littlerascalstany
littlerascalstany
Otome Addiction
48 posts
Wizardress heart đŸ€“21They/them
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littlerascalstany · 2 months ago
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academic rival!satoru who starts pulling all-nighters and obsessively rewriting his notes not just to beat you—but to catch your attention. he tells himself it’s strategy, war, rival stuff. but deep down, he’s hoping you’ll finally look at him. not glare. look. and when you do—when your gaze sharpens like a blade and you hiss, “how the hell did you score higher than me?”—his heart flutters like it's prom night, like you proposed marriage with your rage. he circles the date on his planner. he writes a haiku about it in his margin. “her eyes could kill me / but in that moment, i’d die / a scholar in love.” he considers submitting it to the campus poetry zine. he doesn’t. but he thinks about it. constantly.
he didn’t mean to start this rivalry, but he absolutely doubled down on it once he realized you were finally taking him seriously. the first time you muttered “smug bastard” under your breath in class, he swore he saw the face of god and got addicted to the sound of your frustration. he spiraled that night. rewrote his planner in pen. made a color-coded timeline of “her fury levels vs my grades.” it’s posted on his wall like an artifact. so now he’s trying harder. not just studying. overstudying. outscoring you on every test, quiz, class poll, kahoot game, group project ranking, and even the stupid little brain break games professors throw in. he shows up with research articles printed and annotated just so he can leave them on your desk, post-it commentary signed with a heart. he calls it “scholarly banter.” his friends call it “a cry for help.”
everything he does is soaked in neon desperation and pastel affection. he's convinced every time your voice raises in exasperation, it’s basically flirting. he calls it “intellectual foreplay.” his friends call it “delusion with extra steps.” you once slammed your textbook shut mid-discussion and muttered something about transferring schools just to escape him. he marked that moment in his journal as “peak chemistry.”
he still steals your pens, but now he leaves behind new ones. personalized. glittery. cursed with horrible puns. your name spelled out in cursive on the cap. once he got one custom-made with your initials and a tiny heart, and when you used it during a test, he almost fainted. he says it's to maintain “balance in the rivalry.” really, he just wants to see you roll your eyes, maybe sigh in that way that means you’re exasperated but not homicidal. progress. baby steps. thesis-worthy milestones. he once emailed the campus stationery supplier to ask if they could make pens that smell like your favorite shampoo. they said no. he cried a little.
his google drive has twelve folders named after you: “rival data,” “her essays (aka masterpieces),” “evidence she’s smarter than me but i’m hotter probably,” and “her favorite snacks ranked by study mood.” he makes spreadsheets comparing your academic scores. one chart tracks your moods based on how many hours you spent in the library, cross-referenced with your spotify activity. it’s color-coded. he thinks it’s romantic. it looks like a CIA threat report. he once gave a presentation with you as a case study on academic excellence. you weren't in the class. he did it anyway. he said it was “practice for when we’re co-professors someday.”
you treat him like a nuisance. a threat. a very loud, very cerulean-eyed glitch in your academic routine. you work harder just to obliterate his smirk. you glare when he gets the top score, mutter insults when he raises his hand, scoff when he compliments your writing. he thinks it’s all part of the enemies-to-lovers pipeline. it is not. you hate him. you're convinced he's mocking you. and he’s too stupidly in love to realize his plan is imploding like a dying star. he writes motivational quotes on his mirror. they’re all just things you’ve yelled at him.
he thinks it’s banter. you think it’s war. he flirts through footnotes, you throw sharpened stares. he doodles hearts on your thesis draft, you circle them in red and write “grow up.” he writes fake references in his essays like “her eyes, personal observation, 2025” and wonders why you haven’t confessed yet. he once tried to footnote your handwriting as a primary source of inspiration. you reported it as academic misconduct. he thanked you for noticing. he still has the warning email. printed. framed.
he believes in your intellectual excellence like it’s gospel. once said, “she’s a walking academic citation,” and got choked up about it. when you won the department award, he clapped so hard he got a bruise. told everyone later he was clapping for the future mother of his academic children. you told him to shut up. he saved the moment anyway. printed the photo. it’s in his wallet. laminated. waterproof. just in case.
his grades are rising but his romantic odds are tanking. he’s winning tests and losing dignity. one time he scored 100%, looked at you for validation, and you said, “congrats, nerd.” he wrote a poem about it. it rhymed. poorly. he performed it at the campus open mic. people clapped. you left halfway through. he said it was symbolic. a metaphor for your metaphorical emotional walls. he made a mood board. labeled it “the walls she built, the man i became.”
to him, you're the rival-slash-muse of his dreams. to you, he’s that annoying guy who somehow has your cat doodle as his lock screen. how? why? you don’t know. you don’t want to know. he says it “inspires him to rise above academic mediocrity.” you tell him to get therapy. he writes that down. “note to self: look into couples therapy.” you threaten violence. he updates his will. adds a note: “to be read by her, preferably with tears in her eyes.”
he's convinced you're in the slow burn arc. you're convinced he’s an incurable idiot. he messages you late at night with things like, “what’s your stance on fate?” or “if we wrote a thesis together, what would the topic be?” you leave him on read. he screenshots it and stares for hours. once he printed out a message you sent—“we’re not friends”—and taped it above his desk like motivational hate mail. then made it his lock screen for a week.
of course you and him aren’t friends. don’t be ridiculous. you’re soulmates, silly. academic rivals to twin flames. enemies-to-lovers speedrun. he’s delusional, yes, but passionately.
his delusions are so loud they echo in the lecture hall. he sees you win a class debate and writes a 2,000-word reflection on intellectual passion. titles it “she spoke, and the earth wept.” submits it anonymously to the school literary mag. signs it with your initials and hopes you’ll take the hint. you do. you write a rebuttal titled “the earth weeps because you talk too much.” he hangs it next to his bed. says it’s proof of your connection. invites people over just to show them.
you once muttered, “you’re a walking distraction,” and he whispered “she noticed me” before fainting dramatically onto his desk. his friend had to fan him with a syllabus. he calls that day “the awakening.” he includes it on his personal timeline of academic enlightenment. writes a song. badly. uploads it to soundcloud under the name “midterm romeo.” it has 101 plays. 99 of them are him.
the only reason he joined the academic decathlon was because you signed up. when asked his motivation, he said “to defeat my nemesis and earn her begrudging respect.” you stared at him. he winked. you nearly punched him. he said, "was that a spark?" and held an ice pack to his cheek with a lovesick smile. wrote a limerick about it. no one laughed but him. he printed it on a mug.
he's tried subtle confessions, like changing his discord status to “she's my thesis.” no one knew who “she” was. except everyone did. the group chat roasted him for six hours. he left and rejoined under a new name: “GPA 4 HER.” it got worse. made a spotify playlist named: “studying her like a sacred text.” you blocked him on everything but email. he started ending all peer reviews with “ps: hi.”
at some point, your mutual friends start noticing. they ask if you two are dating. you respond with horror. he responds with “not yet.” you threaten violence. he updates his will again. adds a footnote: “if she cries at my funeral, i win.” writes a powerpoint: “our enemies-to-lovers arc: a predictive analysis.” presents it to himself in his dorm at 2am. cries. adds transitions. makes a playlist.
you don’t know he wrote you into his valedictorian speech. he calls you “his greatest academic challenge and muse.” he practices it at night, staring at the mirror, pretending you're there in the crowd, not fuming—but finally, finally smiling at him. he’s rehearsed your nonexistent wedding vows more than his intro paragraph. sometimes he grades fake exams you never wrote and gives you 100 just to feel something. he once drafted a fictional university recommendation letter for you just to imagine what it’d be like to praise you publicly without you throwing a pen at his head.
and maybe, if he’s lucky, when the final grades are out and you tie for first place, you’ll look at him again. not with fury. not with confusion. but with something soft. maybe interest. maybe curiosity. maybe the beginning of something stupid. something sweet. something research paper-worthy.
strictly academic, of course. unless... extra credit?
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littlerascalstany · 2 months ago
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YUJI LETTING HIS GF USE HIM
Tw- Both are twenty, degradation n praise, overstimulation. reader is cockdrunk n has a high sex drive :3 Not proofread!!!.
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“S’good Yujiii Soo good, Mmm! Can feel your cock throbbing inside of me, ohh fuckkk!” you moaned out through gritted teeth, too caught up enjoying how deliciously his achy, abused cock was repeatedly curving into your sensitive g-spot over and over just the exact way you intended it to. You can’t even remember how long it’s been and well frankly you don’t really care. Too distracted by the overwhelming pleasure you're receiving by frantically bouncing your ass on his swollen cock.
“F-fuckkk, you’re so greedy baby Goddd, you look so sexy like this!” he huffed, letting out breathless curse—his fingernails digging into the plushy sides of your bouncing ass as goosebumps and adrenaline coursed through his bulging veins. He’s trying his very fucking best to keep up with you but God you were killing him. It got so bad that you’re more of a filthy sex fiend than he was in the past few overestimating days. Not that he was complaining but the way you’d randomly grab him by the shirt—fucking wrinkling it and pulling him into the clustered janitor closet just to feel his hard dick in your slobbering cunt at school with him pushed up against the cool wall and you manically throwing your bouncing ass back at him eagerly like little cock-hungry slut—forcing every last drop of cum from his thick balls to drain out into your horny pussy then pouncing on him four more times throughout the day at home has become a bit overwhelming
he’s trying his best to keep up with your crazy ass sex drive but fuck he was shooting blanks at this point.
His sweat-covered pinky bangs tickled his forehead as the moonlight from the illumining window glistened onto his milky abs. He bit his lips so many times that he probably ruined his gums by now, in a futile attempt to restrain his perverted urges at the way your tits were bouncing in fast circles. He’s sooo tempted to grab and fondle them but it’s like he can’t even control his own fucking body.
“Ohooo fuck! You’re stretching me so good around you Yuji, fuck I love you—Looove your cock so muchhh baby!” You cried out, tears welling up in your eyes as his pink tuffs of slick covered pubic hair grazes against your sticky clit—making the pleasure even more intense as more and more creamy rings formed at the base of his pretty cock.
They were hearts in Yuji’s eyes seeing just how much his little horny slut of a girlfriend was creaming on him, seeing you so desperate and addicted to his cock like a brainless zombie whore unlocked something primal inside of him that he never thought existed. He fucking loved being your human dildo to fuck yourself on, the thought of it made his cock throb feverishly right against your gushing, gummy walls.
“Jesus–mmmph! You’re such a nasty slut. Ohh shit-, is my cock all you ever fucking think about baby? bet you couldn't even last a day without my cock being up this needy, little pussy yeah?” His groans along with his filthy mouth filled the air as he gropes both of your fleshy ass cheeks—his fingers purposely kneading into it pervertedly as he feels you up like a creep.
You felt the mushroom tip of his length brushing against the depths of your cervix as you clamped around him harder, you playfully smirked down at him as you bent down slightly towards him to grab his biceps—moaning sweetly as you felt them flexing against your touch. “Y-yess! Need your cock inside of me at all times Yuji, gonna make me lose my mind, hnngh!”
“Yeahhh? My cock making you that dumb baby??” His sultry voice is weighed with exhaustion as he grants you a fucked-out smile. “Yuji, Yuji m’gonna cum again, fuckfuckfuck yessss!”
You continued bouncing faster and faster—grinding your hips against him fervently in the process to make it even more intense causing you to spasm around his girth, you can’t see it, but you are 100% sure his entire cock is covered in your cream. You can feel it.
Your head falls back, the strands of your hair cascading down like a waterfall. your lips parting to release loud, needy moans that mingled in the air as Yuji gazed up at you in awe, seeing you like this was one of his favorite things. You were such a mindless slut for his dick and he enjoyed it.
“I- m’cummming!” You cried out in a certain tone that was like filthy music to his ears, your cunt pulsated around his jumpy cock as streams of liquid gushed out of you, spurting every fucking where, on the bed sheets, spattering on Yuji’s abs, his thighs everywhere. Your body trembles as you try to process everything. You fucking came and squirted at the same time.
“Did you just-“
“I-“ was all you could let out before you felt the wind getting knocked out of you as Yuji suddenly gripped your branded ass that’s filled with his handprints and lifted his legs up a bit, thrusting with constrained force and fucking his throbbing, soaked cock into you with vigor. The lewd, nasty sound of “plah plah plah!” reverberated throughout the room your hands clutching the pillows tightly beside him, overwhelmed by the intense sensations.
“Yujiii, stop fuck! Too much—tooo muchh” you screamed in a frenzy. your thighs shivering as he relentlessly thrust deeper, splitting open your cunt even more with his animalistic pace. His pistoning cock brushes further against your sweet spots as it twitches inside of you. His poor, fucked out cock sooo desperate to cum.
“Such a lil fucking slut for squirting on me like that baby—God I’m gonna stuff you sooo full after this, it’ll be entwined into your slutty fucking brains”
You were so fucked out you couldn’t even fucking register what the hell he was babbling about.
It was so fucking nasty and hot, the scent of raw sex filled the air as both of your moans echoed throughout the room, at this point your eyes were rolling to the back of your skull in ecstasy as you were being overstimulated, your pussy pouring more juices onto his cock as beads of sweat glistened on his entire body.
“M’cumming m’cumming m’cumming Godddd love this fucking pussy!!” His hoarse voice exclaimed as he bit his lips, thick gooey ropes of warm cum filling up your womb as the two of you cried out in unison. You were so full, every inch of your pussy was stuffed so full of just Yuji, Yuji, Yuji. You’d be surprised if you weren’t actually braindead from his cock by now.
Your body collapsed on his sticky skin and you landed on his toned chest. both of you attempt to regulate your breaths as you cockwarmed his soft cock. Unfortunately Succumbing to exhaustion, you both drifted off to sleep in that position but within the next three hours, you were fucking him again.
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littlerascalstany · 2 months ago
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defiance masterlist | king!sukuna x servant!reader
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summary: a psychic shares her vision with the king, saying that his soulmate would replace all 5 of his concubines one day. he had her banned from the premises for that absurd prediction. it wasn't until months later when he started believing the old bitch, after one cute yet disobedient servant started working at the shrine. TL;DR: sukuna's a sorcerer in this one, still ooc but not too much. mc pretty much ran away from home for being a hoe, and went to work at sukuna's shrine lol.
genre: female reader, heian era au, 18+, grumpy x sunshine, fluff, smut, crack, angst, no he wont have two sets of arms, and no he wont have two dicks, i'm really sorry
fic warnings: profanity, explicit smut, graphic depictions of violence, death, pregnancy, war
wc: 106k (complete)
side stories: delicate
Ko-fi link for those who are feeling generous and wanted to show extra support ❀
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One: Did I give you permission?
Two: Flower festival
Three: The King of Curses
Four: Temper
Five: Depraved
Six: My Little Dove
Seven: Counting the Rings Inside of the Willow Tree
Eight: White Silence
Nine: Say Yes to Heaven
Ten: Hidden Letters
Eleven: A True Blessing
Twelve: Energy Shift Part One
Thirteen: Energy Shift Part Two
Fourteen: Prelude
Fifteen: A Sharp Turn
Sixteen: Dream’s Over
Seventeen: Beneath The Lotus; A Devils Cleanse
Eighteen: I Can Clean Impurity
Nineteen: Climbing up the Walls
Twenty: Sumire
Twenty One: Sayomi
Epilogue
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extras:
king!sukuna headcanons
dovey’s style
what ryuko looks like
the concubines
playlist
All rights reserved © 2024 yenayaps. Do not copy, repost, translate, or modify my works in any platform.
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littlerascalstany · 2 months ago
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more gentlemen thoughts, insta edition đŸ€đŸ«§
gentleman! bakugou, who makes you tag him in photos of you. who says he doesn’t give a fuck about social media, but who is always the first to view/like your stories. who makes you delete other guys comments on your posts who knows your beautiful and knows damn well how jealous he gets. who barely ever posts, but lets up with a collage of all his favourite photos of you and a sweet caption on your anniversary. who rolls his eyes when you freak out about it, but loves how it makes you blush.
gentleman! izuku, who dedicates a highlight to you. who puts your user in his bio with a little <3 next to it. who only occasionally posts on his stories, but does it more when he’s with you. who will send you pics of animals being cute together and say ‘us.’ who makes long captions on your anniversary, probably having to continue it in the comments. whose students find his instagram and tease him about all the sweet photos with you. who isn’t ashamed about showing you off.
gentleman! shouto, who doesn’t really understand the concept of instagram until you show him. who is the kind of guy to have the blank profile photo until changing it to a photo of you and him. who reminds you not to doomscroll, but always finds the most obscure reels to send to you. who has a groupchat with all his siblings and adds you to it, though he only sends gifs, emojis, or one-worded texts. who loves those subtle soft launches- holding hands, or posting a selfie with lipstick kisses on his face (his followers freak out.)
gentleman! kirishima, who you have those dumb, matching profile pictures with (you know EXACTLY what i’m talking about !). who loves posting workout photos with you, mirror selfies where he’s back hugging you with the caption saying how proud he is of you. who puts your initial in his bio, and turns almost as red as his hair when he sees the e.k <3 in yours. who only has posts for his family and for you. who somehow has the worst photos of you, but insists on loving them anyway- he’ll delete them if you really want him to, but he’ll pout relentlessly. who reposts every one of your selfies, just proud to love you.
gentleman! denki, who makes you his profile picture- a cute, funny photo or maybe a photo of you as a kid. who is never not sending you things (he is the ceo of brainrot). who posts clips of you two playing games together, conveniently only posting the clips where you suck just to tease you. who always reposts the ‘i love my girlfriend’ tiktoks and tags you in his stories. who posts cute screenshots of ur convos and call screens whenever you’ve been on for a long time. who comments on your posts saying ‘i won’.
gentleman! hitoshi, who puts your user in his bio and ‘favourite’ right next to it. who only has two posts on his profile- just a random one with little sneak peaks from his life, and one thats just you. who manages to take the best photos of you without even trying, and refuses to delete them even when they take up half his storage. who is a fast responder only for you, taking hours to text back anyone but who’ll read your text right away. who has a link to your shared spotify playlist in his bio (he has the best music taste). who has you and you alone on his cfs, posting little messages and online love letters for you to see <3
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littlerascalstany · 2 months ago
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àȘœâ€âœŠ and boy you got her
( tadashi yamaguchi x fem! reader )
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♡ a/n — thinking abt yamaguchi just being such a good bf (couldn't find any decent 3rd year yama pics :( )
♡ word count — 460
♡ content — third year yamaguchi, manga spoilers (? for their 3rd year? idk?), fluff, cheerleader! reader, cheer captain! reader, very corny relationship, yama is only confident for his girl, not proofread
♡ synopsis — If Yamaguchi Tadashi can wear a I ❀ MY GF shirt? He can do anything for you.
── .✩ cheeks pink in the twinkling night, tell me bout the first time you saw me
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Yamaguchi Tadashi is a lot of things: dependable, focused, captain of the boys' volleyball team, and—to his own quiet horror—a little bit whipped.
Actually, not a little.
Entirely. Completely. Unapologetically.
He’s wearing a shirt with your face on it.
And not like a small photo tucked in the corner or something subtle—no, it’s your full smile printed across his chest in high resolution, with big bold red letters that say I ❀ MY GF like he bought it off one of those cursed novelty websites at 3am.
Because he did.
You sent him the link half-joking, and he hit “order” in less than a minute.
"You're staring again," Tsukishima says flatly from the other side of the gym door, not even glancing up from tying his shoes.
Yamaguchi blinks, then coughs. “S-Sorry. I just spaced out.”
“You’re smiling like an idiot.”
He’s not wrong.
You're outside the gym doors, finishing up cheer practice.
Even from here, he can see your ponytail bounce with every step.
The second your eyes meet his through the window, you flash him that wave—two fingers, quick and secret, just for him.
He nearly trips over his own water bottle.
Later, at the “captains’ council meeting” (which is just a glorified student-run budget argument with snacks), Yamaguchi tries so hard to focus.
But it’s impossible, because you're sitting next to him at the long table, your thigh brushing his under the surface, and your fingers sneak over to his palm every few seconds.
Tap. Tap. Trace.
You draw little circles into his skin. Then switch to his knuckles. Then fold his pinky between yours.
He swallows thickly.
“
So the gym schedule is tight this month, but if volleyball can move Tuesday practice to—Yamaguchi? You with us?”
“Huh? Yes! Yes. Tuesday practice—move it. Yep.” He nods rapidly, pen clicking twice in his hand before he realizes it’s upside-down.
You look over at him, barely biting back a smile. “You okay, captain?”
Your voice is syrupy sweet. Teasing.
He turns cherry red and fakes a cough into his sleeve. “Fine. Just—just thinking.”
“About gym schedules?”
You squeeze his pinky.
“
Sure.”
Later that night, he walks you home still wearing the I ❀ MY GF shirt, and you keep tugging at the hem with a smug grin.
“I still can’t believe you wore it.”
“I’d wear worse,” he mumbles. “You know I would.”
You stop walking. “Would you get a temporary tattoo of me?”
“
Which photo?”
You laugh, full-bodied and bright, and the sound echoes off the quiet street.
He looks at you like he’s seeing the stars for the first time.
Like this whole world—this whole soft, ridiculous, beautiful world—is wrapped up in the way you smile at him.
He's down bad.
And honestly? He’s fine with that.
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wrote this at 3AM and i just need a cute, confident, yamaguchi in my life
likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!
✩ tags ✩ @x3nafix ✩ @virgothesimp ✩ @werfiedeii ✩ @academiq ✩ @peachysaki116 ✩ @manjirosanosgirlfriend ✩ @anqelkoz ✩ @snail127 ✩ @nishinoyaismycutie ✩ join the taglist here !
⋆.˚✼ 2025 ©airybcby ✼˚.⋆
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littlerascalstany · 2 months ago
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                   DEAL WITH THE DEVIL !? ☆
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synopsis. in a fit of jealousy, suguru makes a deal with the devil. in exchange for being the only one you would ever fuck, he would have to become a sleeve tailor made for your cock. in other words, your very personal whore. wc. 4.2k
tags. top! reader, sub! geto. reader is a dilf. brat! suguru, brat tamer! reader. hardcore dom/sub. rough anal sex, orgasm denial, switching positions (riding, missionary, doggy), sir kink, mixture of degradation & praise kink, dacryphilia, age difference, objectifying, heavy use of whore, pillow princess learns how to ride dick, cum-eating, spit kink, jealousy, subspace, blowjob, yandere! geto undertones, possessiveness.
a/n. suguru gets railed within an inch of his life. good things happen.
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“I bet you had plenty fun out there,” Suguru slurred, “dancing with that pretty ‘gal. Probably forgot all about me, too—the two of you were lost in your own little world.” 
Suguru slouched over you to rest his head in the crook of your neck, thighs straining where they bracketed your hips. You could feel his every heated breath against the protrusion of your jugular vein, the sweat of his palms seeping into your skin, burning a path down to hell wherever they went. The awkward shift of his muscles as he raised himself with difficulty, only to plummet down harshly. 
There was no rhythm in the ride. No patience. No tenderness in the way he touched you, branded you with him. Suguru was pissed at you, and you knew it. 
“Suguru,” you moaned, sweaty hands settling on his hips, trying to help him ride, but he swatted your hands away every time you so touched him. At this rate, both of you were going to wake up with bruises tomorrow—and not the kind that felt good. “Fuck, baby, you’re hurting yourself. Let me.” 
He only shook his head, shivering. “Why should I,” he scoffed, “when you don’t even want me. You only want—whatever this is. You only want to fuck a hole. So here I am. A hole for you.” You could tell he was biting his lip, another shudder wracking through his body, and the sight tore into you like a contusion, making you throb. “You can close your eyes and imagine it’s her you’ve got your cock in. She’s prettier, anyway, older than me, too—maybe you’d enjoy it better.” 
“You know that’s not true,” you reasoned, swallowing down a groan as he clenched around you with a ferocity, like he wanted it to hurt. “I only danced with her because you- you were ignoring me in the first place. Please, baby. I’m sorry.” 
“Don’t—don’t you fucking baby me.” Suguru lifted his head, a glare so full of hurt that it dug into you like a jagged blade. “We’re not even a thing. Y-you don’t want to make us a thing.” He swallows harshly, before muttering, “Legal enough for a few good fucks, but too young for anything real.” 
The underlying accusation made you bristle. You had never protested anything beyond this point—but this was just unfair to you. You didn’t want to make the two of you a thing? Was he fucking serious? And—too young for anything real? How many times have you reassured him that it didn’t matter to you? 
“I believe the reason why you were ignoring me in the first place,” you kept your voice quiet and steady, “was because I brought us up and like a brat, you didn’t want to talk about it. You never want to talk, Suguru. It’s never the right time to talk for you. And now you think, after I go off dancing with someone else to take my mind off the headache you’ve given me, you can act all jealous like I fucked them in front of you.” 
You knew you were going to regret your next words, but at that moment, the immature desire to teach him a lesson overshadowed any sense of rationality. The anger, the disbelief, everything made it harder to think. And you were only human. 
Suguru glowered at you almost childishly, daring you to finish. 
“And maybe I really should, next time,” you continued. “Since you don’t think I’m making any effort. Maybe someone else will appreciate it.” 
“Don’t you fucking dare,” he whispered. 
You frowned. “Suguru—” 
“Don’t you fucking dare!” 
“Suguru,” you snapped. “Don’t raise your voice at me.” 
He froze up at your sudden switch in tone, something darker, more guttural. Something you only used when you were talking to an unruly brat in the bedroom. Suguru slowly raised his head in confusion. “What?” 
“I know you’re pissed,” you muttered. “But don’t forget whose cock you’re sitting on, right now. If you want to bring this up while we’re having sex, go ahead, but stick to the rules.” 
 “Are you fucking serious—” 
You snapped your hips up, and he moaned, a pretty, tremulous sound. Suguru turned his head to glare at you weakly, half-panting already. It was funny how you could almost reduce him to a dog in heat with merely an inch of control. 
“Yes,” you affirmed. “Now, you can either get off, throw your little tantrum, and walk out of this relationship forever; or you can be a good boy and deal with this reasonably. Which one is it?” 
He parted his lips, as though he wanted to argue, but you only levelled him with an unimpressed look. He huffed, stubbornly glancing away. 
“Well? Suguru?” 
“... Keep going,” he scowled, cheeks flushing. You blinked at him in amusement, not even bothering to bite down the snark that filled your expression at his wishful words. He frowned. “What? Move already.” 
“Oh, no. I’m not gonna do the work for you,” you drawled, hands crawling up his thighs to give them a taunting little squeeze. “See, you didn’t want to let me help you, earlier—I guess you’re perfectly capable of doing it yourself.” You paused, smiling at him. “Ain’t that right?” 
“Fuck you,” he spat. 
“You sure you want to keep that attitude tonight, Suguru?” 
A shiver climbs up his spine, and he shakes his head after a reluctant moment. He knew the consequences of misbehaviour. How you could take him over your lap and make him count every strike, keep him deprived of cock until he was crying and slobbering, begging for something, anything, to replace the ache of emptiness inside him. 

 And he also knew what those hands could do if he behaved himself properly. 
“I’ll be your good boy,” Suguru mumbled. “Fuck me? Please?” 
His hands curled into fists on your shoulders, and he glanced at you, almost expectant. Your hands continued to travel upwards, rubbing slow circles onto the jut of his hipbones, making him sigh in bliss. How easy it was for him to accept your affection as a sign of forgiveness. Too easy, even. 
“Let’s see how good you do by yourself, first.” 
His gaze snapped to yours in defiance, the look of a spoiled brat—and you wanted to break it. You wanted to see him sob and whimper and moan as pounded into his twitching hole, rough, violent, the way that made his eyes roll back in ecstasy and mouth part in hoarse, pleasured screams. 
“But I’ve said please already,” Suguru retorted. “You can’t expect me to—” 
“Last I remember, I gave you two choices, Suguru. You took the second one. This is the second one.” 
“Fucking asshole,” he snarled. “Fine.” 
“Language,” you chastised, but Suguru paid no mind, elbows slung over your shoulders to cage you in a half-hug, shifting on his knees to get better leverage. He rolled his hips—the way you had taught him to before, forward, go down, backward, go up. Slow circular motions that smushed your cock, in just the right angle, against the throbbing gland nesting inside him, soft moans leaving his lips. It was nothing like the careless violence before. 
This was so much better. 
“Yeah, just like that, sweetheart.” Your annoying voice rang, almost a lullaby in the way it made his eyes fall lidded, a whine building at the back of his throat. His body was so attuned to receiving pleasure—it made a whole difference when the reigns were in his hands, now. Fuck. If only you could take him already.
It was good, just bearably so, for a few minutes. Suguru struggled to gain rhythm, rocking down with a little more meaning, just to feel you slide in a little deeper each time, reaching all the dirty places inside his body no one else ever could. He tried to focus on movement and control, instead of getting lost in the way your girth would massage his taut walls, as though telling him to ease up already. 
He scowled. None of this would be a problem if you weren’t so damn difficult. And stingy. 
“Shit,” he cursed, pressing his forehead against the solid grill of your shoulder. “I’m n-not gonna, hnnn, make it if you don’t
 don’t d-do something.” 
Suguru could feel the tension in his hamstrings with every slow bounce, the heat curling in his distended abdomen, a tell-tale sign that he was close to teetering over the edge. He could feel your thighs flexing beneath his, and clearly it felt good for you, too, so why, why won’t you just stake your claim on his insides already and turn him into a helpless, sobbing mess, like you always do? 
“Go ahead. I never said you couldn’t come.” 
Fuck that. Of course he wanted to fucking cum—just not like this. Not when you were merely holding him like he were nothing more than another toy, built for your pleasure. Suguru could be good. He could play as your pretty little whore. Hell, he would let you use him wherever and whenever you wanted to. But there was one condition to all of this generosity. 
You were his. 
And if you were going to treat him nothing more like a fleshlight you had rented from a sex shop, something to be borrowed and returned and tossed aside, then he wasn’t going to take it quietly. 
This wasn’t fair to him, not at all. You were being unfair. 
“Look at me,” he grit out. “Look at what you’re doing to me.” 
Suguru grabbed your hand, rubbing your palm against his sticky crotch until your fingers loosely wrapped around his length, a desperate moan spilling out from him as he rutted into your grasp. It was good, but not enough. Hardly. He wanted your hands on every part of him that they could reach. He wanted more. 
To his surprise, you didn’t snap at him for breaking the rules; that, or use your age, size or his willingness to your advantage. Your grip only tightened on his twitching cock, choking a whine out of him. He lifted his head to glance at you with heady eyes, shivering at the interest in your gaze. 
It only spurred him on. 
“This,” he slurred, resting a hand on his slightly swollen stomach, “is yours.” He lifted his hips and moved his hand lower, lower, prodding at the slick-coated length that emerged underneath him with the pad of his forefinger. “Now this
 this is mine. You understand?” 
Your breath hitched, arousal building rapidly at his sultry words. This was new, and not bad at all. If this was the game he wanted to play
 you supposed you could play along, for now. Just to let him have his fill of fun. 
“They can look at it, touch it, even take pictures of it
 but I own the only two holes that you can be inside of. Ever.” Suguru knew he was being selfish, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t bear to ride something that didn’t belong to him—something that had been tainted by the filth of your other toys. He continued, “I can play by your rules. Be your good whore. Shut up when you tell me to. But play by mine, too.” 
“Greedy,” you snarked. “But fine.” 
He looked pleased at your easy acceptance. 
“Good. Now look at m-me, properly, when I cum on your cock.” 
You kept your word, letting him take the lead. It was obvious he was still getting used to steering with the reigns so unceremoniously thrust into his hands, but fuck, was it hot. You stroked him, your touch rough but still reverent, thumb digging into his beading slit at times, making him cry out as he rode you with renewed vigour. 
“Both hands on me,” he ordered, before hastily adding, “please.” 
He didn’t tell you where, so you put your fingers in his mouth. 
“Fuck,” you panted, almost losing yourself in the way he fluttered around you tirelessly, soaking you up and taking you in. The rhythm of his bounce. The sensual roll of his hips. The obscene whimpers and shudders that sent vibrations into your body whenever he fucked himself a little too good. You loved it all. You wanted it all. If this was what you were getting in exchange for a little rule-breaking, then you would do it a thousand times over. 
Suguru was gasping, thighs twitching, moaning senselessly and drooling around your fingers, and you knew he was about to break from the pressure. Oh, well. He did a good run, for his first time. 
You let go of his cock, and he nearly screamed out in frustration. 
“No, fuck, no, no, no—” 
“But what?” you hummed, and Suguru wanted to wipe that innocent smile off your face with violence. “You said you’d cum on my cock, darling. I don’t see why you need my hands on you.” 
“I didn’t mean it like that, and you know it,” he snapped. What was wrong with you? Weren’t you edging yourself, too? Wasn’t it painful for you, to be denied of release? You were being so frustrating. 
“I played by your rules, sweets.” You pressed a tender kiss to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, and he let out a helpless shiver. “This cock right here?” You nudged upwards to force your cockhead against his stomach walls, earning you a filthy whine. “All yours. But don’t forget. You promised to be my whore in exchange for that. Now, we don’t condone breaking promises, do we?” 
“N-no, but it doesn’t explain why you had to stop—” 
“Because I wanted to.” You let a small smile creep onto your face, relishing in the glazed look in his eye, the quiver in his bottom lip, as though he were about to cry. “Whores don’t order their owner around
 unless it’s for the entertainment of their owner, of course. And right now, I’ve gotten terribly bored of it.” 
Suguru looked positively dumbfounded. But if that meant you were going to finally do something about it instead of sitting there, then he wasn’t going to argue with you. He let you maneuver him onto his back pliantly, almost coy in the way he glanced up at you through his lashes, spreading his legs for you. 
How could anyone expect him to want to protect his dignity when you looked at him like that? He wasn’t even prey, to you—something much, more lowly. An object, your possession. A confection to be devoured. You had let him at a glimpse of the power you held over him, and fuck, did it feel great to have you bending to his every whim, stroking his cock for his pleasure for once, but this
 this was nothing but not a deal with the devil. True sovereignty was never in his hands. It was all an illusion. 
But if his only purpose would be reduced to a sleeve for your cock to fit into, merely for your pleasure and entertainment, then Suguru would get you so addicted to him, you’d prefer him over any other drug. 
“Please,” he begged, glossy eyes peering at you, “sir.” 
You smiled. “What do you want, Suguru?” 
“I-I want,” he said, half short of a whine, “w-want you- to take control. Please.” 
“Thought you were enjoying yourself, love.” 
Suguru knew what you wanted. To recognise his new identity—something inferior to you. Something that needed to depend on you to survive. 
“I- am- but, mmph, my legs h-hurt.” The glance he gave you, then, sent a shock straight into your chest. He breathed out a quiet confession, the killer blow, “I need you to put me in my place, sir. Please.” 
Your grin grew crooked, hands finally settling on the thick of his hips for the perfect leverage to thrust, and Suguru knew, then, that he had fucking won. 
The first smack of your hips against his ass had him keening. It stung, especially how he was bruised all over from riding you too hard, earlier—but the sharp zing of pleasure coursing through him made up for it a hundred times over. He wrapped his arms around your neck needily, fingers curling into your hair to keep you close, as close as you could be with your cock stuffed inside him. 
“Sir!” he sobbed, legs going around your hips as he trembled in ecstasy, moaning, gasping for breath, because finally, fucking finally, you were here in his arms, giving hell to his insides just the way he liked it. “Yes, yes, mmh, yes, sir—” 
All he could do was breathe. 
“So loud,” you cooed. “Poor thing.” 
“C-can't help- mnh, it,” Suguru whimpered, his body jerking weakly with every thrust. He squeezed his eyes shut for the briefest of moments, sobbing with pleasure as you took him again and again, the weight and heat of your body pinning him down completely, consummately, caging his lithe one, and he loved it. “W-wanted this- for soo long. You- always f-fuck me so- good, sir.”  
“Yeah? Why were you so stubborn, then?” you leered down at him, “Being all tough, snapping at me—acting like you had it. You really had your fun, didn’t you.” 
“‘m so- sorry,” he moaned, eyes rolling back. “W-won’t do i-it again.” 
Your smile grew wider at that. “What a good whore,” you sighed in appreciation, tilting his head by the chin to examine his tear-streaked face. “Pretty, too. Not all whores look pretty when they cry. You’re one of a kind, Suguru.” 
“Sir- you’re- ah, haa, t-thank you, sir,” he panted, whimpering as you pinched one of his nipples, “‘s all ‘cause- of y-you, sir. you make- make me feel- s-so good.” 
“Good to know.” You smoothed a hand over the red and purple blossoming on his pecs from the assault you had subjected them to, your sweat dripping onto his body with every jostle and thrust. “Now shut up for a bit and take it, yeah?” 
Suguru nodded frantically, eyes half-lidded as he gazed up at you. He was getting close again, the excitement in his belly churning tenfold in this new position that had him feeling every sensation of you pulsing inside him, now that he didn’t need to divert his attention elsewhere. Fuck. He couldn’t even remember why he was mad at you in the first place. He cried out as you thrusted meanly, cock grating against his prostate, his legs tightening around your waist in reflex. 
And then you pulled out with a devilish smirk. 
Suguru sobbed out, voice breaking in parts, the sound loud and desperate. “Please, s-sir. I- I was going- I was about to- ” 
“I know,” you crooned. “Told you to shut up, didn’t I?” 
He nodded pliantly, but he couldn’t hold in a whimper, soft and needy. You couldn’t help but admire the sight beneath you, despite the pain-pleasure inside you of yet another ruined orgasm—his eyes were shiny with tears, skin flushed prettily and bruised around the chest and waist, back arched as he desperately tried to get you to move. 
“Turn around for me, sweet thing.” You pressed a kiss to his wet cheek, trying to soothe him. “I know you can do that. You were so good for me just now, baby
 I’m so proud of you. I’m sure a teensy little more is nothing to you, mm?” 
Suguru nodded again, rolling onto his stomach sluggishly. He was getting tired, stars drifting past with every slow, dreamy blink, body drained by the way you fucked it like it was something unbreakable. 
He pressed his face into your pillow, inhaling sharply at the scent of your musk filling his every breath, whining as you gripped his hips and tugged him backwards, the head of your cock rubbing against his puffy rim. There was nothing, absolutely nothing else worth his attention on at the moment, the world fading to a trifling blur under your touch. 
The only sounds he could hear were your heavy pants against his shoulder blades, the chanting of fuck me fuck me fuck me fuck me in the distant back of his mind, making his insides melt with the desire to be taken. There was no more Suguru. There was only a hole in his place. 
He could feel his eyes drooping, soft breaths luring him to sleep, but out of the cloud of smoke and haze, you were there, a steady presence behind him, the warmth of your calloused palms branding his hips and thighs guiding him back to reality. 
“Let’s remind ourselves,” you husked, your voice wrapping around him like a warm blanket of safety amid the static. “Who are you to me, Suguru?” 
He breathed out a moan, then answered without thinking. “Yours- only yours.” 
“Specifics, baby. Let’s try again.” 
He tried to shift back onto you—even an inch would do, with how desperate he was, but your hand on his hip held him in place. You huffed out a laugh as he turned his head to frown cutely at you. “Your- your property,” he tried again. “Your plaything.” 
“Better,” you praised, “but they’re not what I’m looking for. What else?” 
Suguru knew what you wanted to hear, but he just couldn’t recall at that moment—it was too much, the edging, the scent of you everywhere, the exhaustion, the hot sweaty press of your chest against him, your big hands on his body, your cock rubbing between his thighs. All of it was making his head blank. 
He whimpered helplessly, wanting to turn to you for help, but you kept him in that same humiliating position, as though it were a common whore you were breeding and not him—
“Whore,” he gasped. “I’m your whore.” 
You grinned, then, sharp and pleased, and Suguru could almost cry at the relief he felt. “And what do good whores do, mm?” 
He sobbed, “Good whores take what they’re given
 and say thank you.” 
“Good,” you repeated, breathless. “Very good, Suguru.” 
You positioned yourself properly this time, tapping the head of your cock wetly against his entrance just to hear him whine, before entering him with a heavy, careless thrust—to the very brim. 
Suguru buried his face into the pillow, practically screaming. He fisted the bedsheets, head swimming with the sudden burst pleasure overwhelming his senses, the pleasure of being taken, used, like property you had paid for; the pleasure of you picking him, of all people, to be the one you wanted to play with. All the toys in the aisle and you had chosen him. 
He’d gladly be your personal whore. 
“Now,” you prompted with a drawl, “what do we say, mm?” 
“T-thank you, sir,” Suguru whined, “Thank you so- soo much.” 
“Well done,” you breathed, carding a hand through his long, silky hair—before pulling it back into a makeshift pony tail and yanking him up by it, roughly. You ignored his startled whine, taking a second to admire the shape of your cock jutting out from his now exposed abdomen—before towing him backwards, slowly, until his back settled against your chest. 
You could feel his frame quivering against yours. Where was his confidence? The attitude, the jealousy? Guess you had fucked him so good he had forgotten everything else but his only purpose in life—to offer up his holes for your pleasure. 
“Open up, whore,” you whispered. 
Suguru didn’t need to be told twice. He fluttered his lashes, parting his lips for you, breath hitching as you collected a ball of spit, letting it drizzle slowly, obscenely, from your mouth to the waiting hole beneath you. You snapped his jaws shut, making sure you heard the audible swallow before you let go. 
“Thank you,” he whimpered. You smiled. You had such a good-mannered whore. 
He snivelled when he felt a hand enclose his cock—the poor thing so hard it was almost purple, lovingly stroking him. Tears slid down his cheeks freely as soft moans and pants spilled unbidden. He sobbed out brokenly, body jerking in your arms as his cock gave a weak, helpless spurt, the orgasm washing over him in cathartic waves. 
“T-thank you,” he panted, glancing up at you with pretty, moist eyes. 
Suguru only let out a feeble whine as you slowly slid out of him, clenching and gaping from the emptiness, placing him back on all fours. He clutched the sheets with trembling hands as something wet tapped on his cheek, and he opened his mouth without much thought. 
“My pretty whore,” you praised, and put your cock in his mouth. The warm gush of cum down his throat had him choking out a beautiful sound of gratitude. 
Suguru had been stupid to think he could ever get the upperhand in a deal with the devil. But that was all he was now, wasn’t he? A stupid, pretty whore, only ever good for taking cock. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought, with a mouthful of cum and more trickling down the side of his chin. 
Maybe he was always meant to be like this. 
Maybe what he needed was your guidance, all along.
masterlist!
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littlerascalstany · 2 months ago
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people always talk about sero being confident and experienced and i get it!! but i cannot escape the itch of virgin third year sero !
virgin third year sero who is always around his classmates who HE considers to be better looking than him
 people who stand out more than him.
virgin third year sero who acts like the perfect wingman but is silently jealous when girls attempt to pick up bakugou or todoroki when he’s out with them.
virgin third year sero who just accepts that he’s never going to be the one that girls are interested in when they approach his group.
virgin third year sero who goes to denkis 18th expecting the night to go the same as it always does, with girls asking him to introduce them to one of his classmates and him doing it with a fake smile on his face.
virgin third year sero who sees you eyeing him from his place sat next to kiri on the couch and wonders how long it’ll take you to ask him for kiri’s number.
virgin third year sero who is genuinely taken aback when you strut over to him, not looking at kiri sat next to him once and asks HIM to dance with you.
virgin third year sero who agrees, because he’d be stupid not too, even if you are after someone else in the long run he’d be insane to turn down a dance with someone so beautiful.
virgin third year sero who’s breath hitches when you pull him closer to you and wrap ur hands around his neck, almost fully pressing up against him while dancing with him.
virgin third year sero who can’t fathom why you seem so interested in him if your just using him to get to someone else.
virgin third year sero who for a moment contemplates that you might actually be interested in him but quickly scratches the idea because why would someone as beautiful as you be interested in him when you could have anyone.
virgin third year sero who freezes when you ask to kiss him. he can only muster up a quiet “
what?” breathlessly and you almost giggle at how quickly his cheeks go red.
virgin third year sero who lets you kiss him, again because he’d be absolutely stupid not to, it’s not his first kiss but god does he feel so nervous that it might aswell be, he’s hopelessly trying to find a place to put his hands and he’s losing his breath like he’s in first year again.
virgin third year sero who lets you guide his hands to your waist, pushing yourself closer to him as he wraps his arms around you, as if he doesn’t want to let you go.
virgin third year sero who is completely out of breath when you eventually part from him, he slowly opens his eyes to look at you, somehow even more beautiful than before smiling up at him, hands still wrapped around his neck not daring to let him go. you pull him down closer to your height and move his head so your lips are pressed centimetres from his ear, he feels your breath against his neck and holds in a moan at your proximity.
“do you wanna get out of here?” you whisper, yourself almost panting and sero thinks it may be the hottest thing he’s ever heard. “are you sure?” is all he can reply, still not understanding why you wouldn’t rather be with someone else and you nod again moving your lips even closer to his ear “yes. i’m sure” you muster but he still doesn’t look convinced so you continue “been thinkin about you since your other idiot friends birthday last month, saw you then and knew i had to have you.” you take a hot breath before continuing “if you’ll let me”
he’s speechless, he thinks you have to be insane, because why him??? his jaw drops and his mind is racing but all his self depreciating thoughts wash away when you move your mouth to kiss him again and it’s different this time, it’s desperate and forceful
 you want him and he’d be a fucking idiot to not let you have him.
not so virgin third year sero who wakes up the next morning with his head pounding and an empty bed and leads himself to believe it must have been a dream because of course no one was actually interested in him. especially someone as breathtaking as you
 until he finds a little yellow sticky note attached to his desk reading -
“had a great time with you last night ! sorry i had to run but here’s my number for when you wanna go on a real date <3”
and he can’t help but erupt into a huge smile, he’s dailing your number into his phone as quickly as he can and immediately making plans for a real date. he simply cannot wait, he’s waited far too long already.
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first EVER fanfiction i’ve ever written but i knew it had to be about sero:3 critics ARE welcome but i ask nicely that u don’t be too mean! lots of love <3
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littlerascalstany · 3 months ago
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𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊 𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒 𝐀𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒
shidou + sae + kaiser + ness + nagi + isagi + reo + rin x f reader
throws this at you and runs away giggling
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shidou thinks he’s god’s gift to women.
even when he’s standing in the doorway of your shared bedroom in nothing but crusty spiderman boxers with a hole near the waistband, hair an untamed and wild mess, and that signature smug little smirk tugging at his lips.
there you’d be, lying in bed like a goddess in some delicate, sheer lace nightgown, white and silky, barely clinging to your figure, looking like you had just walked out of some teenage boys fantasy. like some playboy magazine cover model come to life.
and him.
he’s standing there like he’s the main fucking event. arms flexed slightly, hip cocked to the side, trying to give you the look, the one where he raises one of his eyebrows and puts on a sexy smoulder he learned when you both watch tangled the other night and won’t stop doing—
“you like what you see, babe?”
he winks, digging his thumb beneath the waistband and drawing back, only to let it slap back against his hip with a loud snap. “it’s your lucky night. spider man’s feelin’ real naughty...”
you blink.
he climbs into bed like he’s about to change your entire life, and the scent of his body spray (which smells suspiciously like the high school gym locker he confessed to you in all those years ago) hits you almost instantly.
you shuffle an inch away, a small grimace on your face which he immediately takes notices of. “what? awe, don’t act shy now, sweetheart,” he purrs, throwing an arm around your waist and pulling you back in, those fucking children’s boxers brushing up against your thigh. “you didn’t marry all of this for nothin.”
you sigh, a hand dragging down your face.
yes. you did marry him. you just didn’t know the spiderman boxers would come with the deal.
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sae loved stuff like this.
you were practically bouncing with excitement, eyes sparkling as you dragged him through the zoo with the excitement of a small child.
“monkeys first,” you told him, clutching your camera to your chest. “the little ones that look like they’re judging everyone.”
sae gave a tiny smile, the kind he only ever gave you. “mm.”
you made a beeline for the primate exhibit, and he followed, hands in his pockets, steps a little lazy as he stayed behind.
and yeah, the monkeys were indeed adorable. tiny, scruffy, wide eyed little creatures that climbed all over each other and made judgmental little faces when people threw banana’s into the den. you cooed and laughed and snapped like fifty photos while sae leaned on the railing, watching you as if you were the attraction instead of the small animals.
and then, out of nowhere, he softly slips his hand into yours.
“honey, look.” he murmured, pointing behind you somewhere. you turned, expecting maybe a new baby monkey or something cute.
but no.
seagulls.
plain, loud, not even part of the zoo seagulls, strutting around like they owned the place. annoying visitors and making a mess of the trash can.
“
seriously?” you blinked. “the monkeys are right there and you’re watching birds?”
sae just shrugged, totally serious. “they’re smart.”
one of them squawked and stole a french fry from a kid who began to cry, and you swore you saw his eyes light up.
“see?”
you stared at him like he’d lost it. “you brought me to the zoo for cute animals and you’re impressed by street birds?”
he nodded. “they’re intelligent creatures.”
you sighed, but your lips twitched.
and when he took a sneaky photo of you next to a monkey doing the exact same unimpressed face, you let him.
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kaiser was thriving.
lights flashing, fans screaming, reporters yelling his name from every direction, but none of it mattered. because you were on his arm, and you looked so fucking good it should’ve been illegal. and maybe it was, on his poor heart.
you, in a dress that made people double take. and him in a designer suit which basically screamed ‘look at me!’ but still refusing to let go of your hand for even a second.
“look this way, kaiser!”
“over here!”
“pose with the ball!”
“kaiser, who’s the woman with—”
“yeah yeah, i know, i’m hot,” he waved dismissively at the cameras, tugging you closer. “but have you seen her? look at her. look. she’s the star. me? i’m just her soccer groupie.”
you barely blinked, and shielding your eyes from the countless flashes. “you dragged me here.”
“because the red carpet needed flavor,” he grinned, nudging you playfully. “and you’re the whole meal. i’m just the bowl you sit in.”
“what does that even mean—”
cue the camera clicks exploding like fireworks.
someone handed him a microphone and instead of answering questions about his match performance, he started bragging about your skincare routine.
“she does this thing with, like, snail goo or whatever? and her face? glowing. radiant. i tried it once and got a rash.”
you quietly nodded beside him, giving the cameras a blank expression like this was just your normal tuesday.
he kept tugging you in for selfies, making sure they got his good side where his jawline was razor sharp, while you stayed poker faced the whole time, slightly turned away by the dozens of desperate faces trying to get some material of michael kaiser and the new woman on his arm.
“god
 i love how mysterious you are,” he whispered in your ear over the raving crowd. “like people are gonna think you’re a secret agent.”
“
i’m literally an accountant.”
“mm, yeah, schatz
 the hottest accountant i’ve ever seen.”
he didn’t even look at the photographers when they asked for solo shots. just kept gazing at you like you were the only thing worth capturing.
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ness had never liked eating out.
not because the food was bad, no, he’d happily devour three servings if you let him, but because he couldn’t stand the idea of other people talking to you. looking at you. breathing near you. especially men.
and today?
you were barely five minutes into your meal when a cheery waiter stopped by your table, leaning just a little too close for ness’s liking.
“would you like some ketchup with that?” the guy asked with a smile.
you didn’t think much of it, just nodded politely and said, “sure, thank you.”
but across from you
 ness stiffened.
his fork hovered mid air, his eye twitching, lips pressed into a thin line. he didn’t say anything right away. just
 stared down at his plate like it had killed his entire family.
you glanced over when he doesn’t react to your foot softly rubbing against his ankle. normally you’d get a ‘yippie!’, so it was a little concerning.
“lexis
what’s wrong?” you raise an eyebrow.
“
ketchup.” he muttered.
“huh?”
ness turned to you, his voice a dramatic whisper, “so that’s what you’re into now, huh? ketchup guys?”
you blinked. “
what.”
he pointed his fork accusingly. “he asked if you wanted ketchup. and you said yes. to him.”
“
because he asked?”
“but why him?” he leaned closer, narrowing his eyes. “if i asked, would you have said yes too? or was it his ketchup you wanted?”
you just stared. “alexis, he’s a waiter.”
ness huffed, angrily stabbing at the fries on his plate. “i’m watching you. and your stupid ketchup.”
he sulked the rest of the meal, still feeding you bites of his burger, still playing footsie’s with you under the table, but glaring daggers at the ketchup bottle like it personally insulted him.
and later that night, you found your phone filled with photos of you and ness under an album label “the mustard to my mayo <3”
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nagi had a problem.
you had a shiny umbreon. his favorite. it sparkled, it looked cool, and worst of all, you wouldn’t trade it to him, no matter how many shitty common pokĂ©mon he tried to offer you for it.
“it’s my favorite. i evolved it at midnight on purpose.”
nagi, who was laying upside down on your couch with his phone resting on his face, mumbles out a small, “i need it though.”
you didn’t budge, and so
 phase two began.
nagi turned into the laziest scammer known to man.
he’d send you trades labeled “ultra rare secret glitch ‘mon” with the sketchiest lineups. rattata, rattata, rattata, shiny magikarp (nicknamed ‘definitely umbreon 2.0’).
“you renamed a magikarp and thought i wouldn’t notice?”
he yawned, rolling onto his tummy. “worth a shot
”
he got more elaborate. once wore sunglasses and a fake mustache, made a fake trainer profile called “pokechoki” and messaged you from across the couch like
“hello i am collector of rare pokĂ©mon. would like your umbreon. will give 4 bidoof.”
you turned, deadpan, and nudged his thigh with your fuzzy gengar socks. “nagi, you’re in the same room as me.”
“huh? don’t know of this ‘nagi’ person. i’m seishiro.”
eventually, he climbed into your lap like a giant sleepy cat, nuzzled into your neck, and tried to guilt you with his classic, “if you loved me
 you’d give me your umbreon
”
you didn’t fall for it.
but you did catch him later, holding your phone while you were brushing your teeth, trying to sneak trade himself the umbreon while you were distracted.
his defense?
“
is it really stealing if ‘what’s mine is yours’?”
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isagi has been so strange lately.
you’re in the kitchen, scrolling through your phone and sipping your coffee when you hear a thud in the hallway.
“i’m okay!”
his voice echoes from somewhere down the corridor.
you raise an eyebrow, not even surprised anymore. your husband had been on a mission lately, a weird mission to prove that even though you’re already married, he’s still “hot husband material.”
his latest phase? doing push ups shirtless whenever you’re nearby. flexing his biceps whenever he opens a jar. winking dramatically when handing you anything.
today was worse.
he strides into the kitchen moments later, dressed in nothing but grey sweatpants and a face filled with determination. a towel thrown over his shoulder like he’s in a men’s health shoot.
“babe,” he grins, “check this out.”
he goes to do a one armed push up right then and there on the kitchen tile, except his hand slips, and he faceplants so fast it sounds like a cartoon slap.
you sit up straighter and raise an eyebrow.
“
honey.. are you okay?” you ask, holding back a laugh.
he stays face down on the floor for a second before mumbling, “still hot though
 right?”
you roll your eyes fondly and get up to sit on the floor next to him, nudging him with your knee.
“
you’re lucky i already said ‘i do’.”
he peeks up at you, grinning with a busted ego and a red forehead. “i’d marry you again if it helps my case.”
you kiss his forehead and shake your head. “let’s just keep the seduction off the kitchen floor, yeah?”
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reo always had expensive taste.
in cars, in watches, in clothes.
but his favorite luxury? you.
he spoiled you when you were just his high school girlfriend. snuck designer bracelets into your locker, filled your dorm with roses during exams, flew you out for weekend getaways like it was nothing. the other girls were jealous, always whispering, “what does she have that we don’t?”
reo never gave them the attention they wanted. he just kissed your cheek and made you show off the shiny chain around your neck.
now, years later, not much has changed. except you now wear a ring on your finger, and his last name behind yours.
you wake up to breakfast already made, gifts by the door “just because,” and his card in your hand with a small, “go get yourself something pretty.”
he comes home from practice and scoops you up into his arms like a lovesick idiot, still obsessed, still whipped.
and when you pout? even a little? he acts like it’s a national emergency.
“what do you want, baby? tell me. shoes? a trip? my kidney?”
reo’s love language has always been excess, and when it comes to you, there’s no such thing as too much.
girlfriend or wife, high school or forever, spoiling you was always part of the plan.
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rin itoshi, even as a fully grown man, was still
 rin itoshi.
he might’ve been a world class athlete now, a stoic genius on the field, cold and composed in interviews, but at home? at your home?
he was still that emotionally constipated, socially awkward, emo haired boy who never knew what to do with his hands.
he sat stiffly at your parents dinner table, trying not to breathe too loud, trying not to make eye contact with your dad, silently praying the chair would collapse and swallow him whole.
you, sitting beside him, casually spooning mashed potatoes onto your plate, looked as chill as ever. like you weren’t dining with two parents who were grilling your boyfriend with every polite smile and every “so, rin, what are your intentions?”
you kicked his ankle under the table.
“sit up straight.” you whispered.
he was slouching like he wanted to vanish into his hoodie. and the worst part? he wasn’t even wearing a hoodie. he was wearing a button up shirt, with sleeves, rolled up.
also, you had brushed his bangs behind his ear before dinner and told him he looked cute like that so now his emo fringe shield was gone and he had to make full eye contact with your mom while she passed him the salad bowl.
“thanks.” he mumbled, voice barely audible.
your mom blinked. “sorry, sweetheart?”
you leaned in. “he said thanks.”
rin looked like he was about to throw up from how clenched his jaw was. then, as the cherry on top, your dad broke the very uncomfortable silence and said, “you know, itoshi, she’s quite a handful. you sure you can handle her?”
and rin, already clinging to life by a thread, nodded stiffly and raised a glass of water to his lips.
you patted his back with the most innocent expression in the world. “oh come on, rin. don’t act like you don’t worship the ground i walk on.”
he glared at you. cheeks pink. ears red. small frown.
still the same awkward, emotionally stunted guy from his blue lock days.
but your fingers brushed his under the table, and you smiled at him softly. and maybe, maybe, he could handle dinner with your parents after all.
as long as you didn’t make him talk too much.
2K notes · View notes
littlerascalstany · 3 months ago
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DISTURBIA. MAHITO / M!READER
summary. in the golden age of jujutsu, mahito had you, and lost you. a thousand years later, he seeks to bring you back.
wc. 9.1k
tags. smut | sub bottom mahito, top reader, heian era!mahito & cursed spirit!reader (manifestation of fear of night/absence of light), reader had a cult/worshippers. mention of blood & gore. mahito with a pussy, size difference, breeding kink, mention of babytrapping. fingering + oral (mahito receiving), doggystyle, exhibitionism (mention of others overhearing), jealousy, praise, multiple orgasms (mahito receiving), creampie, ahegao (?), god kink (reader), temp play (reader is naturally cold)
notes. obligatory ooc warning. also, i made up a lot of lore for the reader('s abilities), so scroll down about halfway to skip it and get to the good part :)
[ requested ]
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Deep in the beech forests of Northeast Japan, Geto Suguru stands delicately amongst the verdant green undergrowth. He glances around, petting his large winged cursed spirit absently, and gathers his long dark robes in a hand. He glances over his shoulder.
"Despite your insistence on coming here, you've been awfully quiet. Is it not what you imagined?"
Bent at the waist to inspect massive green leaves as large as his face, Mahito looks up. "Huh? Oh, I was just curious about how they went about their plan. This place is maaassive. How are we supposed to find him? Maybe they cut him up? Sprinkled him from the highest mountain?" He sighs. "Whatever they did – they chose a green place to do it. Hanami would probably like it."
Dismissing his cursed spirit with a wave of his hand, Suguru chooses a direction and begins to move. He doesn't so much as walk as glide, his long skirts and the heavy undergrowth obscuring his steps. The tall, slim beeches are set just far enough apart for one person to slip between their trunks, and Mahito is forced to fall into step behind Suguru.
He flexes his fingers; stretches his arms; kicks ferns. Twigs tug at his hair and he huffs, glaring at the tree that dared touch him. He clasps the section of hair to his chest, dragging his slim fingers through it obsessively.
"You're twitchy," Suguru says without turning around. "You never did say how you heard of this curse. Seeing as you're not busy running your mouth, why don't you tell me now?"
Mahito sighs, skipping over a fallen log overrun with moss. He gazes up at the trees and notices the way the thick emerald canopy filters the sunlight until all that's left is an even, misty glow. Shadows are soft and deep around here.
"Not much to say," he hums thoughtfully, knocking a branch out of his way. "Lotta curses back in the day. Just makes sense to have some hidden around the place."
"Yes, but how did you come across such old records? Surely sorcerers would've kept something like that far, far away from prying eyes."
"Humans get tired. They get clumsy. They misplace things."
Suguru raises a brow. "And you kept it? For a thousand years, without purpose?"
Airily, he says, "So what if I did? You really expect me to act like one of you, doin' things with reason and purpose? C'mon. I liked the pictures on it."
He may think Suguru falls for it, but Suguru is nothing if not perceptive. Mahito flings his arms out too wide. Each stride is too long, each twirl around a slender beech too motivated – no, he sees it all. He's playing at carelessness when it couldn't be further from the truth.
Absurdly human of him, really.
Suguru hums, halting in his tracks. Mahito almost bumps into him. Again – too eager. Suguru lifts a hand, palm down and fingers splayed, and closes his eyes. Thrums of warm sorcery crackle through his veins – weak, barely trace amounts. Expected for thousand-year-old jujutsu. To be able to feel it still was a feat all in itself. Just how intense was the battle that raged here?
"We should be right in front of it," Suguru claims, dropping his hand and opening his eyes. They stand before a slight ridge of the earth, exposed tree roots weaving in and out of rich brown soil. A heavy blanket of moss hangs over the ridge and ivy grows beneath their feet. "Yet... I don't sense any spirits nearby."
"Hey," says Mahito suddenly. "The scroll mentioned a 'tomb'. You said in front of ya, yeah?"
Nodding, Suguru folds his hands within his robes. He watches as Mahito's arm lengthens into a massive cleaver, and he steps back at the wicked smile that spreads across his lips.
Mahito lifts his arm, pale eyes glinting dangerously. "Man, I so hope I'm right!"
With a slam that rumbles the ground beneath their feet and strips the nearby trees of their leaves, Mahito splits the earthen mound before him clean in two, leaving a shallow ravine that extends into the horizon. The soft earth parts like melted butter, soil and chipped wood exploding forth with such strength that Suguru narrowly avoids a pointed root that embeds itself into the trunk behind him.
When the dirt and leaves settle, they reveal the chiselled stone set into the earth. Split not quite perfectly in half – for Mahito loves chaos, and halves are better off-kilter – is a room carved into stone, hollowed out with a single podium erupting from the centre.
Upon the roughly-carved podium is a mid-sized box plastered with ancient seals and talismans. Peeking inside reveals that the inside of the 'room' is covered in the stuff, too – old, yellow, and faded, they flutter from wind they haven't felt in aeons. One peels off and comes to rest gently at Mahito's feet.
"Huh," he says eventually, staring at the cuttingly-familiar brushstrokes. He reaches for the wooden box, soft and rotted with age. The moment his fingers brush the surface, he pulls back with a jerk and makes a face. "Ouch! Spicy."
"Strong seals," Suguru comments, making no move to help. Mahito huffs and blasts the talismans away with a burst of cursed energy, testing the now-bare box with the tips of his fingers like one might with a freshly-microwaved plate.
He cracks the box open. Inside, innocent as a fresh lamb, lays a shallow, red-lacquered suzuri-bako.
"A... writing box?" Mahito murmurs to himself. He reaches in and takes the smooth box into his hands. It feels much heavier than it should, and an oppressive weight shudders through him, dark and cold and familiar. "Geto-san? It's a cage. I don't have the key."
"Let me take a look." Suguru stretches out a hand.
For a fleeting moment, Mahito hesitates – the slightest tilt of the box towards his chest. And Suguru knows.
With a growing smile, Suguru folds his hand back into his long sleeves. "Ah... I see. You know this spirit."
"I—" He pauses. "Maybe. Once upon a time."
"Interesting," says Suguru, "that something as old as this still has an effect on you."
"Nah – boring, actually. I'm old and sentimental." He pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. He chuckles and tosses his hair over his shoulder, tracing the edges of the box. Power tingles against his skin. "Pretty thing, for a cage. Maybe I could just – ease it open—"
Suguru raises his long sleeve to shield his face as the box pulses with a sudden, growling shockwave, forcing him to step back to keep his balance. The ferns sway around his knees.
Mahito clicks his tongue, a pout forming on his lips. "Damn it! This should be simple!"
The second attempt has the birds squawking and flying into the skies as the surrounding trees shudder violently. For the third, Suguru winces slightly as Mahito slams his fist – a giant mallet – against the box, resulting in another shockwave of barbed cursed energy. He lifts a hand, placating.
"Ah, Mahito... Perhaps I can give it a go?" he suggests. "It may need a... sorcerer's touch."
Mahito's eyes widen. Of course! Those ancient douche-canoes probably knew he would come for what was his. It only made sense to weave his name into the seals.
"By all means," he replies, stepping aside. "Take a gander."
Stepping forward, Suguru tugs his sleeve to his elbow and scoops up the box from the floor. He dusts off the cover. "Lovely craftsmanship," he muses and hovers his palm over it despite every nerve in his body writhing and begging to pull away. Some instinctual, ancient force warns him off it. He lets energy seep into the age-made cracks in the seals, and from within, gently burns away the net holding its prisoner still – like taking a lighter to the end of a frayed rope, creating spaces big enough to squeeze through.
The lid cracks open.
Like a floodgate opening, freezing shadows and smoke pour out of the gap, forcing the lid to clatter uselessly to the ground. Darkness bleeds down the walls. Suguru's eyes widen as his pale fingers, deep within the thick black smoke continuing to billow forth, begin to turn blue at the tips, visible frost surging over his skin. Smoke fills the air around them, fading out the sun until it could be a misty grey night. Rivers of shadow pool thickly around his knees until he can't see his feet, and he hurries to set the box on the podium.
As he lets go, a shadowy tendril curls around his exposed hand and arm, burning white frost into his skin. His breath hitches.
A freezing hand seizes his wrist. Inch-long black nails dig rivulets of blood – his red, all-too-human blood – out of him, and his heart plummets at the sight of the hand, wrapped completely around his forearm as if it's a thin piece of rope. On instinct, he yanks back, and the hand comes with.
Then, a flood of smoky shadow spews from the open box – and a cowled figure claws its way out, formed from the very shadows that plunged them into a sudden night. It rises and straightens, towering over them both.
Suguru's arm hurts. He clutches his wrist, his blood coagulating over the delicately-patterned frost, and chances a glance back at Mahito.
Arms spread wide and palms open, an unnervingly breathless smile plastered on his lips, Mahito gazes up at the wispy figure unblinkingly. Wide-eyed and panting softly, he laughs – bright and jubilant, victorious.
"Yes! Yes! There you are!"
He skips past Suguru, giggling madly as he takes one large, clawed hand in both his own. He presses the palm to his cheek as he hops in place, stretching up to reach for the round silver brooch pinning the cloak of shadows together over the shoulder. He hasn't seen his eyes in so long, and this stupid hood is in the way!
Mahito?
The voice comes from within Suguru's head. But, unlike Hanami's, this voice slithers among his own thoughts, slipping between them as light as a ghost. It could've been his own, for all he knew, except for the fact it carries a sorrow so profound it eclipses every other thought – he can focus on nothing else.
—
Everything is on fire. Everything is on fire and it is all because of you.
Of course, the fire was the easy part. One day, perhaps your beloved will forgive you for using such an overzealous amount of cursed energy to make your grand entrance. It completely overshadowed his own.
Everything would change here. It would be your end, or your beginning. Before you stand the most powerful sorcerers in the land, all gathered to rise against you one final time – or die trying.
All so tense. A sigh flutters through your lips as you brush a stray lock of hair out of your eyes. Mahito has influenced you too much – you are bare from shoulder-to-waist, oil-slick blood coating your arms up to the elbows, and facing the strongest adversaries you have ever met. Yet, all you can fret about is your poor hakama, now no more than a shred of memory. You donned your best silks for this, and the first thing the cruel little bugs did was burn it off you.
At the very least, your sashinuki may be salvageable.
"You are strong," a white-haired sorcerer calls above the roar of the flames towering into the sky. "Some call you divine and pray to you for aid, but you do not listen."
"I listen," you reply coolly, and slick back your hair with a blood-soaked palm. "I help them to lose the burden of their regrets and relieve their physical pains. I daresay I help more than you."
"They call you a healer, but what you do is not healing. Once, you numbed a man to his wounds until he fell to exhaustion fighting in your name. You are a spiteful creature. Desperation is your lure."
"If I hear it, I answer. If they think I am their saviour, who am I to disagree? It's a rather pretty title – though, it is amusing to be lord of maggots. I like to watch them squirm."
How did a curse of night, of the endless dark, grow so powerful? Every secret done in the dark, every lie and gnawing shame, was yours. There had always been something different about you, and they were fools to ignore it, even upon your first meeting:
You, tall and regal, kimono the darkest shade of navy blue damask, had been nothing like their other curses. You looked quite human. Perhaps there was something godly in your stride, something primordial in your voice, that cowed them all like children. You spoke to them, soft and paternal, and suddenly, each and every one of them was afraid of the dark and you were their only solace against the monsters beyond the window.
Enchantment, they'd called it, upon blinking awake and finding you gone. Perhaps it was your domain, to cull their thoughts until all that remained was the ancient instinct to fear the black night. Had you heard them discussing you, hands shaking and faces drained of blood, you would have laughed.
—
Suguru's eyes flicker, and the scene flips to a forest clearing.
—
"Mahito!"
The cry of his name is guttural, a thousand voices coalescing into a roar and a shriek. Across the battlefield, he falls, and you catch the flames reflecting in the shine of his widened eyes as he grasps the unfamiliar black blade piercing his chest. His soul writhes around it, pierced by it, unable to slip away unscathed as he has so many times before.
In that split second, your attention lapses, and black chains lash your body, slamming you to your knees. You snarl, straining against them.
"Surrender," the sorcerer before you orders, white hair stained red with blood. Despite his injuries and the loss of an entire arm, he stands tall and steady above you. "We will let him go if you choose to die."
"If I choose to die?" You run your thumb over your knuckles, regenerating three lost fingers. A rather good trade, you think, for taking off his arm in the process. "You'd allow a spirit, able to shape the soul into something inhuman and unrecognisable, to walk free in exchange for my life? My, my. I must be particularly disruptive to your little society."
"You're beaten." His voice is sharp despite his clear exhaustion. He struggles to restore his arm. "No matter how many of us you kill, you will lose first. Give up."
"Such misplaced confidence. 'Choose to die'..." You sneer and the black iron chains wrapped around you tighten, far colder than you are. You have warmed, somewhat, in Mahito's presence. You cannot be bitter about it when it is he who marks your soul. "Hah! Nothing stops you from killing him anyway – so, politely, I decline. There are only so many of you. You will run out of bodies before I do."
As you speak, your image flickers in an attempt to split your consciousness into the deep shadows around you. The chains chew into your skin and you hiss as your control dissipates like a candle blown out.
"Interesting," the sorcerer murmurs, gazing down at you pensively. The red flames swirl behind him. "Interesting that your bond with that curse truly did win us this fight. I admit – I was sceptical it would work. You're... not what I expected."
You turn your gaze to Mahito, crumpled on the ground with his long, straight hair creating a curtain over his features. He grasps the handle of the blade, trembling slightly, and his breaths are shallow and rapid as he attempts to pull it out. He can only whimper in pain – too quiet for anyone to hear. But this battle is a secret under darkness and belongs to you. You close your eyes to his furious cry and panicked breaths as the blade refuses to budge and saps more of his strength with every second.
Run, you implore, and his head shoots up, pale eyes meeting yours. Cursed energy surges beneath your skin, rippling and bubbling with bloodthirst. Run and don't look back. Mahito, you must survive at all costs. Do you understand?
The chains quiver and the links bend out of shape, their strange unearthly metal creaking. Your body strains against it, fingers elongating into claws and mouth growing jagged fangs. Your skin rips and flickers, bleeding dead galaxies. The chains bite into your shadowy flesh, but you grow larger despite it.
The sorcerer takes a step back.
Go, your voice rasps in his head, syllables rough and struggling in the monstrosity of your own body. Mahito's eyes widen as the chains groan, shuddering with effort – and snap.
He pulls himself to his feet, pale grey kimono tattered and stained. He grips the blade lodged in his chest and stumbles away, chasing the safety of the tree line.
You roar, twice as tall as the sorcerers around you, cutting them down with rapid, decisive blows. In his state, he doesn't notice the sorcerer turning in his direction.
But you do. With a shriek, you launch yourself at him, breaking through the ranks of sorcerers trying to stop you in a burst of viscera and bone. You seize the man giving chase after Mahito, and his whip-like technique is nothing against the overwhelming strength of your new form. One slash of your razor-sharp claws and his technique putters out in his limp hands.
Mahito spares you one last, desperate look, before turning and running into the darkness. You pull the shadows closed after him, deepening the shadows around him until you have him in your grasp.
Live, you say wistfully, releasing him from your shadows as far away as you can by a riverbank. He collapses and attempts to slip the blade out from between his ribs. He quivers with effort, and you don't turn back to the sorcerers picking themselves up for one last push. As long as none of them find Mahito, you will accept the consequences of your hedonistic actions. Live for me. Please.
You languish in your prison for one thousand years.
—
Mahito beams, nodding so hard his head threatens to fall off. "You remember me! I knew you would!"
Slowly, as if learning how to move one muscle at a time, the hand cupping his face brushes its knuckles down the edge of his cheek. When it reaches his chin, long fingers wrap around his throat as if to choke – then, they release. Using the first three fingers, the shadowy spirit grasps Mahito's face, turning it further up towards him. The top of Mahito's head only reaches the spirit's ribs – or where they would be on a human.
Mahito, the spirit calls joyfully, lifting its other hand to cup his face with a flourish of a long, wispy sleeve. Draped over him, the spirit's shadowy robes engulf him almost entirely. Oh, Mahito, my darling pale bone-shard...
He laughs, accepting everything with a smile that seems too ancient for someone like him. It's the smile of one who's known loss – not his usual grin of frivolous naivete.
"You look awful," Mahito says, with a little pout and a frown. "Come! I'll get you back to full strength. But I suppose that guy behind me will want introductions. No number of old scrolls or tomes would get him your name."
That name was never mine, the curse declares. Humans could never know me as you do. My strength is not theirs to invoke.
"Alrighty," Mahito says. He spins on his heel, hair bouncing, and points above him, where the spirit stands – floats – behind his shoulder. "Geto-san! This is YN! I knew him back in the day. He had a bit of a cult, too, so I think you'll get along splendidly."
That piques his interest. That white-haired sorcerer – probably a member of the Gojo clan, Suguru thinks with an achy little throb, if his paleness was a family trait – had mentioned something about your perceived divinity. He wonders why you'd pay attention to any of those ignorant monkeys.
"You're probably thinking about the whole cult thing, right?" Mahito comments offhandedly, tossing and catching the silver brooch he stole from you. Despite this, you haven't pulled down your hood. The straggly ends of the cloak hang by your arms.
"I won't say I didn't wonder."
"Don't worry, it's not a long story." He clears his throat importantly. "Back in the day, we didn't have curtains or anything to hide the results of our actions, so what we did must've seemed like magic or something paranormal to humans. My YN was often seen before and after destruction like plagues and floods, so word began to spread of a beautiful man who would save those he appeared to. Of course, this was survivorship bias. If he killed 'em, not like they could say that to anyone, right? So that's how people began to worship him."
"How fascinating," Suguru murmurs, eyeing you up. "Before, I saw your... memories. Was worship how you grew so much stronger than a normal curse?"
You finally look up, having been concentrating very hard on Mahito and his new appearance. His clothes are strange, but you're beginning to come around to them. Apologies. My body is not quite... complete. Some portion of me may have passed through you as I formed. You touch Mahito's hair, rubbing the strands between your fingers, and he giggles up at you. Perhaps you are right. Evolution was always within Mahito's portfolio, not mine. I should have been constant, unchanging, like the night. Odd, isn't it?
"The form you gained right before you were sealed away – do you still have it? Or was it a result of their belief?" If he could sway you to his side – gain your abilities – it might be enough. Just enough.
You consider his question. Human emotion is potent. I may no longer have shrines made with my image or prayers whispered in my name, but there are infinitely more humans now to draw from. I may gain it back – in time.
"Fascinating," Suguru repeats. He extends his uninjured hand with a kind smile. "Then please – allow me to be your host in this new era. I own a temple with a not-insignificant number of human visitors. It may help you recover."
You glance down at Mahito. He nods encouragingly. "He's not a bad guy to be around, I promise! A little uppity, but with the strength to back it up. You'd be with me. We'd be together again."
You pause, your large hand halting on top of Mahito's head, where you'd been petting him. He blinks up at your featureless face, and shadows waft from your shoulders –  a sigh, or what passes for one with your inhuman anatomy. Very well, you relent, taking one of his ponytails and tugging lightly, I will follow. Be grateful that I bow to you.
"Oh, yes," Mahito giggles pleasantly, leaning into your stomach. He props his chin on your ribs, staring up at you with a grin. "Verily, my lord. When we arrive, I'll even show you how grateful I am."
You cup his face gently, squishing his cheeks. You run a thumb over the stitches below his eye. Dubious little creature... Lead on – we have much to talk about.
—
Recovery, you find, requires mostly time. The first thing you do when you regain sufficient strength is create a new body – one Mahito is familiar with, and which looks almost entirely human. For all your distaste, their physical anatomy is simple and useful, and you can spend less effort holding it together than most other shapes. Geto Suguru, as you come to know him, is incredibly interested in you and your capabilities, almost invasively so, and hates humanity quite a lot. You avoid him where you can.
You enter the room you were given by ducking under the lintel, one which Mahito now shares with you. Once you heard where he used to reside and what it was had been explained to you, you had been firmly insistent he come with you rather than you with him. Sewers, you claimed, were no place for the beloved of a god.
He is at the dresser in a grey kimono, which grabs your attention. He runs a brush through the pale blue-grey hair swept over his shoulder. He opens his eyes at the sound of the door sliding open, a smile automatically tugging at his lips.
"You're back," he says warmly. "What did Geto-san want this time?"
"He has trouble sleeping," you reply, taking a seat on the bed. It is odd, you thought once, that a traditional temple like this would incorporate such modern furniture, but Mahito seemed to like it, so you kept your mouth shut. "I drew him to slumber."
Mahito hums knowingly. "Humans, right? So messy. Him especially. Man, emotionally, that guy is a wreck – gets so worked up over nothing."
Politely, you ignore the invitation to complain. You may be a curse, but you have some dignity. "He freed me from a thousand years of imprisonment, Mahito. It's the least I can do to repay him."
He frowns. "I freed you."
"The seals prevented you from doing very much, Mahito," you say, amused. "If he wasn't there, you'd still be banging away at it. However, you did figure out where they kept me and kept me alive in your memories when no other did. I am grateful for that."
"If you were less judgemental of the other curses, I'm sure they woulda remembered you fondly," he rebuts. "You were too much of a lone wolf. 'Ooh, Sukuna's eating my worshippers 'cause I told him he's not cool! Kenjaku badgers me way too often about his dumb plans!' If you didn't complain about them to their faces, I'm sure they would've been happier to remember you."
You scoff. "Why should I care? I have you."
The tone of your voice warms what passes as his heart. He turns on the stool to face you, setting down the brush and picking up his hair ties. He begins to section his hair into three parts.
"I mean that much to you, do I? Little old me, more important than the favour of the great King of Curses," he coos, rising to his feet. He offers you a hair-tie with a soft smile, and you accept it. He crawls into your lap, sitting with his back to your chest. He hums as you comb your fingers through his hair, fumbling only slightly with the intricacies of a braid. It's been a long time since you've had hands.
"What does the King of Curses have that I care for? He is strong, but has many enemies. He is an arrogant, fickle creature and desires no equal, only slaves and followers." You adjust the thick locks of hair you've left loose to frame his face. He seems to like threes, so you'll keep it similar. "I like to do as I please. He is feared – I am fear."
You consider your next words. "He is also very rude."
Mahito barks out a laugh. "Careful. If he hears that, you'd be sliced up quicker than you can say 'oops'."
"You say he is now little more than a set of relicts. I wonder – if I kicked him around, would he know it and come later to kill me?"
Mahito presses a finger to his lips thoughtfully. "I don't think so. They don't seem to hold any sentience by themselves. Even curses empowered by the fingers don't look like they contain any part of 'him'."
"Interesting."
"Remind me to never let you carry his fingers."
"Of course." You tie off the end of the braid, sitting back to admire your handiwork. A human had come in with something similar, and you'd been too preoccupied with how it might look on Mahito to really care for what Geto was doing.
(You didn't care much for what any of them were doing, truthfully. Their idea for a world of curses was not quite uninhabited enough for you, as the god of the endless night and the perfect, empty void. It was only because of Mahito's unique technique that you let him live beyond your initial meeting, after all.)
"You kept your hair long," you say, voice a low murmur.
Mahito glances over his shoulder, gazing up at you through his messy bangs. A sly smile curls at his lips. "Oh, you know," he waves a hand carelessly, "you liked it better this way."
You prop your chin on top of Mahito's head. He grins. "You always wore it like this?"
"Well, I sat like a rock at the bottom of a river for a couple hundred years, so no, not always. But when I did like to have hair – yes, it was long."
You rest your hand around his throat, like a collar. Mahito smirks, dancing his fingers over your knuckles. "Hey, now... What's this doin', big guy? Careful – I'm half your size."
"You do not have to look like you do. I would adore you regardless."
"How cute! But it's no fun when we're both too big for the bed." He turns in your lap, straddling your thighs, and playfully plucks a thread loose from your haori. He cocks his head to meet your eyes with a smile when a brief scowl crosses your face. "C'mon, lighten up! You're out of the slammer! What better way to celebrate than with me? If you want, we don't have to do it on the bed. Maybe on the floor... Out in the forest... Drenched in human blood..."
"Mahito, Geto is across the hall. You are loud."
"He can plug his ears. I'm sure he's got a curse somewhere in him for that." His grin broadens freakishly. "I also want a curse inside me."
"Mahito," you growl, your grip tightening on his hips.
"Oh, say that again." He shows the whites of his eyes briefly with a teasing moan. He drapes his arms over your shoulders, wiggling around and settling comfortably in your lap. Your shoulders tense. "Such a bore. Hey – I'm better with my technique nowadays. Y'know how much fun we could have?" He leans in with a giggle, lips brushing your earlobe. "Gimme ideas. I'll make you feel so good."
Concentration was always the common denominator. He was once easily overwhelmed – he'd like to think he improved.
"I still tire quickly," you say, and not even you can obscure the annoyance in your voice. "Belief is so hard-won these days. I fear you'll have to be gentle with me."
He giggles, though his expression softens – or as much as it can for him; perhaps 'less-crazed' is a fairer term –and he drags his tongue hotly against your jaw. It's a kiss – his version of one.
"Okay," he sighs dramatically, kicking his legs childishly. "Hm... How about this? Tonight, shall I be your prince, princess, or," he winks, "your master?"
Your lips purse. "Gods do not have princes or princesses. 'Divine right'." You scoff. "Don't make me laugh."
"You'll always gimme your 'divine right', though, yeah?" He wiggles his brows cheekily. "Your sacred sceptre. Your god rod—"
"Mahito."
He sulks for only a moment before perking up again, tugging at your sashes and collar to open you up for his eyes only. He traces the marks on your skin with a hum.
"You and Sukuna have a lot in common, you know."
"He's a fool. I hope that's not what you mean."
He snorts. "Relax. I didn't mean it like that. I like you more, anyway."
"I'd certainly hope so." You flex your fingers, lifting one hand to measure against his waist. "I endured a thousand years of imprisonment for you."
"You're gonna bring that up constantly, aren't you?"
"Only when important. Do you know how small it was on the inside?"
He sighs. "I'm never winning an argument again."
"You've already won my heart."
"Your heart!" He laughs. "What a human thing to call it."
You lean back, allowing him to push your kimono off your shoulders. "Call it what you like. Be what you like. I've spent too long away from you to care for names and titles." You trace the stitches running across his hips. You lift your eyes, and Mahito's breath hitches at the hunger in them. They swirl with empty galaxies and dead stars, and he finds himself subconsciously leaning in, longing for that cold, dark and very gentle place. One day, at the end of all things, you will bring him there, lord of nothing and lord of everything. Perhaps he'll learn how to touch his soul to yours, like bubbles, and you'll never have to leave him again.
"Is this what you want?" he whispers as you strip him bare, his grey silk kimono pooling on the floor. "Me? Just me?"
"I have no need for anything else. Power, armies, what have you... Sukuna, Kenjaku, even this Geto – their plans are so short-sighted. Everything will come under my hand eventually. Until that day arrives, I am content with you."
"So romantic," Mahito murmurs, a coy smile pulling at his lips. "Can I also come under your hand? Pretty please?"
"Must you ruin everything I say with a filthy joke?"
He pushes you backwards onto the bed, hovering over you with a grin. He grinds down on your lap under the pretence of getting comfy and he relishes in your groan. "You just set them up so perfectly for me! How could I not?"
You click your tongue. "I indulge you too much."
"Not enough, I'd say. Took me way too long to get into your pants. Do you know how desperate I was at times? You expected me to see you doused in human viscera and not want you all up in my guts, too... Ridiculous, in my humble opinion."
"Sex is such a human notion."
"You say it like it's a bad thing," he whines. "I have to say, it's pretty fun. You like it, too, don't you?"
"Hm."
"C'mon, we're both here because of humans. We aren't, like, appropriating anything." He reaches down, palming the bulge below your kimono. His grin widens. "If you don't like it, why did you give yourself the parts for it? Ha! Checkmate."
He yelps as you grab him and toss him down onto the bed, pinning him under your weight. He stares up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his loosened kimono gaping at the chest and stomach.
You rake your eyes down his lithe, pale body, humming when his breath hitches at your touch. You glide your hand down his side, tracing the smooth curve of his waist and hip.
You reach down by his hips and part his kimono further. When the silk falls open, you are greeted by a neat patch of grey hair – and glistening pink folds.
He giggles at your expression. He twirls his hair around a finger and bats his lashes, which might be thicker and longer than usual. "Now we match."
Clicking your tongue, you curl your fingers around his slender thigh and part his legs, eyeing him unblinkingly. He's not sure if he should be aroused or offended – you're hard to read and he's never sure what you like. Perhaps that's part of why he stayed – you were like a game – but now, a thousand years later, he can't help but feel... unsure? Nervous?
Afraid?
He wants to laugh at the concept. Him? Afraid of your opinion of him? How disgustingly fragile.
You're talking now, and the sound of it snaps him out of his spiralling thoughts. You've always had that effect on him.
"I'm not sure how we match at all, Mahito," you're saying. "As spirits, we are incapable of siring spawn. I would say we match less."
He whines. "Hey...! I put all this work into looking nice for you, and you're telling me now that you don't like it? Besides, who're you to say we can't have some little curse babies, asshole? There's never been another me – maybe I'm the exception. Maybe I'm better than the rest of 'em."
At last, you lift your eyes. Mahito wants to curl up beneath your gaze – you are terrifying and comforting all at once. "No," you say softly. "You are one of a kind."
A smile splits his face, cocky, and he sits up, leaning back on his palms. His kimono slips teasingly from his shoulder. "Mmhm, that's right... Boy, you sure know how to make a guy feel special."
You tilt your head, considering something. You stroke his thigh, absent-minded, and he presses into your touch. "You don't know for certain – about spawn."
"Obviously not. I was sitting among the rocks of the Shinano River for, like, eight hundred years. You want me to fuck a fish?"
"Why?" You lift a hand as he opens his mouth to snark at you. "About the river, Mahito. Not the fish."
He frowns, his lower lip jutting out slightly. "You told me to survive! I did just that. I'm not sure why you sound so disappointed."
"You, resting in the same place for hundreds of years? Wouldn't you have grown bored? I'm sure it did not take that long to heal from your wounds."
He huffs, crossing his arms. He tugs his leg out of your grasp. His hair falls over his features. "You were dead, for all I knew! When I didn't know much about anything, you were there to teach me. For the first time ever, you were gone, and if they'd managed to kill you, what would they do to me?" He flicks a wrist, sleeve whipping your side. "You told me to live. To survive. So I did, okay? After all, it was the last thing you ever said to me. I had nothing else left of you."
The air is heavy. Neither of you moves a muscle.
"Mahito," you say softly.
He throws himself backwards onto the bed with a bounce and a soft thump, hands over his eyes. He tries to kick you, but you catch his ankle. He scowls. "Stupid. Asshole. Jerkface. Don't say my name like that."
"Mahito."
He gulps as you close the distance between you, your palm pressed to the mattress beside his head. His breath hitches as your hand glides from his ankle to his calf, holding it over your shoulder. You don't quite pin it there, but you leave your palm open, steady against the outside of his knee as it presses against you.
"You've grown soft," you observe.
He crosses his arms and tries to glare. It's a little hard when you're kneeling between his legs, your lips six inches from his own. Do you still taste the same? "No, I haven't. You just knew me before I lost everything."
"Let me return this to you, then." You part his kimono fully, the silk pooling on the bed. You reach for your own clothes, though your eyes remain trained on his. They remind him of a fox, quick and clever and sly. "Can I make it up to you, Mahito?"
He sniffs, glancing aside. His arms uncross. "Fine."
"Thank you."
You're so stupid. And polite. Ugh.
Your fingers travel down between his thighs. His throat bobs as you slide your middle finger between his wet folds, coating it in his slick. He shifts as you thrust it in gently, exploring him. Your warm palm cups him, something possessive in your touch, and as he relaxes around you, you slip a second finger in.
He gasps sharply, his hands shooting up to wrap around your biceps. You halt, buried in to the knuckle. It's hard not to be – his walls pulse around you, sucking you in.
"Am I hurting you?"
He shakes his head. He offers a brief, breathless grin. "Nah. Just feels different. Good different. Keep going."
You nod, sitting back on your heels to watch the way his cunt flutters around you. You stroke the leg thrown over your shoulder, kissing the ankle, and Mahito lets out a muffled mewl as your thumb presses against his clit.
"Sensitive," you murmur to yourself. You glance up. "Have you done this before?"
He licks his lips, steadying his voice. "What, changing myself like this?"
"Yes. For your own pleasure, rather than for battle."
"No," he admits, legs tightening around you. "This is the first time."
Humming, you glance up at him, allowing a smile to grace your features. "Then we can explore it together."
You pull your fingers from him – and with a thoughtful look, you place them in your mouth. Mahito's breath hitches as you swirl your tongue around your fingers, relishing in the taste.
"Sweet," you declare, and place his leg gently down on the bed. You settle at the base of the bed and tug him down by the thighs, staring up at him with playful eyes. "You wouldn't mind if I had a taste from the source, would you?"
He shakes his head, and it tips back with a moan as you bury your head between his thighs. You lap at his soft pink folds, and as you push your tongue inside, he slickens up, walls hot and pulsing around you. He squelches as you push in deeper, slick dripping from his eager hole. He grips your hair with both hands, moaning in delight as you fuck your long tongue in and out of him, curling roughly against the spot inside him that makes his head spin.
"Awh, fuck," he whines, laughing breathily as his spine arches and hot pleasure laps at the base of his spine. "F-Feels even better than I thought it would—! Ah, hah, gimme more!"
You draw your tongue out of him, making him whine and pull your face further into his fluttering cunt. You suck at his clit, lifting a hand to raise the hood of it as your tongue circles and your teeth graze it – he jolts in surprise, hands tightening in your hair. 
"Patience," you purr, tongue laving over his reddened clit. You push it inside him, wriggling about experimentally as his throbbing walls stroke the length of it, hungry and devouring.
"I already waited a thousand years!" he says, almost angrily. His heels dig into your shoulders as he lifts his hips, chasing a high. Your tongue is so long – it massages that rough patch of nerves at the back of his cunt and he seizes, crying your name as you grip his hips and lift him to your lips.
He takes what he wants rather inconsiderately, slick dripping down your chin as you kiss his hot folds. He's practically humping your face, grinding against your mouth and the tongue sinfully deep inside of him. You groan as his moans pitch higher, whorish, and he begins to tremble around you.
So quickly? You're amused. He's missed you more than he's willing to let on.
You fuck him with your tongue, saliva and slick mixing on his fair skin, and he's positively dripping, every thrust squelching and pushing out a sweet gush of pleasure into your waiting mouth. You swallow it blissfully, your thumb circling the wet nub of his clit.
With a wobbly, high-pitched cry, he shoves your face into his gummy cunt and comes on your waiting, writhing tongue, thighs seizing around your head and locking you in place as he coats your chin in his hot, sticky slick.
With your tongue buried deep inside him, flicking about and pressing curiously against his soft walls, he lets out a shaky whine, grinding against you with rough rolls of his hips. It's not an unfamiliar motion. He takes you so prettily, soft smooth folds now dark with lust.
Shakily, Mahito releases you, body sagging into the mattress. He pants and gasps, the tense heat between his legs unbearably achy and needy. He wants to melt.
"S-So
 good," he sighs, a broad grin crossing his face. You lap at him lazily, and he twitches. "Mm
 Now gimme your cock, 'kay? Nice 'n' deep. Promise me."
"Promise what?" you ask, licking your lips and wiping away his come. Your eyes glint with satisfaction as you set down his unsteady legs and crawl between them, the bulge in your trousers straining in its confines.
"That you'll fuck me up," he whines, turning onto his stomach and lifting his perky ass. He gazes over his shoulder at you, wiggling his hips and spreading his knees further to show off his tight holes. "You can have either one – jus' want you in me, okay? I miss having a big cock in my belly, miss being fucked and filled up until 'm all swollen and can't move." He pouts, his eyes half-lidded, and presses his ass against your bulge, grinding lazily. "C'mon, big guy. Don't you wanna put your baby in me?"
His eyes shoot wide open and his jaw drops as a thick, throbbing intrusion splits his pussy apart. He can't help his eager moans as you set a steady pace, his loosened pussy sucking you in with ease. He scrabbles at the sheets as your grip tightens on his waist and drags him down to match every thrust – he grabs the headboard as your cock kisses his cervix, making his eyes roll back.
"Oh! Y-You're cold – big – so muh – much," he cries brokenly, pressing his palm against his stomach. He shudders at the icy temperature of you inside him, making his hot walls ache and throb with such need that it borders on pain.
On every harsh thrust, he feels you glide against his palm, filling him up so completely that he can barely breathe – that feeling, of every breath physically restricted, makes his eyelids flutter and his pussy clench and flutter. His wet warmth surges down your thighs with his high, and you groan as he jolts and whines.
"You can handle it, Mahito," you note with a soft hum. Your touch grazes his clit and his breath stutters. "You have before, haven't you?"
"I-I'm rusty," he tries to joke, but it comes out flimsy as you shift and he clamps down punishingly around your cock with a moan. "Oh, fuck!"
Your hips snap into him and he fumbles slightly, grabbing one of your hands on his hip. He slumps into the mattress, lifting his hips as you fuck into his swollen heat, slick and soft around you. Little chained moans fall from his lips as he twists the sheets in his fist; his body jolts back and forth with your thrusts, his long blue-grey braid bouncing over his shoulder.
"Feels so g-good," he slurs, legs shaking like leaves. He spreads them, reaching down to split his sticky pussy lips with the V of his fingers. His lower lip quivers as he gazes at you over his shoulder. His bangs are a mess over his lust-blown eyes. "More – more, more, I want more—! Make me yours again, ah, right there—"
"Quiet now," you murmur amongst his choppy moans. "Geto will hear you."
"Wh-Whose fault is that?" he whines, the expression on his face fucked out and deeply flushed. "H-Hah – bet he'd be jealous, anyway! He wants you but you're all mine! Mh—"
You chuckle softly, leaning over him with a palm braced by his head. He feels small like this – protected. He whines into the bedsheets, his pussy dripping down his inner thighs.
"Mahito," you say, almost admonishingly. "Are you jealous?"
"Of that – ah – human? No!"
You trail your lips up his shoulder and neck, nipping at his ear. "Mm, of course. But I do think it would be prudent to watch him carefully. That technique of his may prove... troublesome."
Mahito sniffles, come-slick walls clamping around you and making you grunt. "S-Stop talking about him."
"So you are jealous."
"I just don't like it when you talk about other people when you're inside me." He attempts a glare, but his ruined expression quivers when your cock kisses his womb, tears welling up along his lashes and sticking them together. "Th-That's a normal, hn, r-reaction."
"Would you like me to talk about you, then?"
He averts his eyes and nods, tiny, into the sheets. You press your lips to the stitches trailing over his shoulders, admiring the contrast between the dark lines and Mahito's pale skin. You pick up the pace, thighs clapping against his ass, and his moans grow louder, more desperate, as his pussy flutters dangerously around you.
"My Mahito is so sweet to me, greeting me with this little piece of heaven here," you purr with a particularly teasing thrust into his cunt, nuzzling into his hair as he grips your forearms for stability. He nods reverently, lips parting and eyes rolling as you shift your hips and fuck him quick and hard into the mattress. His toes curl as he cries out, every thrust knocking a whiny moan from his throat. "My Mahito did so well, listening to me all that time ago... You're so good at obeying me, aren't you?"
"M-Mmhm," he whimpers. "Yes! Yes, I did, I always listen to you, oh, god—"
"Ah-ah-ah... You've been spending far too much time around humans, Mahito." You kiss his neck, and he shudders, your cock filling his belly until he can think of nothing else. He whines as you stroke his side, fingers fluttering over his stomach.
"I am your god," you murmur. "I taught you. I saved you. Perhaps I can even..." You press the smooth bump in his stomach and he lets out a ruined noise, muscles tensing. "Gods create, don't they?"
A choked, whorish wail rips past his lips. The glide comes easy – hotter, wetter. Waves of heat pulse through his core. His hole squelches as a thick ring of white forms around your base.
"Mahito." You tug his braid sharply and he whimpers as his head jerks back. "If you cry out to a god, it will be my name on your lips. You are mine. I won't tolerate anything less than your total loyalty. Do you understand?"
He babbles, whimpered half-words slipping from his lips. He nods to the best of his ability with your grip on his braid, arousal curling hot and powerful in his gut at the growl in your voice. "Yes!" he cries, his ass ricocheting off your hips. The rough pace makes his knees knock together. "Yes, yes, I'm your bitch, 'm sorry – you're my god – hnn, f-fuck, don't stop—!"
"Good, Mahito. Always so obedient for me."
Perhaps he reshapes himself because suddenly he's vice-tight, throbbing around you with a gooey slickness that tugs pink around your shaft when you try to draw your hips back. You suck in a sharp breath.
"Mahito," you coo, stroking his stitched cheek, and he whimpers, tears clouding his vision. "Let me go, dear. I can't give you what you want if I can't move."
"I don't want you to leave again," he sobs, curling his fingers through yours.  He can't think straight.
If – if he gave you a child, an heir... you wouldn't leave him, right? You couldn't. You liked him for his uniqueness – he wasn't like any other curse you'd ever met. You told him so. With the return of the Six Eyes, each day brings forth more powerful spirits, and you are like Ryomen Sukuna, whatever you say. You, too, are fickle, and you are cold as the night over which you reign. If some other curse – or, fuck him, a human – catches your attention, it's not impossible you might drop him for them.
After all, you're so much older than him. What is he but an indulgent curiosity?
As his thoughts spiral away from him, his body reacts to you – his glossy, silken pussy hugs your twitching cock, and the smell of sex lingers heavy in the air. "Oh god, oh god," he whimpers sweetly, brainless and drooling and pierced on thick cock, "oh, god—"
"Yes," you hiss. "You belong to me." You bury your nose in his hair, skin slapping rhythmically and rocking the bed. You bury yourself in his sloppy cunt over and over again, wrapped so perfectly around you. With a low growl that has Mahito's pussy throbbing, ropes of thick come paint his insides, filling him up and dripping from his hot, slippery folds.
He arches into your cold, firm embrace with a frenzied wail of your name, a sound wrecked with pleasure and pent-up desire. He trembles as he creams around you, milking your cock with a hungry desperation, and the pale curls over his pussy are damp with a filthy mixture of slick and come. He throws his head back. His tongue lolls out of his mouth and his eyes roll back at the feeling of your seed spurting deep within him, his insides so much more sensitive.
Or maybe he's just missed you. Either way, his throat feels raw, and the shattered whimpers that crumble from his lips as he collapses into the bedsheets are all he can manage, his pale eyes half-lidded and fluttering as you continue to pump him full. You stroke his stomach as if he's something sacred and murmur sweet nothings into his ear as he twitches in your arms.
He mewls, panting, as you eventually pull out, his gaping pussy clenching around nothing as your seed dribbles down his thigh. Without your grip on his hips to keep him up, he crumples to the bed in a dazed, soiled heap. His cunt squelches when he moves and he licks his lips, trembling slightly as he raises his head to look at you.
You're beside him now, gazing back with those beautiful eyes of yours. If he stares into them long enough, deep enough, he might catch a glimpse of clashing black holes and dying stars.
That battle an age ago left you with something inescapable. Things used to be easier – you were of the night, and the night was simple with the whisper of something shadowy within the dark. Now you have sparks of something hotter within you. Evolution, change, all of it – Mahito had more of an effect on you than anyone could've guessed.
He presses himself into your side and you wrap his lean body in your embrace. You stroke his hair with a soft hum, combing your fingers through his bangs and tucking them behind his ear.
At last, he speaks up, head resting upon your chest. "I got all dolled up for you," he says quietly. "You made a mess of me. Ruined my hard work."
You kiss his forehead. "Is that not what you wanted?"
"Hey... Don't twist my words."
"I'm sorry."
Silently, he leans up and nips at your jawline, soothing the spot with a kitten lick. He settles back down and you trace the stitches crossing his body, making him hum as you reach the ones following the V of his hips.
"I won't leave you, Mahito. Not again."
He glances up, a fist curling gently on your chest. "Really?"
You nod, staring at the ceiling. He fits perfectly into your side and you clutch him there, protective and possessive in the way he adores. "Yes."
He stares up at you, an unreadable look in his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitches.
"Okay," he says, and closes his eyes with a secret little smile.
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littlerascalstany · 4 months ago
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Thinking about overstimulating Shiggy by satisfying him whenever he pulls you aside by the collar to fuck him quickly. But instead of one, you actually give him three. Leaving him teary eyed, gasping for air, and shaky legs as he glares at you and grumbles out how much of an animal you are then demands for a fourth round. Bonus if he’s pregnant 👀🙈
sdjgdf that is a good thing to be thinking about đŸ˜łđŸ€€
Making a bratty Shiggy regret demanding a quickie by overstimulating him is just *chef's kiss* Thank you, anon, for enlightening us with your Shiggy headcanons đŸ™đŸ»đŸ™đŸ»
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littlerascalstany · 5 months ago
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“ Healing is never complete until we have been truly heard” -  Anthon St. Maarten
Neji - Black - With Alpha
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littlerascalstany · 5 months ago
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littlerascalstany · 5 months ago
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These eyes belong only to Geto Suguru, whoever sees them will not be lucky enough to come out alive. While everyone bows and chants ‘Love to the strongest’, Master Geto tenderly strokes the head of a man they are afraid to even glance at
evil Gojo au is back
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littlerascalstany · 6 months ago
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sorry for always being the first like in your fic, i just check the 'x reader' hashtag constantly
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littlerascalstany · 6 months ago
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“only me.”
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(art is siyeun baek from “dreaming freedom”)
tags: possessive behavior, toxicity, classic yandere things. gender neutral reader, soft yandere
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“Block him.”
You’d spent the past hour nuzzling into each other's chests. He'd made you play with his hair as he mumbled adorations of love onto your skin. It was a quiet, beautiful moment that was interrupted repeatedly by your buzzing cellphone.
"Who is that?" he asked, voice no longer soft and delicate, as he left the comfort of your arms to retrieve your phone. "And why do they keep texting you?"
You chuckled, amused by his frustration. "I'll put my phone on Do Not Disturb. I'm sorry, I didn't know it annoyed you so much." You reached out to grab the phone from him, but to your surprise he wrestled it away from you.
"You didn't answer my question. Who is this?"
He tapped the screen on, illuminating the dark room. He squinted, eyes adjusting to the brightness, as he tried to make out the sender's name.
"Jacob?" he glanced down at you. His eyebrows were furrowed together, and you could tell he was genuinely getting angry. "Who's Jacob?"
You tried to grab the phone from him again. "He's my partner for a group project. Why are you so mad? There's nothing going on between us."
"Nothing going on between you? Then why is he texting you at 12:34 AM?"
"Probably because he's up doing homework still."
"Unlock your phone. I want to read what he said."
"Is that not a huge violation of my privacy?" you asked exasperatedly. "Look, it's really not that deep. He's a random guy in my class who was assigned to work with me on this stupid project, and--"
"Then prove it," he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose. "I don't know why this has to be so hard."
You froze. Prove it? "You don't... trust me?"
Now it was his turn to freeze up. Your eyes were wide, filled with a sort-of shocked daze. He was afraid you'd start crying if he kept pressing the matter. "I do, sweetheart, but you know how paranoid I get about these things," he sighed, dropping his head onto the nape of your neck -- something he always did when he wanted you to comfort him. You collapsed a little under his weight, but you didn't react.
"You're paranoid because you don't trust me," you said coldly.
"I do trust you!" he insisted, all anger gone from his voice, replaced with a soft neediness. "It's him I don't trust! What if he tries to take you away from me?"
When you didn't say anything, he whined into your shoulder and gave it a little kiss. "I'm sorry," he muttered.
"Nobody's taking me away from you," you assured him at last, bringing a hand to the back of his head. He melted into your touch.
"I'm sorry I doubted you in the slightest."
"It's okay. I forgive you." You sighed a breath of relief. Finally, it was over. These little jealous bouts of your poor boyfriend really did get on your nerves.
"Can you still block him, though?"
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