone, your jacket half-tucked beneath him like a makeshift pillow.

He hadn’t spoken in a while. Just kept exhaling soft and shaky, like he didn’t quite know how to be alive again yet.

Finally, he muttered, “...Fuck.”

You laughed quietly, one hand stroking up his back.

“Never speak of this again,” he said.

You hummed. “You said that already.”

“I mean it.”

You kissed the top of his head. “Sure, baby.”

He didn’t argue. Just curled in closer, fingers fisting the fabric of your shirt.

"...You were really good,” he mumbled, voice too quiet for how bratty he usually was. “Like. Stupid good.”

You smiled. “I know.”

"Ugh." He shoved at your chest half-heartedly. "Don’t get cocky."

"Too late. Got you crying in a closet."

He groaned into your neck. “I hate you.”

You laughed. “You will. Until the next time you’re stressed.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

Taglist: @belovedengie @jrxkar @yippee-yippee8 @faggotboulevard @bleedingbl0ssom @green-turtle3 @mazettns @laynnetteii1 (comment to be added)

[pinkpuppipawz]

DRUNK

°ᡣ𐭩 . Poly! Saja boys x GN! Reader

CONTENTS ꒱ ➜ Fluff, some suggestiveness, mentions of puking, Abby’s abs, reader eating a shit ton of chocolate, reader being a mess, the boys don’t know what to do (send help)

CREDITS ꒱ ➜ Saja Boys belong to KPOP Demon Hunters (Sony) on Netflix

AUTHORS NOTE ꒱ ➜ hiii! Sos I haven’t posted anything in seemingly years, I’ve been busy with life and such. Haven’t written in a while so may be a bit rusty. I have only been drunk once so this may not be accurate. Also this is my first time writing for Saja Boys! Planning on writing for them more in the future bc yes, feel free to request if desired!

You had promised them it would only be one small drink, and they decided to trust you. Never again are they doing that after what occurred tonight.

You were currently stuffing your face full of any chocolate you could get your hands on, seemingly in a trance of some sort. The boys didn’t know if they should stop you or just leave it.

Jinu tried, key word tried, to stop you from indulging too much just in case you threw up later, only for you to turn around, give him the nastiest glare you could muster in your not so sober state whilst growling like a dog.

Mystery may or may have not found that kind of hot, and may or may have not had to go to the bathroom real quick to get rid of his problem.

Abby tried distracting you with his abs, to see if you would just maybe turn away from the chocolate for enough time for the others to snatch them from you. Nope! Did not work, for once. Abby felt his ego deflate like a balloon, muttering something along the lines of ‘my abs have failed me for the first time in my life’.

The boys were lost at this point, they didn’t want to make you cross yet they didn’t want you to be sick later, plus Baby didn’t want all of his snacks to be gone (he didn’t want to go to the shops bc he’s lowkey lazy). At this point they had tried everything, or so they thought.

Out of the blue (pun intended), Derpy appeared from the floor, his eyes unfocused per usual. The bird was sitting atop his head, donning the usual hat that he stole all the time.

In the blink of an eye, you practically rugby tackled the tiger, causing him to slightly budge a bit from the sudden force. ‘Oh my god you are so CUTE!!!! Why are you so cute???’ You cried out, petting the tiger all over whilst cooing a bunch of unintelligible words that probably didn’t even exist.

The boys sighed in relief. Finally! Something to distract you from finishing all their chocolate in one sitting. They are never letting you drink again. (Not without someone to supervise you whilst you do so).

BONUS

Baby and Romance spent the night with you on the couch, as you were too stubborn to haul yourself to bed or let them carry you, so you all agreed to compromise. When asked why you didn’t want to go to bed with the others, you claimed that you wanted to pat the squishy kitty all night long. Only to end up falling asleep on top of Derpy not long after, with the blue tiger seemingly purring in content at the affection. The boys may or may have not taken a bunch of pictures at the sight.

© Content belongs to @ pinkpuppipawz, do NOT re-post my work on any other social media platforms (I only post on tumblr)

[shiroru-deactivated20250915]

sub male cow hybrid character x dom amab!reader

i've been reading a certain manhwa recently and i can't get it out of my head. imagine your cute cow hybrid boyfriend down on his knees, wrists bound behind his back, thick tail swishing in frustrated little arcs while his head droops forward. his body trembles with every slow stroke you give him, your hand pumping his cock while two fingers curl deep inside his sloppy, fluttering pussy. he’s a mess already, cock fat and flushed, drooling precum down to your knuckles. his chubby pussy’s an even bigger mess, gushing around your fingers and making little squelches each time you drive into him. you watch satisfied as his ears twitch and hooves scrape against the floor. “more,” he whines, drool slipping past his lips, gasping as your thumb circles his clit. “want more—want you to stuff my pussy and breed me while you make my cock cum—” you hush him, tightening your grip on his shaft until his hips jolt forward pathetically. you lay him down, his cock pressing against his tummy while your own slides into his dripping cunt. the heat swallows you immediately, his cock jerking between your bodies with every thrust. “ohhh, fuck, fuck, 's too much,” he cries, his moans turning into shameful moos. “that good, sweetie?” you reach between you, stroking him in time with your thrusts, his cock leaking a constant stream like milk that sticks to your palm. he’s babbling, begging for your cum, begging you how badly he wants his tummy full, how badly he needs to be bred. your poor cow is overstimulated beyond words, his cock spurting against his stomach while his pussy tightens hard enough to drag your orgasm out of you, stuffing him with your thick cum. 

[4k3chi]

First post in a while…ANYWAYS I’m kms I got back on the genshin grindset and I wasted HALF of my Flins pulls trying to get Ineffa….just to get DILUC. Ig Flins is guaranteed now but still…🥀🥀🥀

[syrupyuu]

— .TERMS OF FAMILIARITY ˚ ༘₊· ᚐ ❅.ᐟ

ft. yandere!sorcerer × dragon!reader

summary: a mysterious sorcerer drags you back from the brink of death, and binds you into a year as his familiar. some chains, it turns out, can’t be broken.

wc: 8.1k || tags: male yandere, gender neutral reader. drugging, mild injury detail, blood, possible power imbalance. reader has a dick regardless of gender. yandere is a 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌. porn w/ plot. unprotected sex, penetration(m!receiving), missionary. semi-unedited. MDNI

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 he finds you, you’ve fallen from the sky trailing smoke and blood; a lone, crumpled silhouette against the snow, looking like winter had claimed and cast you down into its silence.

You were trembling, your form flickering wildly between your human guise and true self, magic in your veins sparking erratically with every ragged breath. Warm blood runs freely over the snow in twisting rivulets, staining the drifts a vivid, impossible red.

Caelum almost sets his boot down on your wing.

He hadn’t expected a dragon here, of all places. Dragons belonged to high peaks and deep ranges, where valleys swallow men whole; never in these frostbitten woods where the only winged creatures were crows and the occasional migrating hawk.

Originally, he'd set out with nothing rarer in mind than winter herbs for his concoctions, but this… this was rarer still. Far better.

Snow continues to drift down in fat, lazy flakes, clinging to your torn scales and hair, melting against the heat still rolling off your body. He’d never been this close to something so alive and yet so clearly dying.

His breath curles in the cold as he stares with wide eyes, cataloguing every visible twitch, every ragged shift of scale to skin.

You were... a terrible kind of beauty; a beauty that bled and devoured. His heart beat too loudly in his ears. It felt wrong to witness this. Profane, almost.

The air smells of lightning. The ground hums with it.

"Oh." he returns to his senses, dropping to a crouch beside you as snow crunches under his boots. "You’re.." he falters.

Caelum takes in the blood crusting in your hair, the faint shimmer of scales threading beneath your skin, the scorched gouge in the snow where you must have fallen.

"…well," a low, breathless laugh slips from him. "aren’t you a rare one?"

You try to growl, but it comes out wrong. Smoke seeps from your mouth, while the rest of your body twitches in pain.

Your limbs don’t obey you. The weight of your form sinks into the snow like it’s trying to bury you. Your thoughts come disjointed, scattering like loose stones down a cliff: hunger, pain, fire, run. You want to flee, but the sky’s already flung you down once.

"Hey, don’t move," he says, as if you could. "you'll only strain yourself. Here, just—let me..." he peels off his gloves with his teeth, reaching for the cracked skin along your ribs where the transformation never finished.

His hands are warm. Much too warm for your liking.

You flinched when he touched you. The heat of his palms seeped through torn fabric and split skin, foreign enough to make your instincts snarl. You wanted to tear his throat out — you would, if your limbs weren’t heavy as stone.

Your blood had frozen mid-spill, crystallizing in the air before it hit the ground. Magic still spat and hissed from your wounds, burning perfect holes through the snow.

The world reeked of copper and ozone.

He murmured something under his breath; syllables none you could quite catch. Judging from the light that bloomed across your vision afterwards, it might have been an incantation — too soft for true flame, yet too intense to be healing magic.

You almost asked who he was, or why he was helping you at all. Curiosity pressed against the edges of your exhaustion, but it was smothered before you could give it voice.

A shame, really. If only you hadn’t blacked out first.

You wake to the sound of hinges creaking.

The first thing you notice is that you are not cold. No snow biting at your skin. No wind searing your lungs. The second thing you notice is the absence of pain — not its complete absence, but all that's left is a sensation so faint it feels more like a memory than a present reality.

...How long have you been out for?

You lie still, your eyes opening to a ceiling far too close for the open sky. Beams run across it in dark, rough lines, their edges worn smooth with age. The air is heavy with the scent of smoke, but not from any wildfire. The smell is much more akin to that of herbs.

But most noticeably, beneath it all is the metallic tang of your own blood. Faint now, as if it had been washed and rewashed from the air.

Your breathing comes steady. You remember the hitching gasps in the snow, how every inhalation scraped your ribs raw. Now your chest rises without resistance. The magic that once spat and cracked through your veins has quieted to a simmer, contained beneath your skin. Even your limbs — stone-heavy in the snow — now feel light enough to obey you.

It is wrong. Unnatural.

You should not feel this whole so soon.

The door shifts further open, wood groaning under its hinges. Caelum steps in, his presence cutting into the warm stillness like a blade through silk. He’s carrying a bowl, steam coiling upward in slow, languid ribbons, catching in the strands of his hair. His eyes are on the contents, lips curved faintly, like he’s weighing whether to sample it before bringing it to you.

You don’t give him the chance.

The moment his foot crosses the threshold, you move — faster than even you expect. One moment you are on the cot, the next you are upright, claws at his throat. The bowl rocks precariously in his grip but does not spill. Your other hand knots into the front of his robe, dragging him down until you can see the flicker of surprise — and then amusement — in his eyes.

His gaze lingers not on your face, but at the faint shimmer of scale still clinging to the curve of your neck. You think you see his lips move — counting? measuring? — before he blinks and smiles as if nothing had passed.

Your talons press lightly at first, then harder, just enough to catch on the thrum of his pulse.

His smile blooms like frost across glass. "I see you’ve gotten your strength back faster than expected."

You narrow your eyes. The steady burn in your muscles feels almost alien after the frailty you remember. "Where am I?"

"Safe."

"That’s not an answer."

He tilts his head a fraction, gaze slipping over your face as if mapping every detail. "It’s the only one that matters."

Your claws press a little harder. "And your name? Or am I supposed to call you ‘safe’ until I decide whether to kill you?"

His smile doesn’t waver. "Caelum." a beat passes, "Now," he raises the bowl slightly, an almost careless gesture, "I was bringing you something warm. Thought you might like a change from bleeding all over the snow."

The faint sting of your claws biting into his neck draws a bead of red. He doesn’t so much as blink.

"Let me go," you growl.

"Ah." his tone shifts and drops lower, "I’m afraid that isn’t possible."

Your grip tightens. "Why?"

"Because," he continues, as if explaining something to a child, "I bound us."

The words hit, sharp as a fang to the throat. "...you what?"

“A contract.” his voice is unhurried, almost indulgent. "You were dying. I saved you. And in exchange, you’re mine — for one year, at the very least. A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?"

"Release it."

He watches you for a long moment, a faint crease tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I could," he murmurs, "but then you’d be back in the snow, with your ribs split open, magic spilling into the frost. And…" his gaze lingers, unblinkingly still, "I’ve grown rather fond of having you here."

The air between you hums, taut with the same current running in your veins. His heartbeat stays maddeningly steady beneath your claws, as if death is an old friend he’s content to entertain.

"…step back," you say at last, low enough it almost isn’t a command.

His expression softens in a way that makes the hair on your neck rise. "Of course," he nods. "—but eat first."

He lifts the bowl between you, steam curling through the narrow space like smoke from a smoldering pyre.

You take the bowl from him without breaking eye contact, half expecting him to yank it back at the last moment — a reminder that you’re only here by his mercy. He doesn’t. His hands fall away easily, sleeves falling slightly over his wrists, leaving only the heat of the ceramic cupped in your claws.

The steam smells… edible. Rich, with something that sits low in the nose like bone marrow, threaded through with sharper, green notes you can’t quite place. No metallic sting of hemlock. No acrid bitterness that would cling to the tongue if it were laced with belladonna.

"Poison?" you ask flatly, testing.

Caelum’s mouth quirks. "Would it matter?"

You do not answer.

If he poisoned it, you tell yourself, you’ll know before it kills you. Probably.

You lower yourself back onto the cot, the wood creaking faintly under your weight. The bowl remains warm in your grip, and the surface ripples faintly as you stir it with the tip of a claw. Bits of root and shredded meat turn lazily in the broth. The heat licks against your face, coaxing the stiffness from your jaw despite yourself. You take the first mouthful like a dare.

It isn’t what you expect.

The broth is rich, almost unbearably so after the sharp, cold air of the snowfields — marrow thickened until it clings faintly to your tongue, undercut with the brightness of some herb you can’t name. There’s meat, soft enough to collapse between your teeth, and root vegetables boiled until they’ve given up all resistance. It’s… good. Infuriatingly good.

The second sip scalds your tongue, but not unpleasantly so. The heat unfurls through your chest like a slow burn, seeping into muscle and bone. The broth is rich, savory, threaded with an earthiness that anchors itself on the back of your tongue. You find yourself taking another mouthful before you mean to, chewing a piece of meat so tender it yields without resistance.

Fifty percent certainty of poison drops to… perhaps fourty-five.

Your claws remain half-curled around the rim, ready to drop it at the first twitch of wrongness in your veins. But it never comes. The only thing that settles into your body is heat.

You eat again. Then again.

When you glance up between mouthfuls, Caelum’s no longer watching the bowl, but you. Something in his gaze is different now; softer at the edges and taut at the center. The faint curve of his lips falters, then twitches.

"…what?" you ask, suspicious.

His eyes flick away and back too quickly to be casual. "Nothing," he replies, a touch too light. "I just… didn’t think you’d like it."

"It’s not too bad," you admit, if only because you’re too busy lifting another spoonful to your mouth to conjure something sharper.

That earns you a faint huff of laughter, though quieter than usual. Caelum looks like he might be hiding behind it, even. His hand comes up to brush the hair from his own face, fingers lingering at the corner of his mouth as if to school it into something more familiar.

You don’t mention the faint flush high on his cheekbones.

You keep eating.

You learn quickly that Caelum is not a quiet man.

Oh, his voice is soft, always — but he speaks often, and with a fondness for filling silence. His words wind around you like vines, draping over moments that might otherwise stretch empty between two strangers forced to share the same air. While you rarely responded, he never seems to mind.

He speaks to you like one might to a petulant child.

"You’re adapting better than expected," Caelum says one afternoon, near-black irises catching just a trace of light as his gaze flicks to your fingers moving steadily through a stack of dried leaves, sorting them into neat piles. "some of the familiars I’ve had before couldn’t tell rootwort from rotleaf. You, at least, have taste."

You don’t bother looking up then. "I’m not your familiar."

“Of course not,” he says agreeably, "but you're still mine, no?"

You shoot him a look. Caelum only smiles over the rim of his teacup.

Still, in spite of yourself, you find the rhythm of life here lulls into something almost bearable. Every day, you chop roots and haul firewood. You help sift through spell components, learning which dried husks are explosive and which are merely bitter. Sometimes you’re sent out to collect them — within the bounds of the "radius," of course — though Caelum insists on weaving protective charms into your sleeves before you go.

One evening in particular, you're rinsing herbs in the basin near the hearth, water lukewarm and flecked with bits of crushed root and leaf pulp, when Caelum’s shadow falls across your shoulder.

"You know.." he pouts uncharacteristically, voice trailing in with the smoke curling from the chimney, "it’s not fair."

You frown. "What isn’t?"

Caelum leans in a little. "That I’ve let you poke around my study, read my grimoires, even steal from my tea stash—" here, he gently flicks a droplet of water off your sleeve, "—and yet you still won’t let me take a proper look at you."

Your hands pause, fingers submerged in the cloudy water. “You look at me constantly.”

"But not academically," he sighs, propping his head on your shoulder. You don't have to look to sense the faint curve of his mouth that never reaches his eyes.

"I'm not a subject for you to gawk at."

"Of course not," he replies mildly. "You’re far more than that."

You withdraw your hands from the water, shaking droplets loose from your fingers. Your gaze doesn’t meet his. "Then act like it."

Silence laps between you for a moment or two. The basin shifts slightly as you lean your weight against the table, but Caelum doesn’t move away. You feel him there — close. you could even pinpoint the very rhythm of his magic; how it flows and pulses in thin air like thick syrup.

Eventually, he steps back. The weight of him retreats, just enough for your lungs to expand again.

"As you wish," he says finally, like he's granting a favor. Your brows furrow.

You get the feeling of wrongness as the moment passes, but ultimately choose to ignore it. Whatever that is, it follows you out of that moment, far into the following day.

Only by afternoon do you realize you should've trusted your gut.

. . .

At first, it was only present as vague heaviness settling behind your eyes, easy to blame on poor rest. Only, you couldn't excuse how the fatigue clung stubbornly to your limbs, tugging at your joints with invisible threads.

It’s while rinsing your hands in the basin, watching water ripple and distort around your fingers. The tips tremble faintly, a fine, shivering tremor that does not cease even after you lift them out of the bowl.

You stare at your reflection in the warped surface — flushed skin, clouded eyes, and a familiar silhouette rendered alien by the weight behind it. Your tongue feels slow in your mouth. A sour taste coats the back of your throat, barely masked by earthy and floral scents.

Suddenly, you remember tea.

A porcelain cup Caelum had offered you in the early morning. A blend "to wake the bones," he’d said. "You deserve a refresher," he’d said. The same cup you’d accepted without question, like a fool.

Your fingers curl into the edge of the basin, knuckles pale. The dull ache of betrayal is nothing new— but this... somehow, this is different.

You turn, not fast enough. The room spins slightly at the edges, light pooling too bright in some corners and fading too dark in others. You steady yourself against the table, blinking until the lines of the cabin stop wavering.

Unfortunately, you catch movement from the corner of your eyes.

Caelum stands at the far end of the room, partially silhouetted by the high window, sleeves rolled to the elbow as he arranges something along the shelf. Dried vines, glimmering in a faint magical hum, hang limply from a string between his fingers. He hums to himself, content.

You feel your lip curl.

He knows.

Of course he knows. He knew exactly how long it would take to reach your system. How your body would try — and fail — to purge it.

You grit your teeth and push off the table.

The floorboards creak beneath your weight, uneven and strangely distant, and it feels like you're walking across a dreamscape instead of wood. Still, Caelum doesn’t turn until you're nearly within reach.

When he does, however, the bastard smiles.

"Feeling all right?" he asks gently, "You look pale."

Your jaw tightens, the inside of your mouth gone dry. "You drugged me."

He has the audacity to tilt his head and blink. "Would you prefer I told you beforehand?"

Your hands twitch at your sides, "..I should've known," you mutter. The words rasp out low and bitter against your tongue. "I'm a fool for thinking you wouldn't."

He takes a step closer.

"You should lie down," Caelum says softly, reaching for you with one hand. "It’ll be easier if—"

But your hand shoots up, trembling though it is, and slaps his wrist away with more strength than you knew remained. The motion sends a crackling arc of heat through your arm, your magic rebelling in brief, violent protest. Caelum’s fingers stop mid-reach, suspended in the air between you, before slowly falling away.

He watches you with something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"…You don’t want to do this now," he says softly, like the words he's uttering are a kindness. "Not while you’re half-lost in it. Just let the drug wear off, [name]. Then we can talk."

Your vision doubles briefly. The wall behind him shimmers, doubling and sliding like light through water. You shake your head, but it does little to clear it.

Caelum is already behind you.

You know it before he speaks, even before the warmth of his breath brushes your neck.

"Shhh," he murmurs, so close you can feel the vibration of the word where it touches the shell of your ear. "Don’t fight it. You’ll only hurt yourself."

You try to lunge. Or at least, you think you do. But your body doesn’t obey. Your arms twitch, but they don’t lift; your knees buckle instead of pushing forward. The world tilts and tilts, and then you’re falling, like a leaf carried by wind.

Arms catch you before the floor does.

You hate how steady he is.

Your instincts scream to thrash, claw, bite — but the commands never make it past your nerves. Instead you feel the steadiness of his grip, the low, infuriating hum of his magic through his fingertips, and the smallest, most shameful part of you almost leans closer just to stay upright.

"There we go," Caelum hums, as if settling a child to sleep. You feel him lower you gently, the sleeves of his robes brushing against your bare skin as he crouches with you. "That’s better, isn’t it?"

Your mouth moves, but no sound escapes. Your tongue feels thick. Even your fury dulls in your chest; not extinguished, but muffled, like it was never yours to begin with.

He exhales like he’s been waiting for this.

And then… then, he looks at you. His eyes trace the line of your collarbone, from the angle of your jaw, to the subtle rise and fall of your chest beneath your tunic. His fingers move to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, and lingers.

You want to spit in his face. Tear his throat open with your teeth. Rip the smug look off his mouth.

Yet all you can do is lie there, breathing shallowly while heat pools beneath your skin in sharp, humiliating pulses.

"No need to glare," Caelum mutters, even as he brushes a finger over your cheekbone, slow as a lover might.

He cups your jaw. Tilts your head. His smile widens.

"I'm only admiring," he hums, tone dipped in mock-innocence. "you’ve always been more breathtaking when you’re not trying to kill me."

Your vision gutters like a candle on its last gasp. The heat at your core curls tight into itself like a coiled spring, and then,

Darkness.

You wake in the same bed where Caelum always leaves you.

The sheets are warm, tucked loosely over your legs; the air smells faintly of lavender and crushed quartz — something he must have burned to mask the sharpness of what had come before. You recognize the scratch of linen against your skin and the familiar ache of your magic simmering low and restrained, leashed to your pulse like a tide waiting to rise.

There is a faint, buzzing pressure along the edge of your spine — what you're certain is the aftertaste of binding spells, recently used.

You do not move at first.

Instead, you let your senses stretch outward, then dissipate like smoke. You count your breaths. You test the sensory of your limbs, the weight of your own strength settling back into your bones like it never left. You test your hands under the blanket. Thankfully, they obey.

Another thing you notice, is that he's not here yet.

You sit up slowly, letting the blanket fall from your shoulders. Your pulse is surprisingly steady, considering the memory slotted behind our eyes.

He drugged you. He drugged you. Took your consent, your control, and pried it apart with silver-tongued lies. Even now, the room feels tainted — soft and comfortable the same way a muzzle would once slipped under your jaw.

You throw the covers off with a snarl.

The floorboards creak beneath your bare feet. The moment your weight settles into your stance, your magic rises with you. Your eyes drag across the space: the table, clean now; the herbs, reordered.

Your eyes land on the corner of the room, where a basin sits half-filled, a towel folded beside it. In the corner, a low shelf holds a neat line of glass vials. Some are empty; others cradle slow-moving swirls of something pearlescent. One holds a sediment of dried red at the bottom, dark as rust. You look away.

Before you could reach the door, it opens.

Caelum steps inside with a faint dusting of ash on his sleeve, a charmed vial dangling between his fingers. His gaze lands on you at once, and the look on his face is enough to turn your blood molten.

"Good morning," he smiles. "Sleep well?"

He doesn't get an answer.

Your feet move before your thoughts can catch up.

In the space between one breath and the next, you cross the room, moving with the full force of your body returned to you. You don’t shout, don’t curse, don’t give him the satisfaction of a warning. There is only the sound of wood slamming underfoot and the sudden, sharp crack of your palm as it catches his throat and drives him backward.

He hits the wall with a thud that shakes the frame of the house.

The vial tumbles from his fingers. It shatters against the floor.

You pin him there, forearm pressing hard into his collarbone. Not hard enough to break it (yet), but enough that he feels the weight of you. Enough that his breath stills for the first time since entering. The wall behind him groans in protest, and your claws twitch against the fabric of his robe.

The blush that spreads across Caelum's face does nothing but aggravate your anger.

"Oh," he breathes, the sound more exhale than word. "There you are."

..and maddeningly, corners of his mouth only pull further upwards.

Your eyes widen. "—Do you want me to kill you? Is that the fucking point of this? Because I will, Caelum. Contract or no contract."

Your claws tighten around his throat, sharp enough to draw blood.

"I'm only asking once. What did you do to me?"

His hands raise, not in self-defense, but in gentle framing; palms open beside your shoulders like he’s cradling your rage.

“Only what I needed,” he says without flinching, "a few samples, some quick readings… oh, and a rather enlightening look at how your draconic magic reacts under suppression."

For a split second, he laughs— then brushes a hand against your cheek with an expression you can only describe as eerie infatuation.

"Is that enough to sate your curiosity, dearest?"

Your breath rasps sharp between your teeth,

“Enlightening,” you repeat, your voice low enough to vibrate in your chest. “You think I’m here for your research?”

Caelum’s lashes lower, and for the first time there’s the smallest tremor in his breath. “You’re here,” he murmurs, “because I wanted you here.”

Your grip on his throat tightens until you feel the deep thrum of his pulse against your claws.

“You wanted me here, and so you took me. Bound me. Drugged me. All because you couldn’t stand the thought of not having your little experiment at arm’s reach.”

His breath hitches, if only because of the way your body crowds his against the wall, the weight of you unrelenting. “Yes,” he admits, voice shameless and hoarse with the strain of speaking through your hold. “Yes, I did. I still do.”

Your claws are still at his throat, hooked just enough to feel the steady throb of his pulse under the pads of your fingers. Blood beads where you’ve broken skin, slick and warm against your grip, the copper tang curling up between you. Caelum doesn’t shrink from it.

“...Do you make a habit of putting your hands on dying creatures and keeping them?” your voice is low enough that the words hum against his skin. “Or am I the first one you decided to cage?”

Caelum’s mouth parts, a shallow breath pulling at the cut along his neck. “The first worth keeping,” he says, breathless under the pressure of your arm.

Onyx eyes follow you the way a starving dog might watch the hand that feeds it. You don't miss the way his gaze intensifies.

“You know what I should do?” you mutter, with a tone steady enough to cut through the tension. "End it here. Snap your neck before you get another chance to put anything in my veins.”

His breath shivers faintly between his teeth, but he doesn’t blink. “And yet,” he murmurs, voice rasping around the pressure on his windpipe, “you haven't.”

You press harder until the rhythm of his pulse beats against your claws. “Don’t mistake restraint for mercy.”

A faint smile flickers at the corner of his mouth, but it's not the smug you're used to. “I don’t,” he rasps. “I just don’t think you have the spine for anything else.”

You let the silence stretch just long enough for his breath to hitch again before you shift your grip, sliding from his throat to his jaw. Your palm forces his head back until it meets the wall with a muted thud. “Control,” you say, leaning in until the words brush the shell of his ear. “the same thing you thought you had.”

That gets you the smallest flicker in his expression. His lips part like he might speak, but nothing comes. You see the thought form behind those irises, the way it tightens the lines of his face.

Your other hand catches in the front of his robe, dragging him forward an inch before slamming him back against the wood. The wall complains, but Caelum’s breath is the only thing you hear.

“You want me close?” you ask, not waiting for the answer. “Fine. But you’ll take it on my terms.”

Recognition curls slow in his features, stripping them of anything that might be mistaken for doubt. His eyes narrow a fraction, then lower, almost involuntarily. When your knee slots between his legs, the sharp, stifled inhale that follows is nothing to surprise you.

"—Hhnf—!"

Your smile is little more than a shadow, there and gone in the curve of your mouth. “On your knees.”

For a beat, he stays still, but the tension in his shoulders gives him away. Then a faint shiver betrays him, running through his shoulders, loosening the breath from his chest. He lowers himself until the floor presses its cold bite into his knees, eyes never once breaking from yours.

The blood at his neck is still fresh enough to gleam.

—PLAP! PLAP! PLAP!

"—hahh—! nghhh—!" Caelum’s voice cracks, head tipping back as the force rocks him forward each time. Fingers claw at your shoulders, at your arm, at anything that keeps him grounded, but his knees keep sliding against the floorboards.

Your pace doesn’t falter. The sharp slap of skin meeting skin rings out, every thrust jarring another gasp, another strangled moan from his throat. His robe hangs half-off his shoulders now, fabric sticking to sweat-slick skin, the tie belt long discarded somewhere on the floor.

"F—fuck—" his breath stutters, teeth sinking into his lip to bite back a sound that still spills through anyway. The way his eyes glaze makes it clear he’s past caring how shameless he looks.

Every time you drive in, his whole body jolts, muscles trembling under your grip. His hands slip again and again, nails digging crescent marks into your skin before scrabbling for a better hold. "Hhnn—aaah—! ah—hahhh—!"

You press deeper, harder, until the pitch of his cries tips higher. The tremor in his thighs spreads up through his hips, every thrust breaking him open a little more. Sweat drips down his temples, clinging to strands of hair that stick to his flushed face.

You lean over him, close enough that your breath brushes his ear, your body shadowing his flushed, trembling form.

"Look at you," you murmur, your lips grazing the curve where his jaw meets his neck. The words make him shudder, his thighs quivering where they hook around your hips. "Can’t even—ngh!—think straight, can you?"

His head tips back with a gasp, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. "N-no—ahhh!-"

You thrust in harder, swallowing the way his breath stutters under the weight of you. His hands scrabble at your back, the sharp bite of his nails barely masking how badly his body’s giving out beneath yours.

The sound of skin meeting skin echoes in the close heat between you, drowning out everything but the broken noises spilling from his lips. Each push forces your shape deeper into him, the thick ridge at the base dragging against hypersensitive walls that flutter and squeeze around you in shuddering pulses.

You can feel the way his body tries to take you evenly, but fails — the blunt stretch making him seize up before melting open again around the next thrust. Every twitch of your length grinds against spots that make him keen, the flared tip nudging somewhere deep enough to knock the air from his lungs.

"—hahhh!—hhhnnn—nngh—" Caelum’s voice breaks into a gasp, then a choked, half-formed, "plea—ahhh—please—" His thighs tighten around your hips, trembling with each roll of your hips. "D-don’t!—hhhnn—hahhh!—fuhhhk—!"

You don’t slow. The steady, pounding rhythm makes him throw his head back again, a breathless whimper slipping between gritted teeth, followed by a desperate, high-pitched moan that turns into an incoherent string of sounds when you shift just slightly, hitting that same deep spot again.

His hands fist in the fabric at your back, his knuckles pale, as if holding on is the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely.

Your hips keep driving into him, unrelenting, each thrust dragging another fractured sound from his throat. His head lolls back against the floor, hair sticking to flushed skin, his mouth falling open around a sharp gasp that tumbles into a breathless, "’m—’m close—’m—hahhh—close—!"

The words spill out between sob-like moans. His body arches up into you, seeking more, every roll of your hips making his walls flutter tight around you in helpless rhythm.

"Lu—luvvv—ahhh—I—hahhhnn—" the syllables break, twist, melt into a raw, needy cry as you slam deep again, the ridge at your base catching just right and making him jerk under you. "L-love you, [na—ahh—ngh—"

His nails dig harder into your back, clawing like he needs something to anchor him while his whole body trembles around your length. The repetition turns desperate, breathless—"’m close—’m close—’m close—luvv you, luvv you-nghhh!"—until the sounds are barely even words anymore, just pleading, slurred nonsense tangled in the hot air between you.

Every thrust sends a shock through his frame, his legs tightening around you as though he could pull you in even deeper. The heat and wet around you pulse with each heartbeat, each gasp, as he teeters right at the edge, so far gone his gaze can’t focus on anything but you.

You don’t hold back. With one hand braced on the floor beside him, the other reaches up to grip the back of his neck, fingers tangling in damp strands of hair. Your teeth sink into the raw, aching wound there, a sharp sting bleeding heat down his skin as you anchor yourself to him. His breath hitches, broken and ragged, throat tightening around a strangled cry that sounds both pained and desperate.

Driven by the bite, your hips slam in harder, each thrust jerking a ragged moan from him that’s equal parts agony and bliss. His body shudders beneath you, trembling violently as his nails rake down your back again, nails sharp enough to draw thin lines of blood where they catch.

“Ghh—f-fuck—ahh—shit—” he pants, slipping between urgent gasps and nearly unintelligible sounds. “Y-yeah—fuck—right there—ngh!—harder—”

You grind into him without mercy, teeth still clenched on that tender spot, tasting iron and sweat mingled with the salt of his skin. His muscles coil tighter, thighs squeezing you with frantic desperation as a low, guttural groan bubbles up from deep inside him.

“’M-’m yours—all yours—hahh—[name]! love you—so much—” his voice breaks in a breathless rush, a tear slipping down the side of his face as his fingers curl into fists, nails pressing harsh crescents into your skin. “Plea—ah!—don’tstop—”

Your teeth drag free from his neck, leaving a raw, wet mark in their wake. His breath is still catching, high and uneven, when you slow to a craw, then stop altogether.

You pull almost all the way out and stay there, letting the stretch of emptiness burn. Caelum makes a noise awfully similar to a whine, and his hips twitch upward, chasing you.

"Aw, what's wrong?" you murmur against his ear, your tone dripping with mock sympathy. "You were so eager a second ago. Now you can’t stand it when I take my time?"

His nails flex against your skin, leaving shallow, stinging lines down your back. “Nnghh—y-you—” his voice catches, shaking with frustration, “—you’re doing it on purpose.”

“Mmh.” Your lips curl into a smile he can’t see. “Maybe. I just like watching you lose your mind. Pathetic little mage. You’d probably finish just from me sitting here, wouldn’t you?”

"Don’t—" he swallows hard, the heat in his eyes at war with the warning in his tone. “Don’t talk like that. You’re mine.”

“Oh?” you hum, rocking your hips just enough for him to feel the drag without any real relief. His breath stutters out in a sharp gasp. “Then prove it, take me. Make me yours, Caelum."

Something flickers dark in his gaze. You would be alarmed under normal circumstances, had he not been trembling right under you this very moment.

“You think I won’t?” he growls, breathless, locking his legs tight around your waist. “I’ll—hahhh—I’ll make sure no one else ever—”

You cut him off with a brutal snap of your hips. The sound he makes is raw and startled, almost pained. You don’t give him time to recover, setting a deep, punishing rhythm that grinds the blunt ridge along every hypersensitive nerve inside him.

"That’s it," you whisper tauntingly, "that’s the face I wanted to see. Go on, master, fall apart for me."

You thrust in deep and hold, grinding until his breath fractures into a cry. The tremor in his thighs peaks, his body locking tight before breaking apart completely. Heat spills between you as his muscles clench in desperate, fluttering waves around your length.

His head tips back, a choked moan spilling out. “F-fuck!—nghh—right there—hahhh—!” his walls clamp down hard around you, the pulse of him wild and erratic. “Close—so close—don’t—”

You keep him pinned, thrusting through every shudder until he’s left panting into your neck, nails dragging weakly at your shoulders.

You don’t even let him come down from it. Your hips keep moving — albeit slower, but still deep enough to make him twitch and gasp — drawing every aftershock out of his body. You drag your hips slow, deep, just enough to make his muscles twitch around you. His head lolls back against the floor, his chest rising and falling too fast.

"Still think—" your voice hitches faintly, the sentence catching on a sharper thrust before you rein it in, "—you can use me like that and just… walk away?"

Caelum swallows hard, eyes glassy but locked on yours. His nails press into your shoulders again, not enough to push you off, but just enough to hold himself steady against the drag of your body inside him.

"You wouldn’t—" he breathes, lips parting around a shaky exhale, "—kill me."

You smile, sharp and humorless. "No," you agree, rocking into him just enough to make his thighs tremble, "but I can ruin you however I like."

A gasp catches in your throat when he clamps down harder. Your breath stutters, and his gaze flares with the smallest flicker of satisfaction before your hips snap forward hard enough to knock it clean away.

His breath breaks into a strangled sound, and you catch his jaw in your hand, tilting his face up until your mouths are a breath apart. “Contracts don’t say I have to be gentle.”

"I—hahhh—know," he gasps, voice fraying at the edges. His fingers slide down your back, catching on the fresh, stinging marks his nails left earlier. "You’d… like it if I begged, wouldn’t you?"

Your hand wraps around his jaw, tilting his face back up to yours. "I’d like it if you meant it," you rasp, the faint strain in your tone cutting sharper than the words. "Not just another trick from a little mage who thought binding a dragon would make me his pet."

He swallows again, his throat working under your palm. "Not a pet," he says, his voice breaking as you push in deep enough to make him shudder. "Mine."

"Yours?" you echo, punctuated by a roll of your hips that makes him gasp. "You think this—" another harder thrust, pulling a helpless sound from him, "—makes me yours?"

His lips part, the start of a word on his tongue—“I—”

You slam into him, and whatever he meant to say folds into a sharp, breathless, “—hhhaahhh—!” His head jerks back, eyes screwing shut, his nails dragging helplessly down your sides.

“Go on,” you taunt, your voice a low rasp against his flushed ear. “Finish that thought.”

“I—nghh—hahhh—” His hips jolt under yours when you grind in deep, the blunt stretch catching somewhere that knocks the air from his lungs. “D-don’t—ahhh!—fuck—”

Your pace stays merciless, each thrust cutting clean through whatever words he tries to form. “Don’t what? Don’t stop?”

A choked moan tumbles out of him instead of an answer, his voice breaking on the next push. “mmhh—nnhhh—ahhh—” His thighs tremble where they lock around your hips, barely catching your rhythm before you snap your hips forward, the sharp slap of skin on skin ringing out.

His back arches, mouth falling open around a stuttering cry that sounds almost like your name but dissolves into another wrecked moan.

“Say it, Caelum,” you urge, your breath hot against his temple. “Tell me what you were going to say—”

“I—hahhh!—nnghh—fuhhhk—c-can’t—!” His nails bite into your skin, trying to ground himself against the deep, relentless pace. His eyes glaze over, words slipping away as each thrust drives them back into incoherent, desperate noise.

Your rhythm turns brutal, hips slamming forward until every push grinds your shape into the deepest part of him. He’s wrecked beneath you, slick with sweat and trembling; voice cracked to little more than gasps and needy cries.

“Ghh—hahhh—f-fuck—” his head tips back, throat bared and glistening where your teeth left their mark earlier. The sight of his damp hair clinging to his forehead, the shine of fresh blood still blooming at his neck, twists something low in your gut.

No. You shouldn't want this. Not with him.

But he’s right there, offered up. Yours to take, to keep.

What kind of dragon sees treasure laid bare and turns away?

Your hips don’t slow, even as heat spills in jagged waves between you both. He’s trembling, slick with sweat, helpless beneath you, and the faint, wild panic in his gaze sets fire to instincts older than thought itself.

Dragons mate for life. Once claimed, there’s no turning back. The thought hits you mid-thrust, sharp as the bite of your teeth on his neck: Caelum was counting on this. He planned it. He brought you here so he could give himself to you.

You pause for a heartbeat, long enough to watch his chest heave, to see the tiny shivers running up his spine as your hips drag over him. A low growl curls from your throat before you can even register it.

“You can’t leave me,” you find yourself saying, with your lips brushing the side of Caelum's jaw, teeth grazing his soft skin. His eyes flutter open when your claws catch at his shoulders, dragging shallow crescent marks into the sweat-slick skin. “Not now. Not after this.”

His breath hitches. “Nnghh—y-you—” he chokes, but you cut him off with a deep roll of your hips that makes him mewl, body folding tighter around yours.

“Shh,” you whisper, tilting your face close enough that your hot breath grazes his ear. "You said you were mine, right? And I'm yours, too. That means... I'm not done with you."

Caelum’s laugh is low, shaky, and so far gone it doesn’t sound entirely sane anymore. It bubbles out against your jaw, his breath uneven as his nails curl harder into your back. “Not—ah!—d-done with me?” he repeats, and the tremor in his voice doesn’t quite hide the thrill threading through it. “Good, don’t be. Don’t you dare think you can be.”

His eyes are glassy, pupils blown wide, but the focus in them now pins you in place like a knife point.

“You think binding you to me was done with just magic? It’s more than that. You’re mine now, and you’re never—” your next thrust drags a hiss from him, but he powers through it, leaning up until his lips almost brush yours, “—ever leaving me.”

His legs lock around your waist, pulling you in until you’re buried deep, the clench of his body forcing a stutter into your breath. His hands slide up, one cupping the back of your neck, the other digging into your side with bruising insistence.

“I don’t care if I have to c-chain you in the deepest crypt or rip your wings off so you can’t f-fly away—” his nails bite in sharply, the threat made intimate by the breathless devotion in his tone, “—you’re staying with me, whether you like it or not.”

You open your mouth to retort, but his hips roll up against you with sudden force, the desperate, greedy drag of him making your breath catch. He nearly damn grins in response, and the expression is all teeth.

Before you can speak again, his hand slides from your neck to the back of your head, guiding — no, pressing — you down until your cheek is flush against his chest. The thud of his heart hammers against your skin, and his breath shudders out above you.

"Hahh... you feel that, [name]? My heartbeat's faster. You like hearing it, don’t you? Feeling what you do to me. How deep you’ve got me. How far I’ll go—” his chest rises against your cheek, pulse stuttering beneath your ear, “—and how I’m not stopping.”

Your fingers curl against his ribs, anchoring yourself against the weight of his body, his voice, the madness in his gaze. His heartbeat thrums fast and unsteady under your cheek, and the sound works its way down your spine like a brand. He’s right. You do like it.

You press your mouth against his chest, right over that racing pulse, and let your teeth scrape his skin in a gesture halfway between a kiss and claim. His breath stutters, then catches in a low groan that melts into laughter

"Just like that," he gasps, words running hot into your hair. His hands are in your hair , in your back, everywhere, keeping you close as though he could fuse your bodies together if he just held tight enough. “Don’t hold back. I want all of you. Give it to me.”

So you do. You push in hard, deep, until his voice pitches and cracks. His hips meet yours with frantic rhythm, every grind and snap of movement sending heat spiking through your body. His walls clutch and flutter around you, coaxing you further, pulling you into his pace.

“M-mine!—hahhh—mine—nghhh—mine,” he keeps saying, broken between moans, “mine, mine, mine—” like if he repeats it enough, the word will carve itself into your bones.

Your hands slide to his hips, pinning them down as you rut into him, letting his desperate clench draw every thrust deeper. His body’s trembling again, chest heaving against your cheek, and you realize you’re chasing it — the shuddering, the high hitch of his breath when you grind just right.

“Caelum,” you rasp, the sound rougher than you mean it to be, “you feel so—fuck—” You don’t finish, because his nails rake down your back at the same moment his walls clamp in a relentless squeeze that drags a growl from deep in your chest.

“Ahhh—hhhnnn—nghhh—” his voice cracks around the sound, hips jolting against yours, “d-don’t stop!—hahhh—[name], please!” his nails bite in harder, dragging down your slick back as you drive into him again and again, the slap of your hips meeting drowned under the noise spilling from his throat.

You lean down, your mouth hot against his ear. “Beg prettier for me,” you whisper, low and steady despite the pace. “You want me to stay? Want me to fuck you until you can’t think?”

“Y-yeahhh—hahhh—f-fuck!—hhhnnn—yesyesyes-” he cries out, voice breaking into another moan, his head tipping back.

It’s too much — heat, pressure, the wild pulse of him around you — and you know from the way his thighs tighten, how his voice breaks into a sobbed moan, that he’s there with you.

His climax hits like a wave, “—ahhh!—hahhh—fuckfuckfuckfuck—!” spilling over, dragging you under with it. You thrust through it, hips grinding into the fluttering heat of his body until you’re both shaking, gasping into each other’s skin.

You didn’t know how long you kept going. The world outside the heat of his body might as well have vanished, replaced by the slick press of skin, the wet pull of him around you, the broken noises spilling past his bitten lip.

Every thrust dragged another tremor from his legs, another gasp from his throat, another flutter from the muscles milking you deeper. His back arched again and again under your hands, sweat rolling down the curve of his spine, until even his moans started to dissolve into breathless whimpers.

You only slowed when your own rhythm began to falter, hips grinding forward one last time to bury yourself in him to the hilt. Caelum doesn’t let you pull away, his arms a locked cage around your body, his breath still quick against your ear.

"..See?" breathless, almost laughing, he nips at your temple. “Told you; mine. And now—” a shiver runs through him, “—I’m yours. Forever.”

You huff against his shoulder, too wrung out to push him off. “…You talk too damn much,” you mumble, the words slurred with exhaustion.

But your arms don’t move from around him, and you don’t try to pull free. By dragon standards, it’s a piss-poor way to seal a bond — to be drugged, cornered, and worn down until you caved — and yet here you are, mated anyway.

Just your luck, hm?