You sit alone at the edge of the cafeteria, hidden behind the fortress of your laptop screen and a wall of untouched fruit cups. The noise around you doesn’t register—voices bounce, shoes squeak, laughter surges in waves—but you’re too busy organizing your notes for the third time today.
And then he walks by. Atlas Crowe. Of course his name is ridiculous. So is the way people orbit him like planets caught in his gravitational pull. Varsity captain, head of student council, the boy they built statues of in the hallway with yearbook spreads and committee photos.
You barely exist in his world. Or so you thought.
“Hey,” he says one afternoon, leaning over your chemistry homework like he belongs there. “You’re the smart one, right? Help me out.”
It’s innocent—too innocent. But then he starts sitting with you. Every. Day. Abandons his throne in the center of popularity to share vending machine meals and Google Docs. People start whispering. You start second-guessing every glance, every compliment.
“You know,” Atlas says one night while you tutor him, voice low and too close, “you’re kind of mesmerizing when you explain quantum theory. Like you’re speaking a foreign language, only I want to learn.”
You freeze. His hands are too clean for this. His face is too pretty. His locker is filled with notes and candy, and here he is—eyes locked onto yours like you’re the answer to a question he hadn’t dared ask until now.
Soon, your blog gets flooded with anonymous messages quoting your writing. Someone starts following all your playlists, liking posts seconds after you publish them. You mention offhand that you’re into niche documentaries—Atlas starts referencing them in class presentations as if they're his new motto.
You overhear one of his friends complaining.
“She’s weird, dude. Like, no offense, why are you into her?”
Atlas smiles, soft and eerie.
“Because she’s not into me,” he says. “Yet.”
And now, there’s glitter on your desk. Not the fun kind—the invasive, sticky kind that somehow spells your name on his notebook. The whole school watches as the golden boy trades stadium lights for late-night texts about your favorite books and obscure philosophers. But it’s not romantic. It’s quietly terrifying.
One day you log into your private study server and find a folder: “She Who Taught Me Devotion.” Inside are transcripts of everything you’ve ever shared—academic papers, chat logs, notes you thought were deleted.
Atlas finds you at your locker, smiling like a sinner blessed by obsession.
“I’m popular, yeah,” he says. “Everyone wants me. But you? You made me need you.”
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 ;)
gais ik this is super late, but happy belated birthday tamsy!! i wish i could've written and posted this on his birthday, but ig this'll have to do 💔
cw: none!
wc:673
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a sweet tune could be heard in the late night kitchen, soft humming accompanied the gentle shuffles of footsteps.
you'd been hard at work in the kitchen for about two and a half hours, pacing back and forth—cleaning after yourself after you'd placed the cake in the oven to bake.
it was when you heard the oven ding, did you spring up in place, a smile finding its way onto your face as you prepared to take the cake out. you had done most of the preparation for the frosting and decorations beforehand, all that was left was to actually add them to the cake.
and before you knew it, half an hour passed, some frosting on your face—which you weren't even sure how it got there—you found yourself holding your breath as you steadied your hands, making sure you cut a perfect slice of cake. you felt proud of yourself once you saw the finished product.
all that was left, was to give it to a certain someone! so, as you quickly packed the slice into a small box, you made your way to tamsy's room.
it was only when you raised a hand to knock, did your mind hesitate. it was late.. and you weren't even sure if he'd still be up. after all, it was really late, almost midnight, and you were positive no one would want to eat something so sweet, so late at night.
but before you could hesitate any longer, you heard footsteps approach the door—it had opened before your very eyes. without much thought, you scrambled to hide the box behind your back, straightening up when you were met face to face with the soon-to-be birthday boy.
the two of you probably spent at least ten seconds staring at each other, only snapping out of it when you let out a small cough.
“oh, uh.. i didn't expect to see you here..!”
“in my own room?”
“uh— yeah..? i mean, no. wait, what?”
your tense shoulders slowly slumped when you heard a low chuckle from the man in front of you.
“i think i should be the one saying that, no?”
“ha, ha.. you’re right. sorry, that had come out wrong. uhm, im surprised to see you still up though, its almost midnight..”
“likewise, what brings you up at this hour?”
‘he's not gonna let this slide, is he?’ you could feel the sweatdrop with each passing second. but finally calling it quits, you opted for your first plan, and that was to present him the cake you had just made.
so, without any more hesitation, you brought the cake upfront, out in open view for tamsy to see.
“..happy birthday, tamsy! i know its late, and you might not want to eat this right now, but please, accept this gift. from me to you, i wish you a wonderful birthday.”
“you– made me a cake?” his voice had come out slow, and a hint of unexpectancy could be heard as well.
“yeah, it didn't take me long at all though!” liar, but you didn't mind. you'd spend even more time on anything if you knew it was meant for him.
“here, open it. there's a fork inside the box as well for you.” stretching your arms out to him for him to take, he quickly complied, taking it from your possession as he went to open it.
“im not sure what your favourite was, so i decided to make any flavour.. i really hope you enjoy. but please, dont force yourself!” and before you could say anything else, you felt tamsy hug you, as he then mumbled something in your ear.
“thank you, this means a lot. i'll enjoy every last bit of it.”
…
its safe to say, you didn't get much sleep that night. not when you were stuck thinking about that moment the whole night. but.. you didn't mind. you were really happy, actually. because whether his words were true or not, they seemed genuine enough, and that was all you needed.
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i swear, so help me if i find a damn typo somehow later on.
I like the cutesy Bunny hybrids just as much as anyone else but hear me out:
Hare hybrid.
A goddamn hare hybrid that's just so done with shit, no cutesy behavior, no sweet courting.
Just straight up unrelenting marathon breeding. It opens the door to so many more amazing stories.
I don't know why but I just can't imagine a bunny to be dominant? But a hare?
Lmao yea, dude's done with your shit and just wants to fuck you until he's satisfied. He doesn't care if that ruins your pretty little hole, heck, if you keep whining he'll fuck your throat to shut you up.
By the end you're on the verge of passing out, covered in ungodly amounts of his cum and then he'll drop the “you get a five minute break before I fuck your hole again” line and you regret the life choices you made that led up to this point.
OR!!
Hare reader.
Imagine being the person that's done with people's shit.
Bonus points if you're domming the big bad scary werewolf and reduce him to a tied up, bumbling mess while you're bouncing on his huge cock as if it's nothing.
By the end he better beg for mercy and you know you ain't taking shit. You're gonna stop when you feel like it, no amount of cum inside you will stop you from demanding more until your heat subsides.
He is your plaything and you will let him know it.
I'm definitely adding both of these to the idea pile. With my lack of self-control when it comes to writing smut, I'm probably already typing something up.
