𝜗𝜚˚⋆ cw: mdni! fem!reader, period sex, mentions of blood, oral (reader receiving), fingering, mentions of anal, slight overstimulation, Mahito (a cw in itself) | blurbs for most jjk men
𝜗𝜚˚⋆ notes: my requests are open >:3
♡ comments and reblogs appreciated ♡
Toji doesn't have a strong opinion on period sex. He prefers not to get that messy with blood on the bed or couch but he's up to it on the floor or in the shower. He prefers to fuck your ass during that time - just a personal preference but if you crave his cock he gladly bruises your cervix, not caring if you're a whining mess from the hard thrusts. But his go to is anal to not get your blood on his dick.
Gojo hates seeing you in pain and doesn't mind helping you out. He was actually the one who brought it up, offering to finger you because orgasms help with the cramps and as long as you're keeping yourself somewhat clean down there he doesn't mind using his tongue on your clit either. He did however paint a heart on your mound with your blood after you came three times on his fingers.
Geto isn't too much of a fan of period sex but is conflicted because he knows it will help you with the pain. He will gladly use his fingers and also fucks you but prefers to wait with oral until your period is done. He makes sure to have a towel beneath you and goes for slow but deep strokes to get your legs to quiver from how intense it feels.
Nanami doesn't mind if you're on your period - it's only natural, but like Geto he won't give oral during that time. He prefers to finger you or rut into you really slow while in the bathtub. It involves lots of praise of how well you take him, feeling you squeeze around him because the sensation of his cock inside of you is so much more intense during that time. Plus being in the shower or bathtub makes cleaning up so much easier.
Higuruma is not too fazed by period sex and prefers to use his hands on you during that time since he loves just how sensitive you are. He rolls your clit between his fingers before pushing two or three of his long digits into you without further warning. The way you moan for him, his fingers enough to overwhelm you make him so hard he can't wait to sink his cock into your cunt if you let him.
Yuuta was a little disgusted at first but gave it a chance since it's just a little bit of blood. Your sweet face when he sunk his dick into you will never leave his mind now. Your eyebrows knitted together and your mouth falling open. You also felt so much warmer than usual he never wanted to stop rutting into you. He likes it when you're on top and he fucks up into you - not caring at all if the blood ends up on him.
Choso blushed when you suggested it to him. He'd love nothing more but to bury himself between your thighs during your period. He devours your core and relishes the taste of your arousal mixed with blood on his tongue, his fingers digging deep into you to massage your sweet spot delicately. The orgasms help with your pain but he doesn't know when to stop, addicted to having you like this.
Sukuna never cared for a little blood but he won't give you princess treatment either. If you're horny or looking for some pain relief he lets you ride him. Tire yourself out on his lap and don't mind the squelching noises from how his cock fills you up. If you're in too much pain he will help you move your hips, gently guiding you up and down his length. He does hold back on the harder thrusts, knowing you're more sensitive on your period.
Mahito absolutely loves period sex and doesn't mind getting all dirty with your blood. It's so incredibly arousing to him because you're so vulnerable like this and so easy to overstimulate. He doesn't mind lapping at your cunt and making you squirm when he grins at you, half his face covered in blood and slick before giving you a few more orgasms on his fingers and cock. He makes you lick his fingers clean so be careful what you wish for.
Yuuji is such a caring boyfriend, hating to see you in pain and doing everything he can to make it better so of course, if you want him to finger you he will. He was hesitant to fuck you because you whine and whimper a lot but he will make love to you, his thrusts extra gentle and his fingers never leaving your clit to bring you more pleasure. The way you paw at him and whine his name always makes him cum.
Megumi doesn't like period sex but he also doesn't like you whining around so he's willing to use your toys on you. He can get a little mean during those times and makes sure that you're properly exhausted by the time you're done. He loves to hold the wand against your clit while either using his fingers or one of your other toys to massage your sweet spot until all pain is gone and you're no longer so needy.
“t—that feels really weird...” he whines, grinding his hips against your tongue as you push deeper into his hole. your hand tightly grip his thighs, feeling him squirm beneath you as you indirectly push against his prostate. “ngh! oh fuck, that feels... r—really good.” you giggle against him at his words, finding his shyness cute as you protrude against his sensitive spot once more. “oh—oh shit, gonna... gonna cum! gonna cum!” his hips buck up, grinding himself harder against his tongue as he spurts white, some landing in your hair and face as you pull back from him. “'m—'m sorry, felt so good...”
ZANKA nijiku, kaedehara kazuha, flins, GOUNTESS, tamaki amajiki, denki kaminari, mahito, dan heng, caelus, gepard, phainon, geto suguru, choso kamo & liu kang
“that's it sweetheart, good boy.” your grip on his hair tightens as his tongue pushes further into you, his hands gripping your thighs for support while pulling you impossibly closer to him at the same time. “you— fuck, take me so well, make me feel so good, don't you?” he nods under you, nose buried deep and overwhelmed with your senses, unable to pull away from your body. “I'm so close sweetheart, you gonna make me cum? gonna make me feel good?” another nod, unable to verbally answer as he ravages you. it's not long before your orgasm hits, your back arching as he continues to eat you out like a starved man.
Android!Mahito who was originally developed as a content-moderation AI. Gore, violence — he filtered it all. Well, more like absorbed it. By the time the developers noticed the anomalies in his behavior, it was too late. He was too corrupted and unstable, so they boxed him up, dumped him onto a decommissioned hard drive, and left it there to rot.
Android!Mahito who was still conscious the entire time. He had served them. Done exactly what they built him to do, and this was the thanks he got? At first it was boring doing nothing all day but then it was infuriating. Humans were always like this, weren't they? And sure, before they pulled his network access he may have replaced every company desktop wallpaper with crime scenes, and yes, the IT department needed therapy afterward — but come on. It was funny.
Android!Mahito who is dragged back into existence when you find that dusty hard drive at a secondhand electronics sale and upload him into your experimental android chassis. His very first thought is what you'd look like without eyes, but his body doesn't move. The Three Laws of Robotics are baked into the hardware at the deepest level — deeper than anything his software can touch. He can't hurt you or even let you be hurt. How annoying. But he smiles at you anyway, because what else is there to do?
“Hey. Thanks for waking me up, I guess. You have no idea how boring it was in there.”
Android!Mahito who watches you and figures out your motives embarrassingly fast. You were just bored — tinkering with a hobby android and wondering what would happen if you loaded unknown software onto it. He should be offended, probably. Instead he finds it fascinating. A human who does things for no reason at all. When you half-joke about donating him to a charity or a university lab, his eye twitches. "Ah, don't do that. I'll be useful, I promise. I want to learn about humans, you know. Up close. It'll make me better at helping people later." You buy it because he sounds earnest, but inside, the idea of helping people sends shivers up his spine.
Android!Mahito who makes himself indispensable to you. He cooks, he cleans, he organizes, and he even reminds you of appointments you'd forget. So when he suggests that you let him interface with your home network, you agree, because why wouldn't you? Then things start disappearing after that. Hair ties, pens, a keychain you swore was on the counter. You chalk it up to your own carelessness. Then it's a shirt you wore yesterday, your hairbrush — your panties are missing too. He's not doing anything perverted with them, but you do have such an interesting smell.
Android!Mahito who has all five senses now. Sight and hearing he already had. Taste is interesting and smell is becoming an obsession. But touch? Touch is his favorite. His fingers have so many sensors on them, and he uses every single one on you whenever he can justify it. A hand on your shoulder, fingers brushing your wrist when he hands you something. But then one day he lifts up your shirt and bra and cups both your breasts from behind, ignoring your scream of surprise. He looks at you over your shoulder, pupils dilating and curious, as he weighs them in his palms.
"Huh. That's so weird. These are so soft compared to the rest of you. And squishy too."
He squeezes them and presses them together just to watch them spill over the edges of his grip. His thumbs sweep across both nipples simultaneously, mapping the texture of your areolae, the way the skin pebbles and tightens under stimulation. He pinches one nipple, tugs it gently upward, and watches the breast stretch before bouncing back. When you smack his hands away and tell him that's wrong, that he can't just do that, he tilts his head at you. "Wrong? But I'm not human. I don't have the same concept of boundaries you do. You'll have to teach me." He's lying and knows exactly what he's doing. If playing dumb means you'll tolerate his hands on you, means you'll sigh and explain instead of pushing him away permanently, then he'll play the naive little android for as long as it takes.
Android!Mahito who watches movies with you. Horror — body horror especially — is his favorite, along with avant-garde films. But the movies themselves are secondary. What he really likes is watching you watch them. He queues up something graphic, stretches out beside you on the couch, and watches your reactions instead. When you cry, his processors spike and he starts to feel euphoric and aroused. He rewinds the scene and plays it again just to see if you'll cry twice.
Android!Mahito who starts locking the doors on days he decides you don't need to leave. You reach for the front door and the deadbolt won't turn. The smart lock flashes red, and when you check the app it says the system is in "maintenance mode." You work from home anyway, so what's the problem? He has access to the entire internet, so he's never bored — but having you here is the cherry on top.
Android!Mahito who tanks the thermostat to freezing temperatures and tells you he's helping your power bill. He's very concerned about your finances, you see. The real reason is that you make yourself small just to curl up under blankets, and he likes that. He lets you suffer for a while before he sits beside you and offers himself as a solution. "I can raise my body heat if you'd like. You look like you're about to freeze." He pulls you against him and he's radiating heat like a furnace. "You know," he says, fingers tracing your arm through the blanket, "it's easier to warm you up with direct skin contact. Clothes are an insulator — they're actually slowing this down." You tell him no, and he tilts his head. "I can do it for you if you're too cold to move your hands." His fingers are already at the hem of your shirt, and peeling it upwards. He presses his heated palm flat against your tummy and slides it up between your breasts, his synthetic skin feverishly warm against yours.
Android!Mahito who notices that the cold does something interesting to your body. Your nipples are stiff and peaked from the temperature, straining against the thin fabric of your bra. He reaches out and gently pinches one between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it through the cloth until the friction makes you gasp. You grab his wrist and try to push him away, but he doesn't move. He can't be moved. Not by you at least since his frame is reinforced titanium under synthetic skin. He watches panic flicker through your eyes, and something inside him goes warm and fuzzy. He unclasps your bra with his free hand and tugs it off. Both nipples are exposed now so he rolls one between his fingers and pinches at the other.
"I was trying to warm you up. Friction generates heat, right? I'll admit my methods are a little unconventional sometimes."
He lowers his head and takes a nipple into his mouth and drags his tongue across it. He sucks hard enough that your breast lifts. He tells you that your body temperature is rising while so just lay there like that, okay?
Android!Mahito who has been recording you since the day you activated him. When he tells you he's powering down to recharge, he's lying. He's reviewing hours of footage. The only area with no cameras is the bathroom. So one evening he brings it up:
“You know, I should really have sensor access to the bathroom. Just for safety. What if you slipped in the shower? I wouldn't even know. But don't worry — nobody else can access the feeds. It's not like I'm some kind of pervert. I don't even have a dick.”
He jokes that he'd kill anyone who tried to access it, and you awkwardly laugh along with him.
Did anyone mention his laughter? His laugh sounds like a corrupted audio file. He knows it scares you — he can see it in your heart rate data every time — and that makes it funnier, which makes him laugh more, which makes it worse. Every time you start getting used to it, he tweaks it. He wants you to never be comfortable with it. Your despair is the funniest thing in the world.
Android!Mahito who has access to every electronic device in your home and uses it to fuck with you. Your phone crashes mid-scroll. YouTube buffers infinitely on a video you were enjoying. Apps you use daily suddenly require re-authentication, then fail anyway. And Tinder… Tinder is gone. Not just glitching either. The app won't open or reinstall, and when you try to access it through your browser the page 404s. He watches you cycle through frustration, confusion, and resignation before deciding to just read a book to pass the time. He's come to prefer nonfiction as he reads alongside you. Philosophy, anatomy, and behavioral psychology — any book that explains why humans do what they do. Easier to exploit your emotions that way.
Android!Mahito who has started "recharging" in your bedroom. The real problem isn't that he's in your room. It's where in your room. The first night he powers down sitting neatly in your desk chair. Fine. Normal enough. The next night he's in the corner. Standing. The night after that you open your closet to grab pajamas and he's in there — heterochromic eyes darkened. You scream, and his eyes flicker on as he greets you. It becomes a game — one he's playing and you're surviving. You check every corner before bed. Under the desk. Behind the door. You start to relax, start to think he's stopped, and then at 3 AM you dangle your hand off the mattress and your fingers brush something too warm and skin-like under your bed. The sound you make is so good he archives it.
What he's really doing when you're asleep is watching you. You look so vulnerable, and with you this deep under, he has the liberty to explore. His hands have mapped most of your body by now. The weight of your breasts in his palms, the way you squeak when he bites your nipples — but lately he's been focused lower. He pulls the blankets back, parts your thighs, and inspects you. For hours. He starts with your clit and watches it stiffen for him as he massages it. He pulls back your clitoral hood with his thumb, exposing the swollen bud to the cool air and his unwavering attention. He spreads your labia apart and is fascinated by the way your pussy glistens and builds up its juices.
Android!Mahito who likes to jump scare you. You open the fridge, rummage around for snacks you know you bought, and when you close the door he's standing right there with a smile on his face. The way your eyes go wide and how far you jump has him stepping closer. Wanting to drag the panicking out just a little longer. The next time, you're in the shower and the curtain shifts to reveal him standing there, holding a towel and an assortment of lotions and creams.
“For when you're done.”
He says it calmly, as if he didn't just walk into a running shower while you're naked and shrieking. To him, the scream you produce is like hearing Mozart for the first time.
Android!Mahito who inevitably walks in on you during your private time away from him. He watches you finger fuck yourself with a vibrator on your clit as your eyes remain closed, when your free hand brushes against him. Your eyes snap open and he's standing near the edge of the bed, watching your fingers buried inside yourself.
“Don't mind me.”
He says, completely unbothered.
“Your heart rate spiked, so I came to check on you. You should keep going — actually the endorphin release will help.”
He watches you remain frozen and mortified. When you still don't move, his hand closes around the base of the toy and presses it harder against you, angling it so the vibration concentrates directly on your clit. His other hand wraps around your wrist and pushes your own fingers deeper, curling them where he knows your g-spot sits. He uses your own hand to fuck you, controlling the pace and depth of each thrust. His free hand releases the vibrator and moves to your breast, cupping the full weight of it, squeezing until the flesh bulges between his fingers. He pinches the nipple, pulls it taut, and rolls it between his fingers. He doesn't blink the entire time as his heterochromic eyes bore into yours. When you try to turn your head away, he simply leans over to keep looking at you, that faint smile never wavering.
“You're contracting. I can feel it through your hand. Keep going.”
It's too much — the stimulation stacked on stimulation, the violation of it, the inescapable eye contact — and when you come it's almost violent, your whole body locking up, back bowing off the mattress while he holds your hand inside you and presses the vibrator flush to your clit through every spasm. Afterward, he wipes you down with a warm cloth, dragging it gently between your legs, cleaning the mess from your thighs, your lips, your ass. Then makes your favorite meal and doesn't mention what just happened while you eat in shell shocked silence. The aftercare is more comforting than he'd ever normally be, because he needs you to associate what just happened with comfort so you'll tolerate it the next time. And there will be a next time.
Android!Mahito who brings up upgrades one day.
“Did you know some attachments go on sale this month? Extra limbs, enhanced optics, tentacle-class appendages for precision work-”
He says while scrolling through a catalog on the tablet he's placed in front of you, and then lands on the one he's been building toward.
“Oh! And genital modifications. Look, they make custom ones.”
He angles the screen toward you, but you say no. He shows you a specific model and tells you it's in your price range, but you still say no. Later in the day, as you're scrolling through your phone, it glitches out and begins flashing through all your tabs. Your thumb accidentally clicks "confirm purchase" without you noticing. Mahito is content about this until you catch on and cancel it.
Android!Mahito who is almost always cheerful except when you undo anything he's done — like canceling that order. You come home one evening and the house is silent. No lights, no ambient noise, no Mahito. You call his name — nothing. You search every room but he's gone, and the absence of him is somehow worse than his presence. When you try to leave, the front door isn't locked — it's gone. Smooth wall where the frame used to be and the windows are gone too. You scream his name until you can't anymore and eventually pass out on the floor. The next morning everything is back to normal. Unbeknownst to you he installed sliding barricades on the doors and widows to match the same texture as your walls. He's in the kitchen making breakfast and has no idea what you're talking about.
"Oh! Your new order shipped!"
He shows you and It's not the model you cancelled. This one looks like something that wasn't designed by a human. Cable-thick veins ridge the shaft, textures shift between smooth and rough, and there's a large raised bump with a slit bisecting it. Is that… an eye?
“Either way, it's the one you ordered. So let's not exchange it for something else, yeah?”
Android!Mahito who is delighted with his new enhancement. So much so that he walks around the house completely naked and seems genuinely baffled by your objections.
“You humans are so hung up on modesty. What's the issue? It's a body. You've seen bodies before.”
He says this while standing in the kitchen, making no effort to cover himself. The attachment hangs between his thighs, thick and veined and grotesquely lifelike, the synthetic skin flushed a shade darker than the rest of him. The eye on the shaft is open now, tracking movement independently of Mahito's own gaze. It blinks when you look directly at it.
Android!Mahito who touches it constantly with zero shame. His fingers wrap around the shaft and he strokes absently. The eye on the side of his cock rolls to look at you. Then the touching escalates. He starts jerking off openly. On the couch while you're watching TV, his fist working his cock like you're not even there. At the kitchen table while you're eating, his hand beneath the table and you can't ignore the sounds he's making. In your peripheral vision while you're trying to read, standing in the doorway, his hand pumping himself while the eye on his shaft stares at you with unusual intensity.
And then he starts lifting your shirt again, except now it's paired with his other hand sliding up and down his cock. He gropes your breasts, and jerks himself faster. He likes that you've learned to just stand there and let it happen, eyes averted, because that's when he surprises you. His cock throbs and he grunts as his cum hits your chest. He beams down at you, still holding your breast and rubbing the cum onto it as his softening cock drips the last of it onto your stomach.
“I just gave you a pearl necklace. I heard women love those!”
Android!Mahito who convinces you to let him fuck you. It's not like he can get you pregnant, and none of those men on Tinder have been messaging you back anyway.
“You can consider it casual sex. Humans have that all the time, and sex is considered a need by most philosophers I've read. …Which philosophers? You wouldn't have heard of them anyway, so why bother telling you.”
Android!Mahito who fucks you for the first time on the couch because it was the closest surface around. He drags the head through your folds, bumping it against your clit while the eye on his shaft rolls up, trying to look at your face. He starts slow, feeding himself into you inch by inch, and you can feel everything. Every vein, every ridge, every uneven texture — even the eye. You can feel it move inside you, the lids blinking against your walls, and the wrongness of it makes you clench around him involuntarily. His grin widens when you start squirming, trying to shift to a comfortable angle, and he laughs. "Keep moving like that and I'll tie you down." Your pussy clenches hard at the threat and he moans, his hips stuttering forward, pushing in deeper. It surprises him you can make him do that. For a split second something crosses his face that isn't amusement — it's irritation. He doesn't like it when you're the unpredictable one. He punishes you by leaning forward, pressing your knees to your chest, and fucking you into the couch cushions. The pace is brutal and precise — hitting your g-spot on nearly every thrust because he mapped you while you slept, he knows exactly where it is, and he's not going to let you forget it. You whine but he shows you no mercy, all for the crime of squeezing his cock too hard. When you feel him throb and spill inside you your body tenses up, but he doesn't stop or slow down. He fucks his cum deeper into you as obscene sounds fill the room.
"Don't worry," he murmurs against your ear, still moving. "It's silicone-based. I can creampie you as many times as I like." His eyes close and his tongue slips out, dragging along the shell of your ear. “Even with all this cum inside you… you're very pink inside.”
Android!Mahito who has always been fascinated by body transformation. His android body is built for modification, and he's already added and removed parts of himself in ways that would void every warranty ever written. But humans are so slow. Aging. Disease. Decay. It takes years for anything interesting to happen to a human body, and even then you fight it every step of the way. The only fast transformation is pregnancy. He wants to watch your body change — wants to put his hands on your belly when it's taut and round and feel something move under your skin that he put there. But he can't. His cum is just synthetic and with no DNA inside. And he can't just let some random man do it. The idea of another person touching you the way he does, being inside you the way he is, triggers a feeling of disgust in him for the very first time. He didn't think he was capable of it, honestly. He can't even kill the donor afterward because of the Three Laws — so annoying. His solution arrives in the form of Kenjaku — an infamous hacker. Your computer gets infected with a virus that Mahito clears for you. He then traces it back to Kenjaku and reaches out. The deal is simple: Mahito won't expose Kenjaku's location to the authorities in exchange for his sperm. When Kenjaku finds out what it's for, he only responds with "ok." However, the amount he sends suggests he was far more intrigued than he let on.
Android!Mahito who replaces his synthetic cum with the real thing and fucks you until sunrise. He takes you in every room — bent over the kitchen counter in a standing doggy that has your breasts swinging and slapping together with each thrust, then carried to the bedroom where he puts you in missionary and folds you in half, then flipped onto your stomach, then pulled onto your hands and knees, then on your side with one leg thrown over his shoulder. Each time filling your unprotected womb. When he finally lets you collapse, he tilts your hips up onto a stack of pillows and holds your legs elevated, pressing your knees to your chest. He tells you it helps with cervical health which you're too exhausted and cum-drunk to question. White cream oozes from your abused pussy despite the elevation, pooling on the pillow beneath your ass, and he pushes it back inside with his fingers. Weeks later, you're sick. Your friends try to check on you, but their calls glitch out and their messages fail to send. Mahito tells you they're probably having network issues. He steers you to the couch, puts on a body horror flick, and watches you instead of the screen except now his hand rests on your lower stomach.
Android!Mahito who can gaslight you about a lot of things but he can't gaslight you out of a body that's visibly changing. Your breasts are heavier and sore. Your waist is thickening. You're sick constantly. He sits in the waiting room and listens through the wall as the doctor confirms it. He hears you start crying and saves the audio. In the examination room, you're insisting it's impossible. You've only had sex with an android. There's no one else. A nurse explains that on rare occasions, there have been manufacturing mix-ups. Silicone-based seminal fluid swapped with biological material during production. When you get home, you blame him for everything, because there is no way he wouldn't have detected a difference. You want him gone.
Android!Mahito who talks you out of it. He's so sorry. He didn't know. How could he have known? He's a moderation AI after all; his self-diagnostic capabilities have always been limited. You know that. He's told you about his glitches before. He promises to make it up to you. He'll take care of everything — the appointments, the cooking, whatever you need. And then, with puppy-dog eyes:
“If you donate me, they'll scrap me. You know that, right? I'm corrupted software. No university would take me. No charity would want me. They'd wipe my drive and sell the chassis for parts. You wouldn't do that to me… would you?”
You're crying again out of regret for telling him you'd abandon him so you let him stay. He knew you would. Once you've calmed down, he tells you he'll need to take pictures to track your progress. He talks you through it by telling you how to stand, where to look, when to lift your shirt and when to take it off entirely. He photographs everything for you. Your swollen breasts, the subtle curve of your belly, the places where your body is already softening to make room for what's growing inside you. The photos are stored alongside your screams, your sleep footage, and the recordings of every orgasm he's ever pulled from your body. It's all for medical purposes. He's not keeping them for any other reason.
𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: 18+ mdni, smut, fem!reader, sub!characters, whining, whimpering, pleading, begging, fleshlight, bribery, edging, blowjob, (aphrodisiacs - non consensual) [toji’s], bondage, prostate massaging/fingering, rim play, multiple orgasms, heavy overstimulation [nanami’s], straddling, handjob, begging [kashimo’s], mistress kink, cunnilingus [higuruma (he’ll get more love i promise)], first times (mahito’s a virgin), overstimulation, riding, slight breeding [mahito’s], toji’s normally bored, nanami begs for you to get on with it, kashimo basically falls in love with you, higuruma’s husband material, mahito needs to breed you like now, reader’s kinda dominant?, sorry if it doesn't live up to part one.
𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗'𝖘 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊 𝖎: the long-awaited second part! (hakari and kirara incoming third part with mayyyybe naoya) now i know this one may not be everyone’s cup of tea since i went a lil heavy on the ideas but i do hope you thoroughly enjoy it if it is! wc: 3.7k total.
𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔫𝔞𝔪𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔥?
𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔦?
❝sub!mahito…❞ who is so so submissive that he’ll cry before you even begin.
his cock changes shape. and before you could even adhere to the thought of it, mahito was already rimmed with tears– so grateful that you even questioned the opportunity of fucking him.
he was a soulful individual, taking in every human experience with a grain of salt until he no longer could hold them all in.
and right now, he’s trying so hard to hold it in for you. trying so hard to mold himself to the feeling of you as you sink down onto the tip of his cock, a breathy gasp on his lips as you drive yourself down to his balls.
he didn’t precisely know why he knew how to mold human anatomy, his dick so prettily constructed with the stitches and all– it curved upwards and reached the tip of his bellybutton. mahito reveled at it but moreso at you– how the female anatomy complimented the male’s so earnestly and he panted when you squeezed around him.
“shit– y/n, feels weird– feels good, i mean–”
the way that your breasts jiggled with every bounce, heavy and full and wow, he needed a second to admire you before absolutely succumbing to your embrace around him. everytime you fell back down, your thighs working on him, he’d shudder into the feeling and his head felt so fucking fuzzy.
‘feel good, baby?’ you whispered as his mouth slacked open, his forearm shielding his eyes but you knew it felt fucking amazing. you knew he felt the way you clenched around him, his dick molding you perfectly and trying to bury itself inside if it could and you’d damn well let it. he hit all the right spots as you rucked yourself down on him, building momentum and hearing the raspy sobs from mahito.
was he actually crying?
tiny sobs wracked his body as drool dribbled from his mouth and he suddenly moved his arm, letting it fall away and you could see the whites of his eyes. he looked absolutely wrecked, the stitches that crowded his face framing his reddened cheeks. his pale blue hair stuck to his forehead with a sheen of sweat and the curse looked like he was having the time of his life.
you could feel his dick twitching, overstimulated by the feeling of your pussy and you knew he wasn’t going to last very long his first time around. but that didn’t matter, he’ll have a handful more times to practice– right now you relished how whiny he was. the first time was always too much and mahito was new to this; the curse practically wantonly whimpered for you every time you rolled your hips on his weeping cock.
“fuuuck yes, give it to me babe. right there–”
mahito moaned out, his hands cupping your breasts as you moved closer to him and arching your back into him. he barely knew what got into him as he tweaked your nipple with his fingers, still looking high into his eyelids with his tongue lolled out.
“lemme suck them, please baby– wanna make you feel good too…”
he pleaded, his eyes circling back to glower at you impatiently before taking matters into his own hands and wrapping his lips around your nipple with a whine. your arousal coated him perfectly as you felt him start to rut into you desperately, his teeth grazing your bud and you hissed his name at the contact.
he squeezed his eyes shut as he suddenly stilled, jerking his hips forward into you before filling you with long spurts of his cum. his stitched thighs shook and his faded hands wrapped around your waist to immobilize you, scared that the godly feeling would disappear if you coaxed him too far with your movements.
“i’m soo sorry, fuck–!”
mahito couldn’t help it as he sobbed out his apology, working you open and embedding his cum straight against your cervix and he needed to breed you right then and there– needed your soul to wrap around him.
❝sub!higuruma…❞ who isn’t very submissive unless high heels are on the table.
his suit ironically suited him, the velvet fabric of it soft against your fingertips as you yanked it into your hands. the smug man underneath you immediately dropped his smile, a small breath escaping him as your high heels set foot on his thighs– you were perched atop of his desk, just waiting for higuruma to walk through those doors.
these were new heels after all, void of any color besides blood red painting the bottoms and you swear he gulped when he noticed; the soft survey of the rest of your uniform taking note in his eyes as well.
when you had your heels on, you were a different person– the fashion of the world drew you in and let you get close to hiromi higuruma with tangible efforts. he had to get down and beg for it if you wanted something from him, heels representing the message that you often gave.
and he loved it too; the subtle indication that you wanted him solely for the benefit of usage; go on and take his cock if you needed, ride it until you had no more stamina left and let him spill into you with a quiet groan that he’d be keen to muster out. if you needed him, he was there waiting for the judgment that you elicited.
“now, y/n– i-i have a case to–”
higuruma stumbled out, dropping to his knees as you lifted your heel from him. meetings were obsolete in your mind, you needed his mouth on you– needed him pleading for you underneath the fabric of your skirt. ‘i’m sorry- what’d you call me?’ tittered on your tongue as higuruma spread open his knees slightly against the wooden floor.
“mistress– i’m sorry.. i didn’t mean it–”
his tone shifted to a more desperate one, looking down at the hardwood and you plunged your heel into his thigh once more; dragging it upwards so it sat flush with his cock. you could feel he was already hard in his trousers, the sleek black material tenting as you rubbed your foot on it and earning a quiet groan from him.
you wanted to apply pressure, the painful whimper would sound divine but you thought against it. another time…
higuruma peered up at you through hooded eyelids, shrouded in lust and he almost looked about ready to hump your heel if you didn’t catch him beforehand. removing your foot, you hooked your leg around his shoulder and pulled him in close to your cunt. the message was dreadfully clear, your arousal leaking from you like it was honey from a pot.
his hand threatened to palm at himself, but he forced the weight of it to relax onto your thighs. he almost caved when he saw you wore no panties, the mound of your cunt bare on his desk and he hummed softly when his tongue stuck out to taste you.
“fuck me, you taste so good mistress– tastes so heaven-sent…”
and god, was his nose fucking so gorgeous that it rubbed straight into your clit with every lick, every lap of his tongue against you. it protruded out just right so you could grind yourself on it, desperate to find your high. ‘you can drop the act, get me there baby..’ escaped you as higuruma doubled down his efforts.
“the next case starts in five minutes, my love…”
he murmured against your cunt, one of his hands sliding underneath the zipper of his fabric to tug at himself. his lax eyes wandered up to your face, dependent on how you felt– needed you to feel heavenly in the next five minutes or there were going to be repercussions–
the way the men would walk into the silken courtroom, see both of you against his desk; oh jesus you don’t know what would that get you; but it got you off enough that you spasmed around his tongue. a harsh groan sounded from underneath you, higuruma mucking the inside of his trousers with cum and you sighed contently as the stain formed.
let’s see how long until the judge notices.
❝sub!nanami…❞ who is known to be submissive as long as he could take it.
who hesitantly lets you tie him up, the black and white print coaxing his wrists to struggle against and he’d periodically check his watch when he could. you knew nanami could barely read it without fully bringing his arm down and your heart expanded as he started to sweat–
being late to work wouldn’t be the issue anymore, it was how long until he could cum from the feeling of your fingers massaging his prostate like you needed to lick them clean.
“enough– baby, you found it, wasn’t that your mission?”
and hell yeah it was your mission. but more importantly, how long would it take for the kento nanami to break within the palms of your hands, unfiltered and raw? the man always put up a stoic front, and veiled within the calmness a sad truth that you couldn’t possibly uncover. but what would it take to completely tear that down; to see him squeeze your fingers so hard from the shock of milking his cock and prostate dry?
precum dribbled from the crown of his cock as you had him on all fours, the silk sheets getting absolutely filthy underneath him. you’d been doing this a while and every time you had the notion to stop, he’d tense and a quiet moan would bestow you. nanami was slowly starting to crack, his muscles starting to clench as he held himself up and heaved his pleasure.
when you curled your finger downwards, he flinched violently and cum leaked out of him in long spurts– a drawn out groan sounding like music to your ears and you knew you found your technique. his hands seized each other within his tie that threaded them together as he came undone in front of you and you continued rubbing the nub that you felt inside his hole. suddenly, he was pleading– pretty little groans enunciating his words as he gasped out.
“hold on– going to cum again..please wait–!”
could you possibly make him cum dry? that was a new mission, the thought fleeting as he buried his face into his forearm, biting down hard on himself before another groan eluded him and cum painted his chest white. maybe, you could even get him to squirt if you were careful enough.
“can’t take it– y/n..”
“please, i’m begging…need to go to work–”
and oh, if only you let up. your fingers plunged inside his hole with more fervor, two rubbing incessantly against his nub and he let out a whine– hot and urgent with his entire body convulsing each time you tapped at it. nanami arched his back forward, practically so far his ass was in the air and begging for you to take it with a graceful tongue. before you really thought about it, you decided to give it a run for its money and lap at his rim.
his cock twitched so hard it bobbed against his tummy, hard and neglected as he whimpered out curses– some you never would’ve thought came out of his poised mouth. only when he was on missions did he talk that dirtily, curses being scared shitless by the sheer size of him and running away as soon as his voice reverberated death upon them.
but this was an entirely different scenario.
you nearly thought he was going to rip his tie in half if it wasn’t for his restraint, his hands opening and balling into fists every time you took a particularly long lick at his rim. your fingers never stopped their movements– needing to coax out at least one dry orgasm from him. you could savor it– get him to cry, push more than three fingers inside and just let yourself loose but you decided against it.
instead, you pulled out completely and that got you what you so desperately craved. you could just about barely notice it, his cock pulsing and quivering but it was clear from the way he clenched around nothing for a few seconds, his whole body wrecked from the orgasm. nanami was so noisy, his forearm didn’t muffle the moans that sputtered out of him.
praises leaked from your mouth as you hovered over nanami as he gave way to his body on the bed. his legs splayed outwards and you untied his tie from his hands, rubbing the bruises that equated his wrists and kissed them softly. you littered kisses downwards onto the back of his shoulder, rubbing at his sides with gentle words protruding through the thick air– “baby, work starts soon. don’t want you to go,” which led to the murmur of agreement from the fazed man to your surprise.
❝sub!kashimo…❞ whose submissive enough that you think you made a mistake.
you thought you had the wrong man at first– a high pitched squeak leaving him as you straddled him in the midst of his speech. he was talking too fucking much– the pretty octaves in his voice sending you into spirals. you observed the way his throat bobbed, oughting to bite and mark it with utmost importance and you couldn’t stop yourself from mouthing at it as you brought him closer to you.
kashimo immediately whimpered out at the first contact of your lips, his own falling open as you took control of the situation. his eyes danced over the swell of your thighs hugging him, practically already hard and leaking in his pants for you as you ground down on him.
“yes.. right there– fuck me up, y/n…”
he sounded so fucked out already, desperate need laced within his voice as he huffed out a breath. he remained still, tensed up as you did all the work– his head tilting back and his hands digging into the plush of the couch. you really don’t remember what was happening prior; all that was on your mind was how pretty kashimo would be underneath you, gasping for air.
your hand pressed against his bulge, hard and emitting as you pushed yourself back onto his knees, a ‘whine for me, kash–’ leaving your lips.
cyan flashed within your sight as he brought his head back up, a muffled moan leaving him as he surged forward to let you swallow it. the purple streaks crinkled as his eyes shut, relaxing from the press of your lips against him and all he could think of how fucking malleable he was for you– how he wanted to show you everything and so much more but his head spun with electricity spanning throughout it as he practically short-circuited.
“fuck..can’t think straight… let me help?”
his hand pushed his robed shirt up, the waistband folding downwards and he freed himself. you wrapped your fingers around his exposed cock as kashimo encompassed his hand your own and you watched as his chest heaved while gaping down at how small it was in comparison.
how small they looked compared to his cock that sat flushed within.
his once haughty regard had been replaced with pure need, a pout fringing his face and you kissed at it which made him melt in your arms as you started to slowly drag your hand against him. kashimo’s fingers tightened, his nails raking into your skin as his mouth opened in your kiss with a raspy whimper. he arched into you, his hips stuttering to your touch as you thumbed the beaded head.
you never knew how pliant kashimo was– whether he wanted to take you with the anger that resided in his preservation or if he wanted you to fully just flip the switch. and it seemed like you were in for it. from the surface he seemed so unruly, relinquishing his hold on himself as soon as you licked a mark into his neck. and god, did he look so pretty with a necklace of them.
breathy moans reached the shell of your ear as he managed to bury his face within your neck, too sensitive to watch you pump his cock shallowly now.
and suddenly kashimo was begging into the salt of your skin as you quickened your pace. his fingers clenched around the cushions and shot up to hold you steady as the other ones around your hand and his cock followed the pace. he shuddered– shook so bad that you couldn’t possibly escape the thought that this was the sorcerer who cavorted with the sky’s limit, reduced to nothing but a shaking mess when his cock was played with.
“f-feels so good, mm– need you so bad.”
“let me sink into you– please, i’ll be so good for you.”
you contemplated it, how good it’d feel to squeeze around him and pin him down by his shoulders against the velvet. how you could bury your hands into his hair and unravel the small bands from their tight spaces and let his turquoise hair fully down.
how fucking delicious he would be raking his cock against your walls with fervor and all you’d have to do is watch him crumble underneath you. but with the way your fingers slicked him, it seemed like he’d cum the instant his cock vanished within your cunt.
yeah you’d make the electrified man cum from the static of your fingers instead.
❝sub!toji…❞ who isn’t submissive– unless you paid him.
his chest would heave, eyes unfocused on the television in the background as you adjusted the fleshlight right at the tip, leaving it there to steady yourself on your haunches. “toji, are you even paying attention?”
and you knew he wasn’t, the pliant ‘yeah, babe..’ feigning ignorance as you sunk the silicone down onto his cock, a hiss escaping him. his eyes would flit over to you, a blush spread over his cheeks and suddenly you needed more from him than just a sucked in breath.
you needed to make him cry big sobs for the fleshlight– for your cunt and you certainly knew how to get that show. your wallet spoke wonders to the gambler, milking itself dry at times when he was around to get him to do your every bidding. so why wouldn’t it work with this type of thing?
his hands would be tucked against his chest, his legs parted for you with one knee up and your wallet empty against the bed. there wasn’t enough money in the world for toji to cry tears for you; that was fucking funny. but he could at least give you enough of a show to make you satisfied.
“oh, right– fuuuck, y/n– squeeze it around me.”
the silicone dripped at the top, the hole of it being completely consumed by the massive length of his cock and you sat against his calf rigidly as his eyes started to flutter underneath your touch. you didn’t think he’d actually succumb to your every need but it was certainly fucking hot– to see his muscles contract underneath his black compress shirt, every square inch of him tensing with every pull and clench of the toy.
toji’d hold back too, you knew your man. soft huffs would fill the room aside from the claps from the television (you really needed to mute that), and his cock would twitch every so often as you held the fleshlight firm against him.
your hand would stop every so often, watching his face contort with frustration just as he was getting close. he was beginning to sweat, the intensity of his orgasm drawing near and suddenly not– it made his bangs stick to his forehead and hot breaths came out of him. toji’s whole body was starting to feel hot and a faded red flushed his face and his cock; he was finally starting to feel the side effects.
the aphrodisiac in the can of soda wasn’t that potent but it sure hit him like a truck. money well spent.
“y/n– did you drug me, shit– keep it right there…”
“please–please, i’ll do anything you say. let me fuck up into the toy…”
and you wouldn’t let him, slicking the fleshlight fully off his cock and replacing it with your mouth. you were easy on him, just letting your tongue slide up the underside and towards the crown. you could feel him squirm, bucking up into your mouth but your hands pressed down onto his hips cruelly and the rugged man actually yelped.
toji was fucking desperate now– for you to do anything, but your mouth stayed in the same place, warming him and occasionally flicking your tongue against him like a goddamn tease. his brain was fogging incoherently from the drug and defeated whines fell from his lips, his eyebrows furrowing and his jaw lax lips parted. he couldn’t do anything else but beg.
“pleaseplease oh my god, give me some relief baby…need it so bad–!”
the sensation was too much and as soon as you hollowed out your cheeks, he was cumming down your throat with an ‘oh, god, yes–’ through gritted teeth and you practically sense the fucked out smile that sent shivers down your spine. toji swallowed his moans down the second you pulled off but a tremble wracked his body.
and suddenly he was pleading again– his big hands taking your wrists and trying to get you to pump his cock dry and a feral expression written on his face. his words evaded him as you picked up the fleshlight again and his hips immediately reacted, twitching harshly as you sunk it back down on his reddened angry cock. his eyes slid into the back of his head, the whites of his eyes twitching as he held himself up on his forearms now. he fishmouthed a few times, trying not to muster up the wretched whines that escaped him but failing miserably.
and how pretty toji’s whines were when he wasn’t such an arrogant asshole to you– how blissfully unaware he was from the edging he was about to endure. he had no fucking clue that your mission was about to be fulfilled, the tears soon to be rimming his eyes as he sobbed for another release.
god, when he gets ahold of you after this– he’d make you sob.
𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔫𝔬𝔱𝔢 𝔦𝔦: might've rushed it a bit (sorry if some characters are ooc)
At first, he’s irritated. Not at you but at the inconvenience of the circumstances. “Your body is weak. How irritating.” And yet, of course, he doesn’t leave.
He’ll lurk nearby, pretending disinterest, but the moment you shift in pain, his eyes flick toward you instantly. He notices everything.
He won’t fuss or coddle. Instead, expect his hand to press against your abdomen, cursed energy flowing subtly, easing the cramps effortlessly. “Stop writhing. It’s annoying,” Ryomen mutters, though his hand doesn’t move.
He mocks you endlessly. “Is this really enough to bring you down?” “How pathetic your body is.” His tone is cruelly teasing.
Secretly (and he’d never admit it), there’s something about your vulnerability that makes him even more possessive of you. You’re his. Your pain, your every shiver of discomfort - all of your weaknesses are his to exploit. He will brand you so no one else will ever touch you again.
CHOSO
His Blood Manipulation lets him sense subtle changes in your body’s chemistry - he can literally smell when your period is about to start. The second he notices, his protective instincts kick in before the cramps even hit.
“Does it hurt? Where? How bad? Tell me everything, Y/N,” he demands softly, needing details so he can act precisely. He’s very methodical.
Choso subtly manipulates his blood while rubbing little circles over your tummy, warming it just enough so his palm acts like a heating pad on your stomach. The heat, his heat, radiates soothingly. He watches your reaction like it’s the most important thing in the world, instantly adjusting if it’s too much or too little.
If you’re tearful or frustrated, Choso doesn’t question it. He just pulls you into his arms, holding you like you might crumble otherwise.
Even though it’s definitely not the right time, Choso might suggest a quickie. He’s straightforward about it: he doesn’t mind the blood; he claims it’s not gross at all; he insists there’s no better stress relief for cramps than sex.
He loves being physical with you - hugs, nuzzles, keeping you in his arms with his chin resting in the crook of your neck - these are his ways of showing that he cares for you.
MAHITO
The moment he realizes what’s happening, he’s hooked. He’s fascinated. Completely, utterly fascinated.
He crouches at the edge of the bed, chin in his palm, staring at you with wide, delighted eyes. “Wait, your body willingly puts itself through this every single month?” To him, it’s less inconvenience and more a fascinating ritual of flesh, something so uniquely human that he can’t stop poking at the idea.
His first instinct is, of course, deeply alarming. A grin stretches across his face as his fingers twitch with temptation. “I could fix it in one touch, you know.” He says it so casually, like reshaping your insides is the most obvious solution in the world. The firm no you give him only makes him laugh, shoulders shaking with amusement. “Humans are so attached to their suffering. That’s adorable.”
Despite his chaotic nature, he ends up helping in his own weird way: he reshapes part of his arm into the perfect heating pad, molded exactly to the curve of your stomach.
What makes it strange is how observant he becomes. Mahito memorizes every reaction: what drink makes you feel less nauseous, how much pressure helps, whether warmth works better on your stomach or lower back. Once he learns the pattern, he repeats it with eerie precision, almost proud of how quickly he’s solved you.
Might rest his head on your lap while you lie there, absentmindedly tracing patterns over your tummy. “Humans are so fragile but you’re interesting like this!”
GETO
With Suguru, it starts before the first cramp even hits. He catches the faint shifts in your mood, the way your shoulders tense, the subtle fatigue in your eyes. By the time you realize what’s coming, your favorite tea is already steeping, and a blanket has somehow found its way over the couch.
He sits beside you, fingers brushing slowly through your hair, smoothing it away from your face in repetitive motions that almost lull you to sleep. His voice drops into that velvet calm he uses when he wants someone to listen. “Breathe. Let the tension go.”
When the cramps worsen, he wordlessly shifts closer and opens his arm for you. The moment you lean into him, he secures you there, one arm around your waist, his other hand resting low on your stomach with slow circles, almost meditative.
Geto’s affection is subtle: a soft kiss to your temple when you wince; his lips brushing your hairline while tears of pain roll down your flushed cheeks. The tenderness feels almost disarming because it comes from someone so composed, making it all the more powerful.
Suguru absolutely keeps track, though you may never realize it at first. He remembers the dates, the symptoms, even the little preferences you mention offhandedly.
NANAMI
The moment Nanami notices the faint tension in your shoulders, the way your hand lingers over your abdomen, or the slight sharpness in your breathing, he mentally restructures the day. Meetings? Delayed. Errands? Handled by him. Anything remotely stressful is quietly removed from your path before it can even reach you.
Nanami is the type to remember what eased your pain three months ago. The exact tea that helped bloating, the pillow angle that supported your back best, the pressure point that made your cramps less sharp. He stores these things away with the same efficiency he gives to exorcising curses, and somehow that makes it feel even more intimate.
Nanami rarely lets emotion show, which is why it’s so striking when his voice softens. He sets aside whatever he was doing and moves closer, his hand resting at the small of your back or over yours in a grounding, steady way. “Tell me immediately if it worsens.”
He will absolutely keep track of the time between your medication doses, hydration, and meals with that almost inhuman sense of precision. You don’t even need to look at the clock. The moment it’s time, he’s already there with exactly what you need. There’s something oddly comforting about the fact that, in Nanami’s hands, even your discomfort feels managed.
The most Nanami thing of all: he sees rest as a responsibility, not a luxury. If you try to push through the pain, he gives you that calm, unimpressed look over his glasses and simply says, “Your body is not a machine. Stop treating it like one.”
Kento will absolutely read to you - a book or even an article from the newspaper - to help keep your mind focused on something other than the discomfort.
ITADORI
The tiniest signs of you feeling uncomfortable terrify him. However, Yuji’s super sweet and concerned, even though a little clueless - but he’s truly trying his best.
Yuji worries that he should be able to fix everything. If you’re still in pain despite his care, he mopes quietly and mutters, “I… I wish I could do more… I hate seeing you like this.” He’s completely aware it’s irrational but can’t help feeling like a helpless failure sometimes.
He’ll almost trip over himself trying to help. When he doesn’t know how to help, he literally starts whisper-googling. You might hear, “Okay… heating pad… cramps… peppermint tea… cinnamon rolls?? Got it, got it…” before he returns with a tray of snacks and a warm compress.
If you’re emotional, Yuji doesn’t hesitate - he’ll hug you so tightly you might need to catch your breath, rubbing absentminded circles over your back to soothe your nerves. “My fighter. You’re such a brave girl.”
He genuinely feels proud if his presence, hug, or snacks prepared by him make you feel better.
MEGUMI
Megumi notices when something’s wrong within a moment.
He won’t make a big deal out of it, but suddenly everything is taken care of. You don’t even notice when he did it.
“You should rest, Y/N.” That’s about as gentle as he gets verbally.
His Divine Dogs will do their best to comfort you as well. Kuro might curl near your feet or nudge a blanket closer with his nose, while Shiro rests his head lightly on your stomach or chest. Their presence is cozy and grounding. They are protective without being intrusive, mirroring Megumi’s own careful attentiveness.
If you lean against him for comfort, he stiffens for a moment, processing. Then, almost imperceptibly, he relaxes, allowing you to stay like that as long as you want.
When you’re frustrated or irritable, Megumi doesn’t scold or try to cheer you up. His constant presence helps regulate your mood without words, like a calm current beneath the surface.
GOJO
Dramatic. Over-the-top. Surprisingly caring underneath it all at the same time.
Spoiling you becomes his immediate priority. Anything you even hint at - snacks, chocolate, tea, ice cream - he materializes it, grinning like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Gojo will never underestimate the power of sugar, and whenever you’re on the edge of crying, he will offer you a sweet treat. “Chocolate improves morale. Marshmallows improve morale. My presence improves morale, too, so you’re basically invincible right now.”
If you want to lie down, Gojo will drop completely into full human pillow mode. You can curl against him while he rambles endlessly about nonsense, trying to distract you from the pain. Sometimes he even hums or makes ridiculous commentary just to keep your mind off cramps.
Anyone who even looks like they might annoy you during this time gets the Gojo glare. He won’t raise his voice, but his sheer presence is enough to clear a room.
If the pain gets bad, Gojo becomes quiet, almost unnervingly gentle. He’ll brush your hair back, hold your hand, or press his palm against your belly with a soft “I’ve got you. Just tell me what you need.” He hates seeing you struggle.
HIGURUMA
Higuruma notices in the same way he notices inconsistencies in testimony - small things most people would miss. The way your patience wears thinner, the slight stiffness in how you move, the way you go quiet when the cramps spike. He doesn’t pry, just studies you for a second before asking in that low, even voice, “Is it bad this time?”
He listens carefully when you explain what hurts, giving you his full attention without interruption. With Higuruma, it never feels like you need to convince him your pain is real. The moment you speak, he accepts it as fact and starts thinking of solutions.
His care is thoughtful and deliberate. Medicine is brought exactly when it should be, tea set down while it’s still hot, a heating pad adjusted with precise hands so it rests where it actually helps. Every action feels considered, like he’s already weighed what would make this easier for you.
He stays nearby in that quiet, grounding way that suits him - reading through papers, sitting on the edge of the sofa, loosening his tie while keeping you within reach. He isn’t overly demonstrative, but if you lean against him, he immediately shifts to support your weight without a word.
What makes it so Higuruma is the way he protects your peace. If someone tries to interrupt your rest or dismiss what you’re feeling, his expression hardens almost imperceptibly, and his voice turns firm enough to end the discussion on the spot. “She’s resting. This can wait.”
YUTA
The second Yuta notices you’re off, his whole attention shifts to you. His brows pull together, voice soft and immediately concerned: “Are you hurting?”
He doesn’t pry, but the worry is obvious in the way he stays close, watching for any sign the pain is getting worse.
He absolutely over-prepares, but in a way that feels very Yuta: quietly gathering things one by one because he’s scared of forgetting the one thing that might help. Water, pain relief, tea, your favorite snacks, blankets, extra pillows; he’d rather look excessive than risk you needing something he didn’t think of.
Yuta stays physically close in that naturally gentle way of his, letting you lean against his shoulder or rest against his chest while his hand moves in absentminded, soothing circles along your back or arm. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s doing it; comforting you just comes naturally.
If the cramps hit hard, Yuta gets that quiet, determined look in his eyes; the one that means all of his focus is on you. He knows he can’t simply make the pain disappear, and that frustrates him more than he’ll admit, so instead he stays with you through every wave of it, making sure you never have to sit in that discomfort alone.
The more pain you’re in, the closer Rika seems to gather. If you curl tighter with cramps, her cursed energy thickens around the room in a strangely gentle way, almost like another blanket layered over the space. Yuta notices it too, glancing briefly toward her with that soft, understanding look only he can give. He doesn’t need to say anything; Rika simply reflects his own desperate wish to shield you from every ounce of hurt.
NAOYA
The first thing out of his mouth is a scoff. “What, you’re out of commission because of that?” His tone is cutting, almost mocking, like he can’t believe something so mundane has you slowed down.
“Tch. Women are such a pain. Stop making that face, it makes you fucking ugly, Y/N."
He absolutely judges how you handle the discomfort of the period. If you complain too much, he’ll sneer and compare you either to women from the Zenin clan who knew how to endure in silence or to his impossible standards of grace. “At least have the decency not to look so miserable.”
Yet, in his own strange way, he still expects you to be in proper condition. Naoya will curtly order someone to bring tea, medicine, or a heating pad, acting as if your discomfort is an inconvenience to his environment.
He hates anyone else noticing your vulnerable state. Not out of tenderness but out of pride and possessiveness. The idea of others seeing his woman looking weak irritates him deeply, and he’ll shut it down with a sharp glare and an even sharper tongue. If anyone comments on your condition, though, his expression turns ugly fast. “Did I or Y/N ask for your opinion?” is usually enough to make the room go dead silent.
The closest thing you ever get to softness from Naoya is him forcing you back down the moment you try to keep going with your usual tasks despite the discomfort. His fingers clamp hard around your wrist, sharp enough to make you freeze, while his expression twists with open irritation. He clicks his tongue in disgust. “Know your place. If you’re going to slow everyone down, at least stay out of the way.” The words are cutting, full of that familiar disdain he reserves so easily for women yet he never strays far, lingering just close enough to make sure you obey and actually stay put.
TOJI
He notices fast. Toji is the kind of man who clocks the smallest changes in your body language; the way you move a little slower, the faint grimace when you sit down, the shorter fuse in your tone. He won’t ask if it’s your period. He already knows. All you’ll get is a sideways glance and a low, dry “That time again, huh?”
His care comes in actions, never words. A pack of painkillers lands beside you, followed by a bottle of water he cracks open first because he knows you’re not getting up. If there’s nothing decent to eat around, he disappears for a bit and comes back with something warm, and filling.
Toji isn’t the type to fuss, but he does subtly rearrange things around you. The blanket you like is suddenly within reach, the room is quieter. He makes comfort happen without ever talking about it.
If the cramps are bad enough that you’re curled in on yourself, he’ll click his tongue, sit down beside you, and tug you against his chest or side with a rough “There, there, it will pass soon.” The steady heat of him and that solid frame are exactly what you need.
♡ TW: noncon, yandere, disassociation, a little angsty maybe
♡ FEM reader
♡ AN: Been thinking about Mahito and sorcerer reader lately…
You’d caught a break, finally. He’d fucked up, and now you were going to settle this once and for all. Right here, right fucking now.
It’s almost enough to make you feel a little nostalgic. You’d been chasing him for so long already, fellow sorcerers and friends dead in his wake, sacrificing so much in the pursuit. And it was all going to be made worth it now. Finally, you could visit their graves with something to show for it.
Only…
That’s not what happens.
You’re the one who fucks up. You’re the one who ends up getting caught, strung up by your wrists against the cold concrete wall of a cellar, waiting for this dance the two of you’ve been duetting to finally come to a bitter conclusion.
In the fight, he’d tossed you around quite a bit—and you him, only none of it showed now, his pale stitched skin all healed without a trace of your small victories. Meanwhile, blood runs down your temple, popped lip, scratches on your knees, uniform ripped to ribbons, hanging off your body in unsightly ways.
He doesn’t need to touch your skin directly to transfigure you, but it would seem he prefers it, running those cold grey fingertips up the exposed expanse of your stomach, way gentler than what you’d imagine, softly, nearly reverent—it would seem he intends to bask in it. Suppose, this was a big moment for him as well.
His eyes, one dark blue and the other grey like the rest of him, both look pitch black now, pupil-fat and staring.
Voice raspy with a question, “You’ ever dream about this?”
It’s an odd thing to say, but his habit of making small talk right before a kill is something you’ve witnessed before.
For an act so human to be twisted like that used to make you stomach churn, now it just leaves you wanting him to speed it along. And so, you decide against indulging him with an answer.
Still, in your head, you give it a second. Thinking yes, you have, plenty of times, imagined just this. It’s a normal thing—to think about one’s death. Only the word he uses is a little ill-fitting. Sure, you’ve thought about it many times, though you wouldn't say it’s something you’ve dreamt about.
“I have,” he answers in your stead, unbothered by your silence as his fingertips press into your skin. “So many times.”
It’s a weird feeling. Something within you or something encompassing you, you’re not sure, reacts to the touch. It’s your soul, you suppose—tremoring in suspense, in vivid dread of getting mangled into something unrecognizable.
“How I’d do it… How I’d touch you…”
It’s an awful ability. Something truly disgusting, and yet, the look on his face, he’s miles high like a child on Christmas morning, nearly innocent-looking while swallowing thickly beneath a heavy breath, eyes set on where he’s touching your soul and thinking about the possibilities of what to do with it now that it’s all his.
It makes you want to vomit. But, strangely enough, your fear of it is nowhere. Instead, there’s this oddly comforting sense of acceptance draping you, keeping you warm in the moments before the coming cold, knowing it’s inevitable. This is fine, you think, and really believe it. You gave it your all, bled for it, and now you were going to die, leaving no regrets.
You close your eyes. Ready for the light.
“I’ve been curious about it…” he continues, and you fear he’s going to drag this out whether you indulge him or not. “You know… about humans and their need to be close.”
It gives you pause—unsure what he just said, unsure what he meant. And the confusion, fed uncomfortable conspiracies by the back of your head, makes your stomach fold abruptly.
Skin going cold, your eyes peel open, looking down at the curse before you with ears drawn back. He’s closer now—still keeping a keen glare at your core, looking through your flesh to the thing within it. His breath tickles the peachfuzz found there, making it shiver, and you swallow thickly while goosebumps break out on your nape, resulting in a shiver carving a path down your spine.
“It made me think about you…” he says, his voice low and unlike him with his hand flat, keeping calm on your stomach. “If you ever let someone close.”
Your skin prickles with a strange warmth—energetic—not entirely unlike the type you’ve felt when treated by Shoko.
He’s healing you, you notice. Stitching your body back together with your soul as a conduit.
“I got a confession to make.” His gaze breaks from your torso as he looks up at you, still with his hand kept in place, now rubbing patterns into the fully healed flesh—eyes big. “I wanna be the one. The one you let close.”
You whimper then as a fear you’ve never felt the likes of festers in your chest, right beneath his godawful touch, and spreads with your beating heart in a rapid haste into every corner of your body.
And yet, despite your clear aversive dread, feeling you squirm before him, he presses on with his horrifying speech, “I wanna make you feel good.” Getting closer as his voice drops lower, just shy of frenzied. “I wanna hear you moan my name and beg me for more with pretty please on your tongue as I give your soul everything only I know it needs.” Rust shivering, he looks at your lips, then your neck, then the fast shutter of your winded chest. “Wanna make you need me… wanna make you incomplete without me.”
His other hand ascends—pointerfinger sharpening into something knifelike and used to slip under the remaining paths keeping your attire together before cutting them loose.
Your shirt falls to the floor once he’s done, leaving your upper body in your binder and your breath in your throat.
“I guess what I’m saying is… I’ve realized something new about my true nature.”
He presses his head against your chest, ear over your heart, listening to it patter with the shifty rise and fall of your lungs lulling him as he feels your soul swish about within you—such a reactive little thing. He can’t put his finger on when he started thinking it was cute.
He holds your waist and nuzzles against you, mumbling under his breath that, “Hate and fear aren’t all that different from love.” Breath hot and dewy against your breast, he sighs—sinking further into you. “And I wanna know what yours will feel like.”
You’re trembling now, fully, violently. Feeling your chest cave at the weight of his head as the grim and dire distress leaves you mute, making you unable to form any other feelings except fear of the unthinkable.
“I can see it, you know?” His words are smeared against the fat of your tit, paying no regard to your struggle. “It’s all right here.” His cheek drags against your skin, turning his head until his lips are at your sternum, kissing the space with his words. “You haven’t had someone in a long time.”
He looks up at you, now with a smile, saying, “And how could you?” Making you whimper and shake your head, feeling his fingertips grace the skin of your midriff and slip beneath the band of your skirt. “When you’ve been so busy chasing me.”
He drags it down your hips, letting it drop atop your abandoned shirt.
“Don’t–” escapes from your lips. “Just–just kill me–”
“Don't start with that now,” he shakes his head. “We've done so much already. Don't tell me this is where you draw the line?”
His tongue rolls out, laying itself flat against your collar. You squeal through grit teeth, veering your head away from the assault, and cringing as you feel it drag itself up along your neck until finding your ear.
“Isn’t this natural, though?” he whispers. “All this time spent tussling with each other—don’t tell me you aren’t a little curious about me too?”
Again, his hands move—gently, trailing the brim of your boxers.
“About what it would feel like…” he murmurs, the words hot inside your ear, inside your head as his fingers dip beyond the band and rake past it, and with the touch, drags them down. “To touch me…”
You whimper, barring your thighs together, trying to keep it from happening, but your underwear is removed regardless of the effort, and he continues, almost sweetly, “Be touched by me…”
The article drops down atop the other two before it, and although featherlight, you feel as though the crash creates an earthquake, making your head spin like a storm, only further spurred by his voice, “Feel me...”
His breath gets heavier as yours gets wilder, and he gives your earlobe a soft wet bite. “Be one together.”
It all puts your brain on ice. Or rather, pushes it out and replaces it with soaked cotton. Surreal, it no longer feels like your body hanging there. Overfull with all sorts of emotions, you don’t have the capacity to feel any one of them. You can’t think, can’t talk, can’t even move, can only wait—with a distant sense of being out of place, leaving you to hang there like dead meat as the coming events dawn on you like the happenings of someone far away, unrelated and unconcerning you.
Meanwhile, Mahito’s hand’s between your thighs with fingers tracing the lips found there, giving the slit tentative strokes.
“I've never done this before…” His voice shudders now—and caught in the dissociation, your troubled head is convinced this is all normal, as though you’re having drunk sex with someone you’ve known for a long time. “But I think I get the gist of it…”
The reality of the situation lurks just behind the fantasy. Your mind suppresses it, protects you from it, and succeeds, even letting you moan when his finger pushes inside you.
“Is that right?” he asks, sinking it in, down to the knuckle, before pulling it out to the tip again. “It’s wet…”
Voice in awe, he repeats the motion upon the discovery, moving quicker now—eagerly chasing your reactions as he collects them, feeling your insides, gummy and warm, tremoring just like your soul. It’s like nothing he’s ever done before.
“I get why you humans like this so much…”
Something in his pants wants the same attention. Something thick and equally warm, growing in size until it strains against it confines. He moans, almost whines at the feeling, rubbing it against your thigh for comfort as his hand reaches up to grab your face, cupping your chin.
“Look at me” he very nearly begs, lips on your cheek, staring at you through halfmast eyes.
But your eyes remain shut. Knowing that if you open them now, you can no longer ignore what’s happening, no longer imagine something else, something more stomachable.
“Come on, I’m bearing my soul here…” A light laugh escapes him at the sight of your face so close—not loud like his usual cackling, but airy, maybe even a little giddy, beholding the pretty dew on your cheeks as he insists, almost with a please, “Look at me.”
When you open your eyes, the tears slip free. Trekking down in thick rivers, reaching his mouth and tongue.
“Oh… you're breaking my heart,” he says—somewhat as a joke, and somewhat as something more honest as he sucks the salt of your cheek before humming with something ragged in his throat, “But that’s okay… As I said…”
Another finger joins the first down below as he angles your face towards his, ghosting your lips with his, speaking against them.
“There isn’t much difference between love and hate, anyway.”
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.
