A cursed technique inherited by members of the Zenin Clan, with offensive/defensive attacks. It creates, summons, and manipulates shikigami of 10 types.
Warnings. 18+, Sex with a literal monster, Sukuna's a cuck (but he wanted to be), size difference (like a...lot), vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, naughty words and naughty acts. MDNI!
Word Count: 8,171
Art in the banner belongs to the amazing @xxnghtclls
Summary:
(See the picture above!)
So....I saw another fic idea as I was scrolling and was immediately inspired! I've wanted to write a Mahoraga fic at some point, so what better time than now!
I hope everyone enjoys!
Masterlist
You kneel at the base of the dais, forehead nearly brushing the cold stone floor, body folded small in deference to your King.
For days now, you’ve sensed a restless hunger coiling inside him, an insatiable edge that no amount of devotion from you has managed to blunt. No matter how many nights you’ve spent tangled up with him, clawing desperately at the broad expanse of his back, moaning his name until your voice cracked, he remains…unsatisfied.
You’ve offered everything, let him sheath both of his thick, ridged lengths inside you at once, stretching you to the point of burning tears, folded yourself into positions that left your joints aching and your body trembling with pain-laced pleasure.
Still, that feral glint in his eyes never dims.
Your skin bears the vivid proof of your efforts, dark bruises littering your throat, breasts, and inner thighs, bite marks marring your shoulders and hips like brands, faint scratches trailing down your back where his claws caught you mid-thrust. Your hips throb with that deep, familiar ache you’ve come to crave, a constant reminder that you belong to him. Completely.
He lounges atop his throne like a god of ruin, one head tilted lazily against a fist, a pair of crimson eyes fixed on you with predatory intensity. He summoned you here almost an hour ago, yet he had not spoken since, only watched, silent and calculating, as though deciding how best to devour you this time. The weight of his stare makes heat pool low in your belly even as unease prickles along your spine.
You are barely clothed, there hardly seems to be a point anymore. Once, he grew so impatient with the endless buttons and ties of your robes that he tore the garment clean off your body in a fit of snarling frustration. Now you wear only one of his massive haori, the heavy black fabric draped loosely over your shoulders and tied with a careless knot at your waist, just enough to preserve a fragile scrap of modesty. Even that seems to irritate him tonight, his gaze lingers on the knot as though it personally offends him.
Finally, his voice breaks the silence, low and commanding. “Come to me.”
You rise at once, gathering the trailing hem of the haori so it doesn’t trip you, and climb the stone steps until you stand directly before him. His lower pair of hands moves instantly, claws hooking into the loose tie at your waist. One sharp tug unravels it, the fabric sighs open, sliding from your shoulders to pool at your feet. Cool air kisses at your bare skin, raising gooseflesh and tightening your nipples into stiff, aching peaks. You stand exposed before him, marked, trembling slightly under the full force of his gaze.
His hands slip inside the open fabric, tracing your body with deliberate tenderness. Claws retracted to dull points, he maps every bruise and bite he’s left on you, cupping the swell of one breast, scraping lightly over a nipple until you draw a shuddering breath, trailing down the curve of your ribs to the dip of your waist, lingering on the fingerprint bruises blooming across your hips. His touch is reverent and possessive, cataloguing his own handiwork with dark satisfaction.
“Would you do anything for your King?” he murmurs, lifting his gaze to lock with yours. The question is soft, almost conversational, but it vibrates through you like thunder.
You nod without hesitation. “I’d do anything for you” you whisper, fingers brushing lightly over his wrist as it continues its slow exploration.
“And if I asked something… difficult of you?” He pushes the haori fully off your shoulders, letting it fall forgotten to the floor. “Something that might frighten you?”
Your throat tightens, but your answer is steady. “Anything” you breathe, even as your heart begins to race.
A low hum rumbles in his chest. He pulls you forward until you stand between his spread thighs, his massive frame still seated yet somehow towering over you. Both lower hands slide up the backs of your thighs, gripping the plush flesh of your hips and ass, kneading possessively.
“I want to see you ruined, my perfect little wife” he says, voice velvet soft, but laced with hunger. “Truly ruined.”
The words strike cold dread into your core, your heart stutters. “Do you want me… dead?” you ask, voice wavering, small and uncertain.
His eyes flash dangerously bright, claws pricking your skin until you wince. “I want nothing of the sort” he growls, the sound dark enough to make your knees weak. Then his grip softens, one hand rising to cup your cheek with surprising gentleness. You lean into it instinctively, and some of the tension leaves his expression.
“No, not dead” he purrs, thumb brushing your lower lip. “But I want to see what you look like when you cannot take any more. When you are pushed past every limit. I want to watch you fall apart completely, my dear.”
Heat floods you traitorously, your body clenching, slick gathering between your thighs at the raw hunger in his voice. Something broke inside you long ago, rewired you to crave even his darkest desires. Yet trepidation still coils tighter when he adds, almost as an afterthought. “And I want to watch.”
Your stomach drops. “Watch?” you echo meekly, bile rising at the thought of another man’s hands on you. “You—you mean another man—?”
His smile turns wicked, sharp, more twisted than you have ever seen it. “Not a man, no.” He savours your obvious disgust for a heartbeat before the name drops like a blade. “Mahoraga.”
Your mouth falls open, eyes wide in genuine shock. He cannot possibly mean…
You know he tamed the Divine General Mahoraga, witnessed the cataclysmic battle, the blood, destruction it took to bind the beast to his will. But the thought of that thing touching you, its blank winged eyes, cold paper-white skin stretched over nine feet of lethal muscle, the spinning dharma wheel haloed above its head, sends terror spiking through your veins. Your pulse thunders in your ears.
“Do not worry, my little bird” he coos, one massive hand sweeping your hair back from your shoulder, letting the strands cascade down your bare back. His touch is deceptively gentle. “If it makes even one misstep, I will kill it in an instant.”
You nod, ever the dutiful wife, even as fear knots your stomach. Part of you cannot fathom how this could work, how your body could possibly take something so immense, so inhuman, but you would endure anything to see your King sated at last.
A heavy footstep echoes behind you, the soft clink of a chain, and you freeze.
You turn your head slowly, and there it is, already summoned, already waiting for you in the shadows.
Mahoraga looms taller than should be possible, its blank winged eyes nearly brushing the vaulted ceiling. Moonlight glints off its paper-white skin, stretched taut over striated muscle that ripples with every subtle shift. Its maw parts slightly, revealing rows of glistening razor-sharp teeth arranged in a slow, predatory smile. The chain draped across its broad chest chimes softly as it takes another deliberate step forward, followed by a deep, rumbling inhale that vibrates into a guttural growl from the depths of its being. The dharma wheel above its head glows faintly, spinning lazily as those empty eyes seem to fix on you.
Apprehension claws at your chest. You begin to shake your head, instinctively stepping backward, closer to Sukuna’s seated form, seeking the protection of his arms.
“You trust your King, don’t you?” he sighs, one hand stroking your cheek with retracted claws, voice almost tender.
You nod, turning your face away from the approaching calamity.
“It won’t kill you” he continues calmly. “I’ve bound it utterly. It will only do what I allow.”
You nod again, throat too tight for words.
“I need to see you take something impossible” he murmurs, voice dropping into something filthy and reverent. “Need to see you break on it while your eyes stay on me, only on me.” His hands fall away from you, leaving you standing alone and trembling between his thighs. “It’s merely a tool, my pretty wife. In truth… I will still be the one fucking you.”
You don’t ask why, his reasons rarely make sense to mortal minds, and you stopped asking long ago. You simply nod once more, breath shallow, as his crimson gaze flicks over your shoulder.
Mahoraga advances another slow, inevitable step, drawn forward as though Sukuna’s insatiable pull toward you has been transferred directly into the beast. The air thickens with cursed energy and raw anticipation, and you stand naked, shaking, caught between the King you worship and the divine calamity he has chosen to ruin you with.
“Touch her…” Sukuna commands, his voice a low, resonant rumble that vibrates through the vast throne room like distant thunder. “Feel what my perfect little wife feels like.”
Mahoraga obeys without hesitation. Its massive arms, cold and impossibly strong, sweep forward, encircling your naked body and lifting you effortlessly from the floor. A sharp gasp tears from your throat as your feet leave the stone, your hands fly out instinctively, searching for purchase, finding only the unyielding expanse of its forearms as it cradles you like something fragile and precious.
You are seated across those iron-hard limbs, your thighs parted over one massive forearm, body pressed lightly against the cool plane of its chest. Its head, easily twice the size of yours, tilts slowly, turning this way and that, as though those blank winged eyes are drinking you in from every angle.
For a breathless moment it does not move. Terror and a treacherous curl of heat war inside you as you wonder what it’s thinking, your heart hammers so violently you’re certain it can feel it against its skin. Trembling, you lift your hands, fingertips brushing hesitantly along the paper-white expanse of its face.
The texture is startling, like silk, cool and impossibly smooth, stretched taut over unyielding muscle. Your touch grows bolder despite your fear, tracing the sharp ridges of its skull, pressing into every dip and divot as if mapping the face of a god.
Its maw parts slowly. A long, glistening tongue of deep violet, thick, and unnaturally cold, lolls out, the tip brushing your lips with intent. You flinch at the chill, but it presses forward regardless, sliding past your parted lips and into the wet heat of your mouth. The invasion is shocking, this cold muscle coiling against your tongue, filling your mouth with its strange, metallic taste. You whimper softly, eyes watering, but you respond as best you can, sucking gently, swirling your tongue against its undulating length, meeting each slow thrust and teasing curl.
It pushes deeper, the tapered tip nudging the back of your throat. You gag, tears spilling over your lashes, throat convulsing around the intrusion, but you do not pull away. Your hands clutch desperately at its face, nails scraping harmlessly over silk-smooth skin. A deep, guttural grumble vibrates from the beast’s chest, traveling straight through its tongue and into your body like a living pulse of pleasure that makes your core clench helplessly.
“Isn’t she perfect?” Sukuna sighs from his throne, voice thick with dark satisfaction.
Mahoraga answers with a low, rumbling growl that seems to vibrate in agreement. Those cold arms tighten, pulling you flush against its massive frame until your marked breasts crush against chilled muscle and your slick thighs slide along its forearm.
The need for air becomes unbearable. You tap frantically against its chest, small fists drumming weakly. The tongue withdraws instantly, sliding free with a filthy, wet squelch that echoes obscenely in the quiet hall, leaving your lips swollen and glistening, your chest heaving as you suck in desperate, shaky breaths.
“Feel her… properly” Sukuna orders, his voice dropping into a deeper, hungrier register that sends a fresh rush of heat between your legs.
The calamity complies at once. One massive arm remains hooked beneath your thighs, supporting your weight effortlessly, while the other begins a slow, deliberate exploration.
Its large hand glides across your skin with unexpected gentleness, fingers spanning nearly your torso, dragging from the delicate line of your shoulder, down over the bruised swell of your breast. It cups you for a moment, the cool palm engulfing tender flesh, thumb brushing across your hardened nipple with a pressure that draws a broken moan from your lips.
Then it continues lower, tracing the curve of your waist, the tremor in your belly, until those long fingers slip between your trembling thighs.
A savage growl rumbles from its chest the instant it appears to discover the copious slick coating your folds, evidence of your arousal despite the fact that these are not your King’s hands. The sound is primal, possessive, and it makes you clench involuntarily.
You cry out softly, small hands scrabbling for purchase on its shoulders, nails digging into unyielding muscle you know you could never mar. The grip only anchors you further, letting you feel every inch of its overwhelming strength.
You risk a glance over your shoulder, desperate for the sight of your King. Even in the dim, flickering torchlight his crimson eyes burn like twin furnaces, fixed unblinkingly on you. His thighs are spread wide on the throne, one hand now resting boldly between them, the slow drag of his palm over the thick bulge straining against his robes unmistakable. The sight alone sends a violent pulse of need through your core, your walls flutter, more slick easing out to coat Mahoraga’s probing fingers.
“More” Sukuna demands, voice rough with restraint. “Spread her open. Facing me.”
You are turned in its arms as easily as a doll, lifted and repositioned until you face your King directly. Massive hands grip the backs of your thighs from behind, forcing your legs wide, knees bent and hooked over its forearms so that you are held utterly exposed, glistening folds parted and presented like an offering. Cool air kisses your dripping entrance, you whimper, cheeks burning with humiliation at your position.
Something wet and icy slides across your shoulder, it’s the beast’s tongue again, trailing a shivering path over your shoulder. It wriggles lower, circling one stiff nipple with deliberate slowness, laving the sensitive bud until you arch and gasp. Then it continues its descent, leaving a glistening trail over your ribs, your quivering belly, until it finally reaches the aching heat between your legs.
The first touch against your swollen clit is electric, so cold and slick, but impossibly dexterous. The broad tongue strokes through your puffy lips, rough texture dragging over your clit in a slow, devastating circle. Pleasure crashes through you so sharply that you cry out, back bowing, head thumping against the solid wall of its chest. You try to twist, to seek friction, but its grip is iron, you are held open and suspended, helpless to do anything but take what it gives.
The tongue torments your clit mercilessly, flicking, swirling, sucking lightly before sliding lower. It circles your leaking entrance in teasing rings, the tapered tip dipping shallowly inside, stretching you just enough to make you gasp and clench greedily around nothing. Your eyes flutter open, locking helplessly with Sukuna’s burning gaze across the room.
The moment your gazes meet, the tongue surges forward.
It thrusts into you in one deep, claiming push, the cold, thick muscle burying itself to the hilt inside your clenching heat. You scream, the sound raw and broken, hands flying down to clutch desperately at its wrist for leverage as your hips jerk involuntarily.
The intrusion is overwhelming, colder than anything you’ve felt, yet so alive, coiling and uncoiling within your walls, stroking every sensitive ridge inside you with impossible precision. Lewd, wet sounds fill the chamber, your slick eagerness, the rhythmic plunge of its tongue, your own helpless moans.
Sukuna watches every second, eyes darkening to near black, hand moving faster over his clothed cock, the outline of his dual lengths now starkly visible. You cannot look away from him, from the hunger carved into his face, from the way his chest rises and falls with barely restrained need.
“Would you like to fuck my pretty little wife?” Sukuna purrs, voice velvet and lethal.
Your breath catches on a terrified whimper. The thought alone, of this monstrous, inhuman thing splitting you open, floods you with icy dread even as your walls flutter greedily around the tongue buried inside you. The appendage pauses deep within your throbbing channel, heavy and still, waiting.
A guttural growl vibrates from Mahoraga’s chest, traveling straight through its tongue and into your core like a shockwave of raw pleasure. The sensation forces a sharp gasp from your lips, nails biting crescents into its paper-white flesh as your body clenches helplessly, betraying just how desperately you crave whatever ruin your King has planned for you.
“See, my little bird” Sukuna purrs, voice dripping with dark depraved pride, “you drive even the Divine wild.”
One of his lower hands slips lazily beneath the loose fold of his robes. With deliberate slowness he frees both of his thick, ridged cocks, already fully hard, flushed a deep crimson, the upper one glistening with a bead of precum at the tip. He wraps a fist around them both, stroking once, unhurried, eyes never leaving you as Mahoraga begins to move.
Cold arms lower you gently until your trembling feet touch the stone floor. Your legs nearly buckle, slick and saliva drip down your inner thighs, and you sway, terrified to look back. You don’t want to see it, not yet. But you can hear it, the soft, leathery shift of its pale skin against itself, the faint rustle of whatever scant fabric it wore falling away, the metallic clink of chains sliding free and hitting the ground. Each sound tightens the knot of dread in your stomach even as your body throbs with heat.
It presses close behind you, impossibly tall, impossibly broad, its massive frame hunching low so that its smooth skull brushes your shoulder. That long, cold tongue flicks out again, dragging a slow, wet stripe across the nape of your neck, lapping greedily at the thin sheen of sweat gathered there.
The chill of it makes you shudder violently, your eyes flutter shut, breath catching on a soft, fearful whimper. You brace yourself, heart pounding, praying silently that whatever comes next will not tear you apart.
Without warning, those enormous hands spin you around to face it. You catch only a glimpse, blank winged eyes glowing faintly, rows of sharp teeth glinting, before it lifts you like you weigh nothing and lowers you carefully to the cold stone floor.
Your back meets the ground with a soft thud, the air leaves your lungs in a shaky gasp. It settles between your thighs immediately, forcing them wider to accommodate its bulk. The strange, protruding wings of its eyes brush feather-light against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, sending involuntary shivers up your spine.
You lie there, chest heaving, staring up at the vaulted ceiling until its shadow eclipses everything. Its maw opens slowly, those glistening teeth parting to reveal that thick, serpentine tongue lolling out once more, dripping with viscous saliva. It descends.
The first broad lick is sloppy, deliberately so, dragging from your entrance all the way up your swollen folds, coating your entire sex in a thick layer of cold, glistening spit. You gasp softly, hips twitching despite yourself, hands curling into tight fists at your sides as it repeats the motion again and again until you are utterly soaked, shining obscenely in the dim light.
Then, without mercy, it bullies that tongue back inside you.
The tapered tip spears your clenching entrance in one smooth thrust, colder and thicker than before, stretching you open with relentless pressure. You cry out, back bowing off the floor as it begins to pump, deep, devastating strokes that fill you completely, retreating only to plunge back in harder.
The pace is unforgiving, your body has no choice but to surrender. Pleasure coils hot and fast in your belly, overriding the fear. You lose yourself to it, back arching sharply, hips rolling greedily to meet each thrust, mouth falling open around broken, desperate cries that echo through the throne room.
“Oh god—” you sob, spine curling upward as the coil tightens unbearably. One trembling hand flies down, pressing weakly against the massive, smooth crown of its head, not to push away, but simply to anchor yourself as the sensations threaten to drown you.
It does not slow. If anything, it grows more insistent, tongue writhing inside you like a living thing, coiling, undulating, stroking places no human ever could. The texture is exquisite torment, cool, slick, and rough all at once.
Then it shifts, angling its tongue so the broad, flat surface drags firmly across your swollen clit with every deep plunge. The dual assault shatters you.
“I’m gonna—” The warning fractures into a scream as your orgasm crashes over you, violent and all-consuming. Your walls clamp down in frantic spasms, release gushing hotly around its invading tongue in pulsing waves. It does not stop, it drinks from you, mouth sealing over your lips, suckling greedily at your oversensitive clit until the pleasure twists into agony. You writhe, clawing desperately at its head, twisting onto your side in a frantic attempt to escape the unrelenting stimulation.
“Stop” Sukuna’s voice cuts through the haze, sharp with command and just a hint of concern. “You’ll consume her whole at this rate.”
Mahoraga growls, a low, rumbling protest that vibrates against your throbbing folds, but obeys. The tongue slips free with a final, lewd slurp, leaving you limp and twitching on the stone floor, body glazed in a sheen of your own release and its cold saliva. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, soft, broken whimpers spill from your lips as aftershocks ripple through you.
Sukuna’s eyes burn across the room, hand still stroking his twin cocks with slow, deliberate pulls, a feral smile curling his lips.
“Now” he commands, voice rough with hunger, “continue.”
Mahoraga rises above you, its impossibly wide chest eclipsing the flickering torchlight, casting your trembling body in deep shadow. Your breath catches in your throat as your gaze drops involuntarily, and there it is.
Its cock is monstrous, utterly inhuman. Stark paper-white like the rest of its silken skin, yet throbbing with a vitality that makes your core clench in equal parts terror and treacherous anticipation. The shaft tapers gradually to a blunt, rounded tip, deceptively inviting, but is covered in thick, undulating ridges that swell progressively larger toward the base, each one textured with raised, swirling bumps and nodules that promise devastating friction.
Prominent veins wrap around the length in rigid, pulsing spirals, carrying that same cursed, inhuman rhythm you can feel echoing through its body. At the very root bulges a thick, swollen knot, even wider than the final ridge, glistening faintly with a sheen of its own cold precum.
Your heart slams against your ribs as icy dread coils in your belly. It’s too big, far too big, and yet your walls flutter emptily, remembering the stretch of its tongue and craving more despite the fear.
The beast climbs over you slowly, its massive frame hunching low to accommodate the difference in size, powerful thighs forcing yours wider as it settles between them. Cold, smooth skin blankets you like a living shroud, its chill seeping into your overheated flesh and drawing a full-body shiver.
The blunt head of its cock nudges insistently at your small, dripping entrance, hot slick meeting icy flesh, and you tense involuntarily, thighs quivering, a soft whimper escaping your lips as you squirm beneath its looming weight.
Mahoraga braces itself above you, two enormous hands planting on either side of your head, muscles flexing like coiled steel beneath that silk-white skin. It begins to push forward.
You gasp sharply, small hands flying to its thick wrists, gripping with every ounce of strength you possess as if you could truly hold it back. At first the tapered tip is almost manageable, sliding through your soaked folds with a slow, burning pressure that makes you moan despite yourself. The false sense of security lasts only moments.
As it sinks deeper, the ache blooms fierce and unrelenting. The stretch is unimaginable, a deep, splitting burn that radiates through your core, your walls spasm and clutch frantically around the invading girth, trying desperately to adjust.
The first swollen ridge breaches you with an obscene pop, the tight ring of muscle at your entrance forced wide, then snapping back into place around the narrower shaft behind it. Pleasure laced pain lances through you and your back arches off the stone floor, eyes rolling back as a broken cry tears from your throat.
It growls low above you, a deep, vibrating rumble that you desperately want to believe is patience, a pause to let you breathe, but before you can gather your scattered thoughts, it moves again. Another thick inch forces its way inside, then another, each ridge dragging mercilessly along your sensitive walls.
Your fingers scrabble higher, clawing at its unyielding forearms, nails scraping harmlessly over silky smooth muscle as you cry out with every devastating push.
“Stop—” you sob, spine bowing sharply, thighs clamping instinctively around its narrow waist in a futile attempt to slow the invasion. “Please—ah—!”
Another ridge pops past your entrance, stretching you impossibly wider as tears spill hot down your temples. Coherent thought dissolves into raw sensation, you feel your insides parting, reshaping, helplessly making room for its monstrous length. Panic and arousal twist together, your clit throbs in time with your frantic heart.
Desperate for some measure of control, you lift your head, peering down the length of your sweat-slicked body. Only the final, widest ridge remains outside, followed by that terrifying knot. A helpless whine escapes you. You drop your head back to the stone with a soft thud, chest heaving, and brace yourself.
“Just hurry” you pant, voice trembling, thighs clenching tighter around its hips, hands gripping its rock-hard arms until your knuckles whiten. “Please—”
Mahoraga answers with one brutal, claiming thrust.
The final ridge breaches you in a white-hot burst of stretch, the thick knot slams home against your entrance, locking deep as the full length buries itself to the hilt inside your spasming heat. You scream, raw and overwhelmed, as every ridge and bump seats perfectly within you, pressing against places you didn’t know existed.
The beast roars above you, a triumphant, earth-shaking sound that reverberates through the throne room, its dharma wheel spins wildly overhead, glowing brighter, while thick strands of cold, glistening spit gather in its open maw and drip in heavy drops onto your heaving breasts.
“Do you feel that, my beautiful wife?” Sukuna’s voice reaches you, rough and panting with barely restrained lust from his throne. “You’ve taken the Divine General like a perfect little whore.”
You can only whine in response, a high, broken sound as your body adjusts around the impossible fullness, walls fluttering helplessly, every tiny shift sending sparks of overwhelming pleasure-pain through you. You shift instinctively beneath the magnificent beast, hips rocking in tiny, involuntary circles, chasing the ruin even as tears continue to fall.
Those swollen knots and ridges rub relentlessly against your oversensitive insides, each textured bump dragging with exquisite cruelty over every throbbing nerve. The pleasure builds at an alarming, unstoppable rate, hot, coiling pressure that winds tighter and tighter in your belly until you’re panting desperately, high-pitched whines spilling from your lips as you rock your hips like a rutting animal, chasing the ruin you both fear and crave.
“Oh fuck—” you squeal, eyes squeezed shut against the overwhelming onslaught. Your orgasm crashes into you without mercy, a violent wave that arches your spine clear off the cold stone. Thighs clamp tight around Mahoraga’s narrow waist, trembling uncontrollably as your walls spasm and milk the monstrous length buried inside you. Even the sheer weight of it, thick, cold and unyielding, drives you deeper into madness, every tiny shift sending fresh shocks of ecstasy through your core.
The Divine General growls low and rumbling in response, a sound that vibrates straight into your bones. Its long, chilled tongue flicks out, lapping delicately at the hot tears streaking down your cheeks as your body shudders through the aftershocks.
Then it finally moves.
Massive hands, surprisingly gentle despite their strength, scoop beneath your back and thighs, lifting you as though you weigh nothing. It settles back onto its heels, drawing you upright until you’re seated astride its powerful thighs, its ridged cock still buried to the hilt.
The new angle forces it even deeper, the blunt, tapered head presses hard against your cervix, a dull, delicious ache that makes you gasp and clench anew. A fresh gush of slick coats the place where you’re joined, easing the impossible stretch just enough to keep you from breaking.
“Ride him, my sweet” Sukuna orders, voice thick and ragged. Only now do you register the wet, rhythmic shlick-shlick of his fists pumping up and down his twin cocks, the sound obscene in the vast chamber.
You collapse forward, pressing your flushed, sweat-slicked body against Mahoraga’s cool chest, the sensation soothing and shocking all at once. Its massive arms cradle you close, one palm pressed against your entire back. You wrap your arms as far as they will reach around its thick neck, fingers barely meeting, and lift yourself slowly.
Each swollen knot stretches your entrance anew as it slides free, the ridges and nodules dragging mercilessly over that spongey, sensitive spot deep inside you. Your thighs shake as soft, broken whimpers escape with every inch you rise. You pause when only the blunt tip remains inside, your body aching with sudden emptiness, walls fluttering greedily around nothing. A shuddering breath, and then you drop yourself viciously.
The impact steals your air. You cry out sharply, head thrown back, eyes blown wide as every ridge slams home again, the thickest knot popping past your rim with a wet, filthy sound. That perfect spot inside you is abused, singing with electric pleasure that borders on pain. Insanity creeps in at the edges of your mind, a debauched, frantic need to take it even deeper, to be split apart and remade around this divine monstrosity.
You rise again, faster this time, and drop again. The sharp slap of your thighs against its unyielding muscle echoes through the throne room, mingling with your unrestrained, pleasured wails. Mahoraga’s hands grip your hips now, aiding your rhythm, lifting you with effortless strength and guiding you back down harder and faster. Its constant, guttural growls vibrate against your breasts, urging you on.
“Louder” Sukuna purrs, voice dark with satisfaction. “Let me hear how it breaks you.”
But his words barely reach you through the haze. All you know is the impossible stretch, the exquisite fullness, the way your body is learning, against all reason, to crave this ruin.
You move faster as your walls begin to adjust, slick pouring freely now, easing the glide. Mahoraga meets your drops with upward thrusts of its own, forcing its length impossibly deeper, the blunt head meeting your cervix on every brutal stroke.
“Fuck—” you sob, fingernails digging desperately into the unyielding muscle at the back of its neck, forehead pressed to its chilled chest as though you could hide from the pleasure consuming you. “Harder” you gasp, the plea torn from you before shame can stop it.
Sukuna’s low, delighted laugh rolls through the chamber like thunder. “Turn her, Mahoraga” he commands.
The beast obeys instantly. With a thunderous, possessive growl it lifts you fully off its cock, cold air rushing to your gaping, clenching entrance and wrenching a pitiful mewl from your throat at the sudden emptiness. You’re spun effortlessly in its arms, legs folded beneath you until you straddle it facing forward, feet hooked over its hips for leverage. Its massive hands roam upward, cupping and kneading your breasts roughly, cold thumbs flicking over stiff nipples as it guides you back down.
You sink onto its length again with a broken whine, body stretching greedily to accommodate the familiar invasion, every ridge popping back into place like it belongs there.
And finally, you can see your King again.
Though now, he is a vision of debauchery. Robes thrown open, marked chest gleaming with sweat in the dim torchlight, both thick cocks standing proud and flushed between his spread thighs. One large hand grips each shaft, stroking with slow, deliberate pulls, precum glistening at both tips. His crimson eyes glow brighter than the flames, mouth parted around deep, rumbling groans that match the rhythm of his fists.
“Watch me, beautiful” he purrs, voice velvet and lethal.
You nod helplessly, lifting yourself off Mahoraga’s cock in perfect time with the upward stroke of his hands. He notices immediately, how he completely controls you even from his throne, how eagerly you fuck yourself on the divine beast to the tempo he sets. A wicked smirk curls his lips, sharp teeth flashing.
“Good girl.”
You mewl helplessly at Sukuna's praise, the words sinking into your haze like a brand, your eyes locked unblinkingly on him as you continue to bounce along Mahoraga's monstrous cock.
Your small hands brace against the beast's stone-cold, unyielding thighs for leverage, fingers splaying wide over silk-smooth muscle that feels more like chilled marble than flesh.
Each upward lift drags those swollen ridges and textured nodules through your clenching walls, each downward plunge forces the thick, knotted length deeper, the blunt head bullying against your cervix until a visible bulge distends your lower stomach, a lewd, obscene outline that makes fresh heat flood your cheeks even as your body craves more.
You roll your hips greedily as you bottom out again and again, grinding in slow, filthy circles to force it even deeper, chasing that terrifying fullness that borders on too much. A whimper catches in your throat every time the bulge presses outward, a stark reminder of how utterly full you are, of how something so inhuman is reshaping you from the inside.
Mahoraga's massive hands roam your body possessively, one kneading the plush curve of your ass to guide your rhythm, another sliding up your sweat-slicked torso to cup a breast, cold thumb circling your stiff nipple until you arch with a sob. Then that enormous palm comes to rest directly on your distended stomach, pressing down firmly on the protruding bulge with deliberate pressure. The sensation is devastating, you feel the ridged cock from every angle, inside, stretching you to your limits, and outside, the unyielding hardness trapped beneath your skin. It forces a broken cry from your lips, pleasure laced with a sharp edge of fear at how deeply it owns you.
“Yes—” you cry out, spine bowing sharply, head tilting back toward the beast looming behind you, mouth hanging open in desperate, panting gasps.
Overwhelmed by the need for more, of anything to ground you in this storm, you reach one trembling hand upward, fingers brushing its smooth skull, pulling weakly to draw its head down toward you. You crave that cold tongue again, something to fill you everywhere at once, to silence the frantic edge of trepidation still whispering that this might finally break you.
It understands instinctively. A deep, rumbling growl vibrates through its chest as its maw opens wide, that long, violet tongue lolling out thick and glistening. It prods insistently against your parted lips, cold and slick, before slipping between your teeth to wrap around your own tongue in a possessive curl. It strokes and coils with deliberate slowness, filling your mouth just as thoroughly as its cock fills your core.
You moan loudly into the kiss, muffled, obscene sounds that echo your rocking hips as you suckle greedily on the invading muscle, tongue swirling desperately against its undulating length. The dual penetration undoes you completely, the ridged cock pounding the deepest, most forbidden places inside you with every grind, the tongue pressing deeper into your throat until you gag softly, tears pricking your eyes once more.
Your walls clench spasmodically around every swollen knot and throbbing vein, feeling every last inch of its inhuman girth as another orgasm barrels toward you, faster and fiercer than the last.
Eyes squeezed shut against the blinding pleasure, you shatter.
Your whole body convulses in violent tremors, a scream muffled around its tongue as you pull away just enough to gasp for air. Release gushes hotly around its buried cock in pulsing waves, soaking the place where you're joined until slick drips in rivulets down its powerful thighs. You drop yourself one final time, impaling yourself fully, knot locking deep, as the beast's length pulsates wildly inside you.
A low, triumphant roar rumbles from its chest. Then it pours into you, thick, cold ropes of cum flooding your overstuffed channel in heavy surges. You whine high and broken at the sensation, the sheer volume distending your stomach further, a soft, rounded swell forming beneath Mahoraga's pressing palm as it fills you to overflowing, painting you ivory from the inside out.
The mix of terror and ecstasy leaves you trembling, clinging to the divine calamity as aftershocks ripple through your ruined body, every breath a reminder that you've been thoroughly, irrevocably filled.
“Shit—” Sukuna snarls, the curse raw and ragged as his head tips back against the throne.
Your heavy-lidded eyes crack open just in time to watch the first thick ribbon of ivory cum stripe across his marked chest, painting the hard ridges of his abdomen in glistening ropes. Another follows, then another, until his skin gleams wet and filthy under the torchlight. The sight alone makes your mouth flood with saliva, you ache to drag your tongue through every hot, salty streak, to taste your King at his most undone.
You squirm weakly, still impaled and trembling atop Mahoraga’s lap, its cock locked deep by that swollen knot. Massive hands hold your hips in an iron grip, keeping you pinned. Only when the beast finally loosens its grasp do you collapse forward onto hands and knees, its monstrous length slipping free with a lewd, wet squelch that echoes in the quiet. Cold air rushes against your throbbing entrance, a rush of mixed release immediately follows, dripping in thick rivulets down your shaking thighs.
You don’t hesitate. You crawl across the cold stone on trembling limbs, drawn irresistibly to the heat radiating from Sukuna’s body. His crimson eyes slit open at the soft scrape of your knees, a slow, predatory smirk curling his lips as you prowl closer like a supplicant approaching her god.
“My dear wife” he drawls, voice husky and mocking, spreading his powerful thighs wide like a shameless offering. The movement displays the mess you crave, cum cooling on his skin, cocks still half-hard and glistening.
You crawl between his legs, hands sliding reverently up the thick muscle of his thighs until your breath ghosts over his stained stomach. For a moment you hesitate, glancing up through damp lashes for permission. He arches one brow, amused and impatient.
That’s all the encouragement you need.
You lean in and lap at the warm, salty spend coating his abs, tongue delving hungrily into every deep ridge and hollow, gathering the thick fluid into your mouth with desperate, kittenish licks. Your cunt throbs emptily with every swallow, arousal twisting tighter as you clean him with single-minded devotion.
You’re so lost in the taste of him that you don’t hear Mahoraga shift behind you, only feel the sudden clamp of cold, massive hands seizing your hips. The beast yanks you back slightly, positioning you, and then it enters you in one devastating thrust.
All three swollen knots slam home in rapid succession, the final one popping past your rim to throb heavily against your stretched lips. You cry out sharply, collapsing forward until your forehead presses to Sukuna’s hot skin, the scent of sex and sweat overwhelming.
The Divine General sets a brutal, unforgiving pace immediately, hips snapping forward with inhuman force, jolting your entire body with every plunge. Each thrust punches the air from your lungs in pitiful, broken sobs, your hands scrabble across Sukuna’s broad frame for anchor, nails scraping over marked muscle as he watches you from inches away, crimson eyes glowing with dark delight at your destruction.
His twin cocks harden fully beneath your swaying breasts, thick and burning hot as you’re shunted forward again and again, the valley between your tits slicking with precum. Each punishing stroke forces more of the mixed release from your overstuffed cunt, the wet plap-plap-plap of it hips against your ass echoing through the throne room alongside your desperate cries and Mahoraga’s otherworldly growls.
Sukuna reaches down at last, one large hand cupping your tear-streaked chin, tilting your wrecked face up to meet his gaze.
Despite the fear flickering at the edges of your pleasure-drunk mind at how much more can you possibly take, you rock back to meet the beast’s thrusts now, bouncing yourself off its hips with reckless abandon, the depth bordering on true pain.
“Su—” you gasp, straining upward, hands clutching at his thighs. You need his mouth, need something to ground you before you fly apart completely.
He concedes with a low chuckle, leaning forward to mash his lips against yours in a messy, bruising kiss, teeth clashing, tongues tangling, spit slicking your chins. Mahoraga snarls behind you, possessive and enraged, its long, cold tongue drags up the length of your spine in a single chilling stroke that makes you shiver and clench violently around its cock.
Sukuna pulls back just enough to glare up at the beast. “She’s mine” he growls, voice lethal, fingers sliding possessively around the nape of your neck like a collar.
The calamity answers with a deeper thrust, shallow now, grinding, as though trying to brand itself against your cervix and claim the space for its own. The pressure is exquisite and terrifying, you collapse forward again, forehead resting against Sukuna’s warm stomach, panting and moaning incoherently.
There is little left to give. Mahoraga fucks you brutally, hips snapping with relentless force, cold hands bruising your sides.
Pleasure has turned your mind to mush, the ridges and knots abuse your oversensitive walls until everything feels numb, except for that final, burning coil winding tighter and tighter deep in your belly, threatening to consume you whole.
Your hands clench into trembling fists against Sukuna’s skin, back twitching uncontrollably, pussy fluttering helplessly around the giant intrusion. All you can do is moan, drool spilling from your parted lips onto your King’s abdomen.
“Kuna—” you sob, voice cracking, eyes screwed shut as the last orgasm drags you under with terrifying force.
Your vision whites out entirely. The last thing you feel is your body shattering, something deep in your core exploding in white-hot rapture, waves of pleasure so intense they border on pain ripping through every nerve. And then, blissfully, you’re gone, lost to the dark, ruined and sated in the arms of your King and the divine calamity he commanded to break you.
…
You wake slowly to the soft, rhythmic lapping of water against stone, a warmth so deep and enveloping it feels like it’s seeping straight into your bones. Every muscle aches with a heavy soreness, as though you’ve been thrown down a flight of stairs. Your eyelids flutter open, the dim, steamy light of Sukuna’s private bath makes your head throb faintly, but the discomfort fades beneath the blissful heat of the water cradling you.
Steam coils lazily across the surface of the sunken pool, curling around your bare skin like ghostly fingers. It takes a moment to register that you’re caged safely within the iron bands of Sukuna’s four arms. His broad chest presses flush to your back, the hot brand of his marked skin a comforting anchor. Two large palms glide slowly down your sides beneath the water, thumbs tracing gentle, soothing circles over your ribs and hips, easing the lingering ache of overuse.
“Kuna” you murmur, voice soft and hoarse, twisting your head to seek him.
He’s lounging against the carved edge of the bath, one elbow propped lazily, head tilted to rest in his palm. A rare, indulgent smile plays at the corners of his mouth, something almost tender flickering in those crimson eyes as they roam over your face.
One hand rises from the water, droplets trailing down his thick fingers as he brushes damp strands of hair from your face, tucking them gently over your shoulder. His gaze follows the path of his touch, lingering on your throat with a strange, heated affection.
“You did so well” he murmurs, voice low and velvet soft, fingers trailing down the column of your neck to stroke between each fresh mark blooming across your skin, bites, bruises, the faint imprint of massive hands, tracing them like pieces of a puzzle. “Mahoraga wanted you for itself. I almost had to fight the bastard again.”
“Huh” you grunt faintly, a tired, amused sound, snuggling deeper into the furnace of his chest. Your thighs throb at the mere thought of the divine beast, of its impossible size, its relentless thrusting, and a faint pulse of slick heat stirs between your legs despite your exhaustion.
“But you’ll always be mine” Sukuna growls, the words warping into something darker, fiercely possessive. His hands clamp suddenly around your waist beneath the warm water, fingers spanning nearly your entire circumference. He lifts you with effortless strength, positioning you higher in his lap, then lowers you slowly until the thick, curved head of one cock nudges your swollen entrance and slides home in a single, gentle glide.
Despite the ruinous stretch Mahoraga left behind, Sukuna feels perfect, warm and devastatingly curved, the familiar ridges of his length dragging against your tender walls like he was made to fit you and you alone. A soft mewl escapes your lips as you reach back blindly, fingers threading into the damp pink hair at his nape, tugging him closer until his mouth latches onto the sensitive curve of your throat.
He rocks into you with unhurried tenderness, using the leverage of his grip on your waist to lift and drop you in slow, deep strokes. Your legs are still too weak to help much, thighs trembling, muscles lax from overuse, so you simply cling to him, letting him set the rhythm. Water sloshes gently around you with each roll of his hips, warm waves lapping at your breasts as his body presses to yours everywhere, chest to back, thighs cradling yours, the slick drag of wet skin on skin intoxicating.
It’s impossibly intimate, his breath hot against your neck, teeth grazing possessively, one pair of arms holding you steady while the other two roam, mapping the tremor in your ribs, the quiver of your belly. His cock strokes deep on every downward glide, kissing places still fluttering from earlier abuse, coaxing fresh sparks of pleasure from your oversensitive nerves.
It doesn’t take long. The coil winds tight again almost immediately, breathy whines spilling from your parted lips as you clutch desperately at his hair and the thick wrist banded around your waist.
“I’m gonna—” you sigh, voice breaking, walls fluttering helplessly around his buried length.
You feel his teeth sink softly into the juncture of your neck and shoulder, a gentle, claiming bite as he growls his own impending release. One large hand slips from your waist, sliding down through the water to find your swollen clit. A single rough fingertip flicks the tender bud with devastating precision.
“Ah—!” you squeal, the blissful orgasm rippling through you in gentle, rolling waves, nothing like the violent shattering from before, but sweet and perfect in its tenderness.
Sukuna follows moments later, hips surging upward as he pumps thick, hot ropes deep inside you. The sheer volume forces some to spill out around his shaft, clouding the water in lazy white swirls as he continues to bounce you gently on his thighs. He seats himself fully at last, cock pressed flush in the deepest part of you, reclaiming the space Mahoraga occupied hours ago, and floods it with pulsing heat until you feel deliciously, perfectly full again.
You groan softly, slumping back against his chest, every limb heavy and sated.
“I can’t—” you mumble, thoughts sluggish, body spent. “I need to stop.”
“I know, my beautiful” he murmurs against your cheek, lips brushing tenderly, a stark contrast to the ruin he orchestrated. “You did so well.”
His arms tighten around you, cradling you in the steaming water as you feel the steady beat of his heart against your back and the lingering warmth of him buried deep inside.
Well...that went further than I expected it to. Though I was super inspired! 😳.
@tojisabyss - I hope it fulfils what you wanted 😊.
Please don't steal, reproduce, feed into AI, or repost without my consent.
porn with plot, monster fucking, two cocks, fem reader, DP, anal EEK FIRST TIME WRITING
soz this took so long n i lied abt the release time LOL >.< i was having trouble ending it, so my bad if it’s sloppy. i imagine mahoraga and u have an intense connection b4 this. i hope u guys enjoy this u little freaks
-
“with this treasure, i summon… eight handled sword divergent sila divine general, mahoraga” you announce calmly, extending both arms forward with your fists closed.
the training grounds are empty when you summon him.
shadows begin to pool at your feet, familiar now, obedient. you don’t brace for impact anymore. you don’t fear the idea that summoning him means you must die aswell.
mahoraga steps from the dark like a memory made solid. the wheel above his head turns once. then stops.
he doesn’t advance or kneel. he simply watches.
you move through your forms slowly, deliberately. your cursed energy threads through your limbs as you strike, dodge, and redirect. testing your precision rather than power. every motion is measured and intentional.
you’re aware of him the entire time. not as a threat. as a presence that loomed quietly.
you feel his attention like heat against your back, his gaze tracking the minute shifts in your balance, the way your breathing changes when you grow tired. you stumble once, and the shadows at your feet ripple in response. mahoraga’s fingers twitch.
you steady yourself and continue.
when you finish, your chest rises and falls too quickly. sweat cools against your skin as the adrenaline fades. you lower your stance and exhale, long and slow. only then do you turn.
mahoraga stands where he always does, just close enough to be overwhelming, just far enough to give you space. his towering form blocks the wind, the setting sun casting his shadow over you like a cloak.
his wheel does not turn.
you meet his gaze.
there is no command in your cursed energy. no summoning order binding him to obedience. what flows between you now is something softer. maybe recognition.
your emotions bleed through the bond without permission. exhaustion, satisfaction, the quiet ache of wanting to be seen. you don’t push them away. you let the emotions exist.
mahoraga tilts his head.
it’s a small motion that’s devastating in its gentleness.
you feel the moment he adapts, not to your technique, but to the silence between you. to the way your heartbeat slows as you stand there, unguarded.
you take one step closer. he doesn’t retreat. the air between you thickens, charged with something unspoken. you can sense his awareness pressing closer, not invading, but curious. learning the difference between fear and trust, between solitude and this, whatever it is.
your hand lifts without conscious thought. you stop just short of touching him.
mahoraga lowers himself, not quite kneeling or bowing, but enough that his massive frame brings his gaze level with yours. the ground hums beneath the shift in his weight. his wheel turns once. then stills again.
you feel an unfamiliar emotion echoing back through the bond. it’s a careful feeling. you let your hand fall against the armored plane of his chest. the contact is brief, but mahoraga doesn’t move away.
he simply stands there with you, letting your fingers dance around on his chest, hard abs tightening at the gentleness of your touch.
when you finally lower your hand, mahoraga is quick to pull it back to his chest. your eyes widen at the unexpected gesture, mahoraga had never been one for touch. you summon him, he does his duties, he leaves.
you take a step back. his hand slowly raises, he silently decided it was his turn to touch. mahoraga’s giant hand lands on your chest, just a little to the left. he can feel your heart. the eight handled wheel above his head began to turn. he’s adapting to the way your heart began to race.
you bring your own hand up, grazing over his larger one. he nudges his hand down lower so that he’s cupping the swell of your breast. your eyes shoot up to meet his own winged ones. his exploration of your body doesn’t stop there. he’s careful not to use the arm he wields his sword on.
“nghh— this isn’t…” your voice falters. you swallowed hard. “this isn’t right”
the shikigami retracts his hand quickly. the pause in his touch is deliberate. silences hums around you softly. every rule you were ever taught is screaming that this is wrong. shikigami are tools, mahoraga was a divine being used for violence. but if that was true, why would was his touch so gentle?
you take a deep breath before taking his hand and placing back to your breast. he gives it a rough squeeze that forces a mewl out of your lips. you raise one arm to caress his muscular biceps. centuries of fighting left him with the body to prove it.
a low growl escapes his mouth at your touch, which spurts you on farther. you drag your hand up his arm, all the way to caress his face. that does it. he scoops you up, effectively throwing you over his shoulder. you squeak, hitting at his back.
“hey—! put me down, m’sorry!” you cried out, kicking helplessly at his chest. he raised his free hand, using it to send a sharp smack right to your ass. you gripped onto his shoulder hard as he carried you to some dark corner of the training grounds.
he finally set you down, carefully letting his robed bottoms fall to the ground. you couldn’t do anything but stare as your jaw falls open. two aching cocks sprang free.
you couldn’t help but feel your panties dampen at the sight. it was wrong, so terribly wrong. but the way his two heads were leaking pearlescent beads of precum made you want a taste. slowly, you wrap one hand over one of his massive dicks. the warmth was palpable in your hand. a soft grunt left the creatures mouth. assuming that was good, you continued to stroke his weepy length.
to test the waters, you stuck your tongue out and kitten licked the underside of one of his cocks while fisting the other. his large hand finds your hair and curls it up into a messy ponytail. you fully wrapped your lips around his head, struggling to take the rest of his length. drool pooled down your chin as you bobbed your head slowly, letting your tongue stay flat on the underside of his cock. you pulled away, a string of saliva connecting you to his tip, before moving over to his other dick. you repeated the same motion. slow and messy as you worked your head up and down, hollowing out your cheeks when you could handle it.
just then does the shikigami pull you from his cock, using his sworded hand to cut your pants right from your body. you tried to cover up your nude body, but mahoraga is already using his large hand to lift you up and place you on top one of his throbbing dicks. you claw at his shoulders and armored pecs, scrambling for any purchase as he sinks you down. the stretch is otherworldly, it feels like he was ripping you open from the inside out.
“ahh— slow— please!” you begged, but your pleas fell upon dead ears.
you feel something prodding at your other hole, your juices flowing down made it easy for mahoraga to slip his second cock in your ass. you clawed at him, crying out for mercy. stuffed completely full with both cocks as they worked simultaneously, hitting the deepest spots of your body. drool trickled down your face, going dumb on the shikigamis lengths.
soft groans left his lips, it wasn’t human, nothing about this was human. he sped up his sloppy thrusts, his pace not faltering for a moment. the lewd noises of your arousal only heightened your awareness of the fact you were getting fucked by a monster. the coil in your tummy tightens as your clit rubbed right against his hard abs. you weren’t gonna last much longer, not with the way he was everywhere.
you bring a hand up to rest flatly on his chest. “m’close— please! s—sooo much” you slurred.
he must’ve felt the way your holes clenched around him, switching from punishing thrusts to devastatingly slow grinds. before your brain could process it, you were cumming. your juices squirted out rapidly, the release was euphoric. your gummy walls fluttered helplessly around his cocks.
your orgasm must’ve pushed the shikigami right over his edge, because with a final roar he buries himself to the hilt and cums right after you. thick and hot ropes of cum painted your ass and cunt, the sensation was unreal. he came for what felt like years, rope after rope shooting right up into your womb. you could do nothing but lay there helplessly as he filled you up.
the two of your sat there for a few minutes, needing to process what the hell just happened. much more gently now, mahoraga lifted you off his cocks, his seed trickling out of both your holes and down your now sticky thighs.
-
you lie surrounded by shadow and dim light. your entire body aches in that intimate way that reminds you that you’re still alive.
mahoraga remained close afterwards. he settled beside you, massive form lowered, the wheel above his head turning slowly now. your fingers twitched at your sides, and before you can think of what you were doing, your hand reaches for him.
his response is careful, one large hand coming to rest near yours, close enough that the heat of him bleeds into your skin. when you close the distance yourself, threading your fingers against the hardened planes of his knuckles, he stills.
divine creature or not, love fills the bond between you two.
the afterglow between you brightens. resting your head back and feeling him there next to you. and for the first time since summoning the divine general, you are not alone.
Summary: Megumi calls for some help in deciphering the ten shadows book Gojo gifted him from the Zenin clan. Instead of waiting for you to arrive, he decides to summon the Shikigami on a page riddled with crossed out sentences and hidden warnings. What could go wrong?
Please don’t compare this to actual cannon lore about the ten shadows techniques or how Megumi came to learn about Mahoraga—this is entirely self indulgent. Anyone else who enjoys this, happy I could offer it up 😊
“So," Gojo says.
"Um," Megumi mumbles.
An awkward pause.
"…Right." He pulls his blindfold up and squints, as though his Six Eyes would ever lie to him. "Okay. Sure. Cool."
Smiling sheepishly, you grunt a little as you're shifted around and pressed more firmly into the broad chest beside you. Large, muscled arms cradle you, a contended huff leaving the powerful being they belong to at what he must deem a more 'comfortable' position.
Another awkward pause as the two other sorcerers stare.
"Yeah," Gojo says, "I'm gonna need an explanation. Now, please."
"Ask Megumi," You say, shrugging, "This wasn't on purpose."
"And how, pray tell, does one accidentally tame and stumble into the arms of the Divine General Mahoraga?"
The beast shifts at the sound of his name, tilting his head as he asses Gojo before him. You purse your lips. "…I don't know?"
"You don't know," Gojo echos distantly.
"We don't know," Megumi agrees in a mumble, rubbing the back of his neck.
Gojo's eye twitches. "From the top, please."
You and Megumi share a glance. "Well…"
…
You walk the path winding through Jujutsu tech's school grounds, shifting from foot to foot as you attempt to balance the stuff in your hold. Megumi, your long time neighbour childhood friend-turned-fellow-sorcerer had called you to ask for some help with deciphering a page in the Zenin clans book on the ten shadows technique.
Considering you had been on your way to an obligatory wedding as requested by some old friend of your long dead parents, the participants of whom you had never even met before, you were all too eager to call and sadly inform them of an 'emergency' that had come up last second which made it impossible for you to attend.
Alas, you had not bothered to change or drop your things off back home before immediately making a detour to see Megumi, and so now you wander into the building still in stuffy wedding attire and carrying a tamagushi alongside your bag filled with a few gifts and the twin daggers you use as your primary cursed tools.
You head towards Megumi's room, intent on dropping all your stuff on his floor and stealing some of his clothes, when a chill goes down your spine at the surge in cursed energy that encases the space around you. Almost immediately after the feeling comes to you, Megumi comes flying through the wall.
"Megumi!" You yelp, rushing to his side, "What the hell!?"
He coughs, blood pouring from his mouth. "So," he mumbles, eyes foggy, "That page… was a warning… who scribbles out the warning…?"
"What?" you ask, lifting your head up to peer at whatever curse had thrown Megumi through several walls. The school should be protected from cursed spirits, shouldn't it? The only ones that might be able to get in undetected would have to be extremely strong…
The thing stomping it's way after Megumi's path of destruction certainly matched the descriptor of strong. Your mouth goes dry, panic gripping your heart at the sight of the towering monster. You rush to yank your daggers free from your bag, the contents spilling on the floor in your panic, landing beside the discarded tamagushi.
You hold the daggers up, crouched protectively in front of Megumi even as he groans out a painful plea to run. Even if you wanted to, you don't know if you can—your legs are shaking too much.
"What the hell is it?" You ask, horrified. The beast lets out a loud growl that resonates through the entire building. Surely some of the other sorcerers would have realized something is wrong by now, right? Surely they'll come at any moment now, and—
"They call it the Eight-Handled Sword Divergent Sila Divine General Mahoraga," Megumi groans, trying to get up and failing, "Please, run."
"Don't be stupid," You whisper, voice trembling as the beast is upon you, "I couldn't outrun it anyway. No point in leaving you behind."
You lift your daggers in front of you even as your arms tremble, eyes narrowed in preparation for a fight. If it even will be a fight—you're only a second grade sorcerer on the cusp of first with your training, however that is as a healer, not a combatant—and this thing was beyond special grade.
And yet, inexplicably, he stops.
Both you and Megumi hold your breath. The general tilts his head slowly, assessing. You aren't quite sure what it is he's stalling for, but you're frozen under the suffocating force of his presence alone.
He crouches down and picks up the sealed box that had fallen from your bag filled with four simple onigiri you had prepared as a gift for the bride and groom, peering at it curiously. You blink, risking a glance at Megumi to see if you're seeing the same thing. He looks equally as bewildered.
The divine general yanks the box open, sniffing the contents. Then he knocks his head back and drops all the onigiri into his mouth at once. You had been planning to share it with Megumi, but if it pleases the curse—shikigami?—enough to stop him from killing you both, then maybe you should have made more.
He pokes at the tamagushi next, examining and turning the branch around in his hands. It looks incredibly small in his grip.
You bite your lip. Slowly, you place your daggers down in front of you. It catches the generals attention, and when he picks them up to begin examining them as well, you turn to Megumi and pour all your energy into healing him as fast as you can.
"Explain," You hiss, trying to do what you can so you can leave while whatever has made the general so curious about your items continues to hold his attention away from killing you both.
"The book had a couple of scribbled out sentences. I couldn't read much of what the Shikigami looked like, or any of its skills—ow. If I had know the damn thing was this strong I wouldn't have summoned it." You begin to hoist him up so you can try and make your escape. "Only realized halfway through that one of the scribbled out sentences was a warning. Who the hell scribbles out— look out!"
Before you can react, two large hands grip your waist and pull. You're yanked to stand in front of the general, an undignified squeak escaping you at the sudden action. Your mind runs rampant with the thoughts of your incoming doom, and…
And Mahoraga's hands wander over your form, inspecting. He pulls at your arm gently, running a hand down your side, squeezing your calf to asses the muscle. Your eyes follow the blade protruding from his arm, slowly sinking back into his skin beneath the bandages wrapped around his wrist.
Then, as the tension rises beyond what you can handle and makes you seriously consider just grabbing Megumi and bolting despite it very likely meaning immediate death, the divine general wraps an arm around your back and scoops you into a one armed bridal carry.
You both freeze.
Mahoraga crosses his legs, getting comfortable with you in his hold. Then he places his chin on your head and lets out a small, pleased hum.
You exchange a wide eyed, horrified look with Megumi. His jaw, left hanging open, slowly snaps shut when the general growls at him.
His free hand comes up to grab Megumi by the throat, and panic overtakes you. "No!" You shout, grabbing the general's arm on instinct.
Surprisingly, he stops.
Your mouth opens and closes, trying to navigate the bizarre situation you’ve found yourself in. "Um," you say, shrinking a little as Mahoraga puts his full attention on you, "I… please… don't kill him…?"
Mahoraga tilts his head slowly, a displeased noise leaving him. You glance at Megumi, chewing your lip again in concern. "He's very important to me," you try slowly, "He's… like my brother?"
Mahoraga's grip loosens. He looks at Megumi, then, miraculously, drops him. Megumi gasps for breath, coughing a little. The general pats your head, staring expectantly. You blink in confusion. "…thank you?"
Mahoraga nods, pleased, and nuzzles your cheek. You give Megumi another wide eyed look.
"I'm calling Gojo," he says, fumbling for his phone, "And burning that Godforsaken book."
…
"And he hasn't let go since," you finish.
Gojo hums, gripping his chin. He slides his hand up to his mouth, shoulders shaking, then further up to cover his full face. Belatedly, you realize he's laughing.
"This isn't funny!" Megumi scolds him, "Why wouldn't you warn me about Mahoraga in the first place?"
"The book had so many crossed out words I figured you wouldn't try summoning him at all!" Gojo defends, falling further into laughter, "B-But, oh, God! Never in a million years would I have expected this!"
"What!?" you ask desperately, leaning forward, "Dammit, you useless sensei, tell me what's happening!" Mahoraga keeps a hand on your stomach so you don't fall from how far you lean forward.
"Useless?" Gojo pouts, immediately downtrodden, "That's just mean…"
"Explain!"
"You gave an offering of weapons, food, and a tamagushi, while wearing traditional attire," Gojo lists off, the giggles coming back, "Kiddo, you proposed to the divine general. And he accepted!"
Gojo's grating laughter rings in your ears as your jaw drops. Mahoraga pulls you back, situating you more securely in his lap, and places his chin on your head. "Y-Your husband is Mahoraga!" Gojo shrieks, "I can't believe I lived long enough to see him get tamed by the ball and chain!"
"What!?" You and Megumi shriek at the same time.
Sensing your displeasure, Mahoraga summons his blade again to point it at Gojo. He grins, all to amused, and raises his hands in surrender. "Technically, because Megumi was not the one to subdue him, the ritual is incomplete. But, perhaps this is a good thing—as long as the two of you stick together, then Megumi can summon Mahoraga to fight on your behalf instead of his!"
"You can't bulldoze over the fact that I'm apparently married to this thing!" You yell. Mahoraga looks at you and tilts his head. You blush a little. "Not that that's… terrible, I guess. Maybe a little sudden, is all…"
"He's not even human!" Megumi hisses, "What do you mean, 'not terrible'!?"
"Well it's better then being dead!" You hiss back, then yelp as Mahoraga suddenly stands and drags you with him. He settles you in his arms again, turning to walk back through the destroyed walls and into Megumi's battered room. He rests you in the bed and sits next to it, attentive.
"What a loving husband," Gojo coos, "But it's time to go! Megumi, de-summon him."
Mahoraga lets out a growl. Megumi winces. "I… don't think that's how it works."
"Well, having the divine general wandering around isn't exactly ideal either…" Gojo hums, "Unless you can convince him to be docile."
"What!?" You squeak, "A minute ago I was single! Now you're telling me I have to- to what, host a husband?!"
"Seems like it!" Gojo says cheerily, "Hold your hands out to him."
You stare, somehow still absolutely befuddled by the audacity of this man despite knowing him for as long as Megumi has. Then, you lift your hands and hold them out in front of Mahoraga.
He leans forward and slots his head between your grasp, something akin to a purr escaping him.
"Oh my God," you whisper, "I have to host a husband."
"Hey, at least this will bump you up to a special grade!"
Megumi raises his hand. "Isn't he still technically my shikigami? How does that work?"
"If you want to try and convince him to listen to you, be my guest," Gojo muses, "Frankly, I can't wait to hear how constipated the old bastards in charge get over hearing about this."
Mahoraga leans forward and presses his face into your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist and melting into your grasp. Your hands hover awkwardly before settling on his shoulders. "Maybe we should go," Gojo says, grabbing Megumi by the collar, "The union is usually followed by the consummation of the marriage!"
Your head shoots up. "The what!?"
"This is my room!" Megumi protests. Gojo drags him through the hole in the wall.
"Hey, wait!" You yelp as Mahoraga's large fingers slip beneath your shirt, curiously feeling the bare skin, "Hang on— Gojo! Megumi!"
"Good luck!" Gojo says cheerily.
"Gojo! Gojo, come back! Ack- M-Mahoraga, wait, don't- there's a gaping hole in the wall! A-Anyone could see- Mahoraga!"
In Japan, a tamagushi, a sakaki-treebranch decorated with silk, strips of washi paper, or cotton, are often made as offerings to the kami at shinto shrines during weddings, funerals, and other such ceremonies. Food is generally a universally excepted form of offering, and historically knives/swords would be gifted as a show of respect/honour.
All this added together, and you have yourself an accidental proposal to one giant shikigami who has never been shown such affection before ;)
