#jujutsu kaisen mahito

[mist1e]

Mahito is a summer child with a soft spot for little critters.

[densu030]

I feel like Choso

🌸

[yanderenightmare]

Mahito

♡ TW: NSFW, noncon, psychological torture

♡ FEM reader

Mahito is so scary because you're the only one who sees him. 

You can't tell your friends, you can't call the cops, you can't even discuss it with your therapist for fear of being committed. 

You're all alone with him—half the time convinced you’re going insane.

He doesn't even need to kidnap you. Why would he? He likes your cozy apartment. To see you in your natural habitat with all your personal trinkets. Your books, your decorations, the contents of your fridge, your makeup, your clothes, not to mention the soft warmth of your bed…

Sure, his sewer has its charm, but you probably wouldn’t like it there very much. Not that it would stop him, but he’s sure you’d be boring if all you did was stay cooped up there all day. 

This is much more interesting. To be there when you come home from work, having trifled through all your belongings, dragged everything out—made a mess like a new puppy would. To watch you try to cling to your sanity, going about life, trying to live it normally even when he’s right there on your sofa wanting to dish about how much you loath your pissy boss or that loud neighbor and what fun it might be to kill them.

You brush him off as intrusive thoughts—a manifestation within your mind. That’s the only explanation that allows you to keep your wits with you.

But it’s become hard to bring anyone home. Even though others can't see him, he’ll walk about your friends and the odd date and comment on all the things they do, ridiculing them when they say something cheesy, feigning puking before giving it away with a snicker, then asking you why you bother hanging out with them at all. And you wonder if that’s what you really think… why else would a figment of your imagination say something like that?

No. You decide. He doesn’t represent your thoughts. He’s just… a roommate who knows no boundaries. 

Funny enough, you don’t really recognize that he’s any dangerous before you’re getting dressed after a shower, opening a drawer on your dresser you rarely look in—only to find it overfilled with dozens of tiny shrunken heads.

You scurry back on the floor with your hand clasped over your mouth until your back meets your bed—skin crawling. There’s no air left in your lungs from the shock to produce any such thing as a scream—so instead, you start heaving—then crying.

“Oh—I was wondering when you’d find them!” A cheer is heard from your bedroom threshold.

Your eyes pan to look at him—or it. Mahito, with a big grin on his face—clapping as though impressed by your performance.

“Wh-what– what is this?” You splutter, trying not to throw up—casting shifty glances over at the lump that had fallen to the floor—its face twisted with agony, unrecognizable, but you think you still knew… “What have you done?”

It doesn’t smell of rot, but something else—like unwashed clothing – sweat and piss and shit—you don’t understand how you hadn’t smelled it before. You don’t understand how you hadn’t heard it before—the moaning, though only in hoarse weak voices, still there, in a chorus, crying in pain.

“I’ve been studying them.” He says—casually, padding across the floor before bending down to pick the one up.

He looked at it with disappointment, throwing it up and catching it like one would a baseball—then clicked his tongue. 

“But I must say you’ve got boring taste… I don’t feel like I learned much of use from any of them at all.” 

He drops it to the floor in a fleshy splat, and you cringed anew—wanting to crawl away, wanting to get out, to call the police—maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to be committed—maybe there was something genuinely wrong with you…

Mahito doesn't share your concerns, though. He’s got his mind on other things. 

“I think I’ll learn better through practice.”

You don’t realize what he’s talking about before you’re being lifted up on the bed and then pushed down against it.

His lean but muscular frame has you dwarfed as he crawls after you—caging you between his arms and legs.

“I wouldn’t mind the floor, but I’m sure you’d prefer the bed. That’s how you humans usually like it, right?” He smiles—as though he’s doing you a favor. 

He’s taken off his usual tunic—showcasing a pale grey chest patchworked together in crude stitches—and you don’t really understand why you’d ever conjure something that looked like it. So human, yet still… so not. 

“I didn’t know what size you’d want—they were all so different—but I think bigger is better, isn’t it?”

It doesn’t register before you feel the weight of it on your stomach. 

Fat and warm, ridged with veins and hard against you. 

Looking down, feeling the situation settle on your skin like the raw cold—you realize, though you don’t understand it—Mahito isn’t just some imaginary friend. 

Whatever he is—he’s neither friend nor imaginary.

Your chest flares. “Mahito, no – ”

Your hands fly to try and push him off, but they’re easily caught. His fingers stretch inhumanly like playdough, using only one hand to reign in both wrists, pinning them to the pillow above you.

“No? Still too small?” He asks, as though your uproar had been a cry for more—his voice in a playful lilt. “I can make it bigger if you like~”

You squirm when the thing between your thighs grows an inch—swelling up into something fatter than your wrist—weighty and twitching atop you. 

It alone churns your guts, but the sight of his face gleaming so innocently makes it all so much worse. 

You whimper as he drags a rude finger through your folds—bluntly poking at your hole.

“You’re supposed to be wet, no?” He posed, keen eyes watching your face grimace in discomfort—drilling his digit inside you despite it. 

When knuckle-deep, he curled it, nail scraping into the gummy of your tender walls—making your whole body twist with an ache, shaking your head while sinking your teeth into your lip.

“Stop-” You croaked pitifully, still trying to wring your wrists free—but the hand keeping them jailed had hardened into something that was no longer skin.

He just yawned at your struggle. “So noisy...” Bored while looking down at you and the ugly way your lips curled at his crude fingering—but then his eyes widened. “Wait—oh! I get it now! So, this is what kissing is for…”

He didn’t give you much time to turn away before his mouth locked on yours—more in an attempt to swallow than to kiss, feeding you his tongue—which felt so much longer than it should be—winding through you until it licked your gag-reflex and made you choke.

You tensed in response, clenching the finger prodding you—and he took it as an invitation to squeeze another in—making you squeal out a sob in his mouth. 

But though it was a cruel ministration, it was enough to tickle the instinct—dragging wet out from within you, bathing the digits that now slid with greater ease in and out.

“See~ I told you I’d learn better through practice...” He mumbled against your lips—having felt the change—also noticing the quiet that befell you… looking so cute beneath him. 

He chuckled—the taste of your kiss still warm and wet on his lips.

“That really did shut you up, hm~ you humans are so funny.”

That thing resting heavily on your belly does a little jump, and you flinch with it. Left panting after being throat-fucked by a tongue—you’re really only able to shake your head as he slips the beastly thing down between your thighs—its fat head licking your clit on its way until kissing your entrance.

Two fingers haven't done you any justice—nothing could—to prep you for something of that size.

“I think this is correct…” He muses, nudging himself against the slim coin-sized hole—looking a little confused while he did so—though not exactly unsure of himself… more as though it was the whole procedure in and of itself that was at fault and not him. He was just following instructions, after all.

Sucking his teeth at the tautness, he continued to press the tip through you. 

A whine was ripped from your chest as it arched off the bed—thighs quaking on each side of his hips, kept spread despite wanting to force themselves shut.

“It’s better if you relax.” He offered then, though without much sympathy. Sounding almost jaded—as though you were keeping him waiting. 

But then a thumb pressed down on your clit, forcing another jolt to rush through you. 

“Women like to be touched here, right?” He rubbed crass circles into it—worse than amateurishly—rough patterns that bore no real intention of making you feel good. 

Then his mouth slid from your mouth, down your neck—only to sink teeth in your tit.

“And here~” He giggled while nomming your nipple, rolling the little nib between his teeth before flicking over it with his tongue again and again, sucking on it harshly.

None of it made you relax like he’d suggested. Either way, he continued to sink his length one thick chub at a time as fast as your hole allowed. And soon enough, he reached your end before your hole could reach his. But that was no issue…

The hand on your clit, cupped your mound instead—and beneath it, where warmth pooled, you felt inner things alter—change, rearrange, allowing the giant member inside you to sink deeper even though you knew there couldn’t possibly be any deeper to go.

“Wow~ look at that…” He awed when his pelvis smushed against your mound—kneading into your clit as he pressed a curious hand down on the bulge he was making in your belly.

Strings of drool stuck from his lips to your chest—and a sick look pooled in his eyes.

Thicker and thicker breaths left him. He swallowed thickly. Barely blinking.

“I think I get it now…” His voice had shed its humorous tone, now sounding soft with something you didn’t want to have the attention of. “It’s like our souls are playing together…” 

His hand stroked your stomach—like he was petting something you couldn't see.

“Feels good.”

♡ MAHITO masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[lilacxquartz]

part 6 of 19 of kinktober: foursome

mahito x reader

plot: mahito surprises you by splitting his body into three copies of himself — themes: group sex, mahito changing his body to have tentacles, tongue throating, smut, anal, m/m/m/f, foursomes, f!reader — a/n: all consensual here, wanted to play around with such an imagine — w.c: ~1.6k

kinktober masterlist • main masterlist • ao3

“Can I help you with something?” you asked Mahito who was otherwise stood right before you; his eyes so dazed yet so focused at the same time, as though wide with fleeting wonder.

“Wanna see something fun?” he asked after a moment of unsettling silence.

Knowing Mahito, you couldn’t help but feel some sort of dread nestle within the depths of your stomach. Albeit reluctantly, you however did nod as to confirm your curiosity.

Noticing your discomfort, the patch faced cursed spirit giggled to himself rather suspiciously but seemed to be restraining himself into a smoother, more casual demeanour.

You then watched with wary eyes as he did something not only strange, but surely impossible.

Even for him.

Like the tethering flame of a dry wick kissing a burning flame, Mahito slowly emerged as a secondary, seemingly separated life form. You stared with a wide, unblinking gaze as his body began to split, plopping out another version of him.

It took a hot moment for you to even process what was going on. A thought that you must have been hallucinating had crossed your mind for a second, but no matter how you tried to shake off what you were seeing; you couldn’t.

You faltered for a second longer before regaining your voice again, quizzing him at an almost bewildered tone, “I beg your finest pardon?”

“Impressed?” the Mahito closest to you had asked. The clone version. His voice was equally smooth and seemingly equally just as playful as his original counterpart.

Taking a deep breath, you closed your eyes for a moment, trying to ground yourself while taking a long, deep breath. With a still shaky tone, you tried your best to keep it all together, but you couldn’t quite retain your composure completely, “I’m not… too surprised, actually. I’m just floored that this is even possible to begin with.”

The two of them laughed in response, both sounding eerily similar yet somehow vaguely different. It was very clearly that they both found this whole situation deeply amusing, although there was a slight inkling of something else that lingered beneath the surface. It wasn’t quite unlike Mahito to prod at your boundaries and test the limits of what you could and could not handle, but it didn’t seem to be going in such a direction.

Before you had a chance to gather your thoughts and finalise them however, the cursed spirit managed to split off once more and reveal a third addition to his two other copies.

With fluttering eyes, you locked in on the sight before you.

There were three of them.

Three.

Your mouth opened to say something, anything, but no such words came.

Just what the hell was this, exactly?

“What’s the matter?” one of them asked, their voice taunting yet somehow alluring at the same time.

“What’s the matter…?” you repeated in a strained whisper, your mind still racing to process whatever mess he had plunged you into now. Which one of them was even speaking to you right now, anyway? Was this the original? Or was it one of the other… clones?

Another Mahito that hovered near the side of the other two decided to chime in as well, “You’re looking a little overwhelmed, huh?”

Was… was this one the original? You couldn’t even tell anymore. Although, there was one version of him that was surely unsettling. The one that lingered towards the side, watching you from the shadows. That particular version of him had no playfulness leftover in his demeanour, with all accounts of his nonchalant personality replaced with something dread inducing instead.

“Just think,” one of the more laidback versions spoke up, tearing your attention away, “the more of me, the better right?”

The other one seemed to agree with himself, “Yeah, that’s right. Now you get to have three times the fun.”

You hadn’t really quite noticed it right away, but the three of them had managed to close in on you by now, walking you up against the living room wall. The sensation of the cool brick pressing against your spine threw you off a little, prompting you to flinch.

Yet, the three Mahitos were undeterred, still easing as closely possible towards you. It wasn’t that you were put off by this development—it was quite the opposite actually—but you didn’t want to admit it. That in the presence of three of him, you were flustered, maybe even aroused.

And given the hungry looks on each of their faces, it was highly likely that they all had the same idea going on. You paused for a moment, narrowing your eyes at the sight. Of course they were all thinking the same thing, surely. They were still one person—one curse, after all—just sectioned off into three.

Ah, how confusing it all was, but you were slowly losing your ability to otherwise care, blinded by your own arousal.

The middle Mahito pressed his body against your own, trapping you between him and the wall. His hand snaked around your waist, coiling down to your core like organic springs, while the others manoeuvred around however and wherever they could.

Dipping your arm below your hips, the middle Mahito continued onwards with his pursuit by pushing down at your jeans and your underwear in unison, dropping the fabric down to the floor. His fingers then closed and pointed, webbing together and morphing into a tentacle-like appendage that speared into the enveloping pull of your cunt.

The quieter, more unnerving Mahito turned your head off to the side while the middle one continued to drive himself into your body, by pressing his lips against yourself and slipping his tongue inside. Similar to the middle version, the fleshy muscle seemed to only lengthen itself, vining into the back of your throat and quite literally taking your breath away.

Muffled whines and moans slipped out of your throat as you barely processed the progression of events. The writhing pass in between your legs had bloated and swelled, pushing inhuman lengths of reach. It partially hurt, but also felt pleasurable in a way that was unlike anything you have ever felt before. At last however, the tongue retracted from your throat, allowing you to pass a low whimper on its removal.

The one opposite off to the side didn’t give you too much time to think however, turning you over towards him with an impatient gesture and repeating the actions of the quieter one—of who positioned himself right behind you next. While both your pussy and your throat were occupied, he freed his erection from slightly pulling down at his trousers and position himself at your slightly parted cheeks. Spitting onto his tip, he coated the head of cock in saliva before pressing it against the opening of your ass, easing himself into the tight position, though allowing you to take him in slowly.

“Keep up,” the quieter one murmured, the playfulness still somehow absent from his voice unlike with the other two. Something about such a development was both thrilling yet worrying, but you didn’t have neither the time nor the opportunity to think.

You tried your best to keep up, feeling his throbbing length press become swallowed by the encasing muscles, feeling ever so slightly overwhelmed at the prospect of being filled up by three of him. The one tightly packed in your behind, pushing himself back and forth in heated, almost feverish motion. It almost felt like he was tearing you apart, splitting into you with every grunted plunge.

Meanwhile, the one in the front was quickly getting a rise from within you. Morphing veins and ridges over his twisting arm, he elicited raw pleasure from filling you out in every sense of the word. His other hand focused on creating a suction-like addition, that he held clean over your clit, further feeding into the sensation.

Thoroughly stuffed to the brim by all three of them, your body began to quickly writhe and convulse as it succumbed to almost numbing bliss.

“Aw, are you going to cum already?” the one in front of you teased, although his tone of voice seemed to be almost endearing.

All you could do was give a slight nod of your occupied head, still being throated by his other self pushing his elongated tongue back and forth down your throat while the other continued to pound away ruthlessly into your ass.

Still keeping the sensation going, he removed his other hand from your clit, easing down to his knees instead while keeping his arm still thrusting into you. Propping open his mouth, he speared his tongue over towards your clit in a similar fashion to how the other two used their tongues, driving a focus on the sensitive bud. The wet muscle flicked and lapped over the nub, bringing you closer and closer towards your finish.

It was swift due to the overwhelming amount of both pleasure and pressure alike, but your lower stomach soon had found its limit. In a tight squeeze, your thighs quivered and clenched tight against his arm, while your hips stuttered from an intensely milked out orgasm.

Melting against the wall in much sought after recovery, the other two withdrew from you and seemed to fuse back together with the original, who seemed to be the one in the middle. You blinked at the sight, but didn’t question it anymore, needing to rest more than to process the madness he just demonstrated.

“Now imagine if i could make even more of me,” Mahito laughed to himself, settling right beside you to join you in your rest.

You gulped, unable to quite imagine the prospect of even more of him, feeling your cheeks redden from the very thought in near anticipation.

With a weary light hearted scoff, you leaned your head over his shoulder and felt your eyes droop shut. “Yeah, imagine…”

(Although a part of you couldn’t wait for all this to happen again. And again. …And again.)

[cutest-livv-bean]

I'M SORRY BUT HE'S THE SEXIEST

[paranoiddreams]

Perv!Mahito!!!!, stalking, creep behavior™️, breaking and entering lol, pantie stealing, masterbation (m & f)

perv!Mahito who saw you walking down the street one day and could not believe his two cursed eyes. Because who is this beautiful human, and why are they all alone?

perv!Mahito who never completely understood what lust felt like, and why people were so driven by it, now starts to feel like a scientist when they’re on to something.

perv!Mahito who feels himself get hard without having to transfigure himself for the first time as he watches you walk through the park alone one night. Don’t you know how dangerous it is to be alone at this time of night for humans? Especially pretty ones?

perv!Mahito who, of course, finds a way to break into your home while you’re out. He swoons at the sight of your room, looking so lived in and imperfect, not like those boring human furniture magazines.

perv!Mahito who can’t help but steal a few pairs of your panties before he leaves. He riffles through your drawers like a madman, then decides last minute to grab a handful of your dirty clothes from the laundry basket.

perv!Mahito who feels a new sense of euphoria when he brings your dirty panties to his nose and smells the delicious scent of your cunt. He imagines you as he closes his eyes, one hand holding the cloth to his face, the other making its way into his pants.

perv!Mahito who strokes his dick for so long he’s forgotten how many times he’s came. He only stops when your panties have lost their scent, to which he simply tells himself: it’s alright, I’ll go back and get more later…

perv!Mahito who starts standing outside your bedroom window at night, and starts to feel his cock twitch in his pants when he hears you questions yourself why so many of your clothes are going missing lately.

perv!Mahito who loves it even more when he hears your soft moans as you touch yourself in your bed. It’s routine for him to start touching himself along with you on these nights, nearly cumming with each whimper and whine you let out. But he only lets himself cum when you do, his high even more potent knowing that you’re touching yourself along with him even if you don’t know it.

perv!Mahito who decides he needs you to become his new personal experiment.

[eepyb0x]

Mahito suffers from pretty princess disorder <33

[icycoldninja]

FLUFFCEMBER DAY#9: (Mahito x Reader)

FLUFF HEADCANNONS

-Brings you back presents from his little adventures--except these presents are often made up of limbs...and sometimes organs...

-Loves frolicking in fields with blossoming flowers, as ridiculous as that seems. He loves to jump and roll around, giggling and laughing the entire time. If you don't join in, he will simply tackle you to the ground.

-Is always stealing your clothes, blankets, socks, and everything else. You don't have one belonging in your whole house that hasn't been taken and used by him at some point.

-Talks in his sleep, though he never says anything worth remembering. Occasionally, he'll mumble something about how much he loves you, but not much else.

-Never understand why humans love watching television so much, saying that observing others acting out some boring story was "just a demonstration of human inferiority". Then you showed him horror movies and he changed his mind.

-He finds that he can relate to horror movies because the monsters are just like cursed spirits, and for that reason, forces you to watch even the most frightening films with him.

-Transfigures himself into various forms to either amuse or terrify you, usually managing to achieve both.

-Regularly sits on you, not even in a funny or cute way, he just walks up, plops his butt in your lap, and remains there for hours on end. Yours is a painful existence.

-One day he discovered board games, and from that point on, you were required to play with him at least once every night.

-Sneaks into the bathroom while you're taking a shower and shows no remorse for his actions. Sometimes you'll find him waiting in the bathtub for you, or you'll have the displeasure of watching him slither out of the showerhead, giggling. It's truly horrifying.

-Allows you to prod and pull on his stitches and never gets mad when you accidentally pull his limbs off.

-Likes being read bedtime stories, except he doesn't enjoy happy fairytales, he prefers creations of a darker nature. Think HP Lovecraft or something similar.

-When he hears a song he likes, he wiggles his feet. This is how you can tell if he's really enjoying what you're showing him.

-All in all, the cutest son of a bitch to have ever walked the planet. You bagged yourself a keeper, now take good care of him!

[sharphey-cheesy-biscuit]

Prepare dislikes

[aaahhhmalpa]

[mist1e]

Yes, sometimes he does look a bit insane, and we love him for that.

[genesisforreal]

I think they'd be very proud if they saw him

[yanderenightmare]

Mahito

TW: slight NSFW, degradation, dehumanization, Stockholm Syndrome, Mahito in and of himself, platonic to romantic yandere

fem reader

Mahito makes it a point to treat you like an animal – his human pet.

Ever since he first took you. The cage, the collar, the petting, and the treats. 

Most of the time, when he talks to you, he acts as though you’re incapable of understanding complex conversation, using only a few words and simple commands – a smile stretching his face, stroking your head when you do good. Other times, he acts as though he’s forgotten you can even speak at all. The worst part is – you don’t really know whether he’s faking or not. 

He takes you for walks and plays with you – letting you off the leash for a game of hide´n´seek in the forest where he chases you down barefoot – he doesn’t really care about the rules or that he’s breaking the basic premise of the game. He just laughs, liking the way you pant and wince against the mossy floor after he’s hunted and tackled you down for the umpteenth time, sweaty while you beg him to take you home with teary eyes and puffy cheeks. Home – being where he keeps you.

You used to refuse, you used to run away and fight him when he caught you – with scratching and clawing and biting and barking, but you soon learned to behave. He told you he had no use for rabid pets and threatened you with transfiguration, warning you not to bore him, and ultimately – after having seen him twist enough people into mockeries – you stopped doing much more than obey.

You’re constantly blue with bruises and stinging from scratches – but you wash in the hot springs when Mahito brings you along – soaking your aching muscles in the warmth while he cheats in playing Marco Polo, sneaking a peak and tagging you with a laugh – awfully resembling that of a child. You swear you often have to shake the feeling of mothering him out of your head before doing something regrettable.

Other times, he’ll take you to the beach. You asked him once how it was possible, but he’d just booped your nose with a smile and told you it was something you wouldn’t be able to wrap your little head around – and, looking towards the horizon of the never-ending sea, inside what you could have sworn was a concrete building, you couldn’t help but agree with him.

Sometimes you see his friends and hide behind him. He thinks it funny and excuses you, laughing out that you’re shy. And you suppose he’s right. 

You used to be shy around him, too. You don’t know when you accepted it – being his pet.

Lately, he’s been inviting you to sleep with him in his hammock instead of your cage. And everything except your left brain betrays you as you lie snug against his side, with his arm softly holding you around your midriff. He’s so warm, and your whole body feels cottony at the pleasantness of another’s embrace after having gone so long without it. Actually, you almost cry, resting your head atop the rise and fall of his chest, closing your eyes to the steady beat of his heart thumping just beneath your ear. In the moment, you even forget he isn’t human. It just feels nice. 

You don’t even mind when he dances his fingers up your arm in ticklish touches. Instead, you nuzzle into him with something so vulnerable as a moan leaving your lips. 

His eyes travel from reading the pages of his book to the blissful look on your face and the way your smaller hand grips his tunic – but he doesn’t make much of it aside from raising a brow.

He’s seen scenes like this at the theatre – sappy love stories Junpei used to cry his eyes out over – awkward teenagers in dark silent bedrooms and clothes on the floor, then kisses and hugs and naked flesh and sweat and heavy breaths and moaning. He can’t deny it makes him curious despite never having felt any personal need to truly understand any of it. It's a human thing after all.

Your warmth makes him wonder, though. He’s always enjoyed the soft feel of your skin on his fingertips, whether you’re trembling or not – it has an interesting texture – warm and doughy. He could imagine it would feel good pressed against his body, too.

Without a word, he tugs your shirt up your torso, pulling on it until you raise your arms and allow him to remove it entirely. You became a little tense then, hiding your naked chest from him by folding your arms. 

He takes off his tunic just as casually, and you don’t understand it, but suddenly you feel a little blushy. But you don’t say anything – almost as though you’ve forgotten you can speak just the way he pretends.

His skin’s ashen and pale – but his torso is just like a normal guy’s – toned with muscles, two nipples, and a belly button. Oh, and stitches. Like a patchwork.

He lifts his arm, and you take the cue, laying down again – now skin to skin. He’s even warmer now, you note – and something about the feel of bare skin makes your head hot. And you can't help how that heat spreads between your thighs – but you keep it to yourself.

He lifts his book and begins reading it again, turning the pages with the same hand he holds it up with. But his free hand travels from resting on your hip to your chest.

You suppress a shudder by biting your lip, and he cups your tit with absentminded curiosity – paying you not a glance while his eyes lazily skim the words in front of him, giving your breast a firm squeeze.

He keeps track of your small shufflings despite you trying to keep them to yourself – charting what touches elicit your reactions. Soon, he finds your nipple, feeling it stiffen with yearning beneath his thumb, pushing it like a button only for it to bud out again. You stifle a sound he hasn’t heard from you before.

He reads his book finished, then lets it drop flat on the floor beneath you. His statement is like a resolution. “Let’s play a new game.”

You peek up at him from the nook of his arm. “Game?” You ask, but he's already maneuvering your body despite it causing an unsteady swing in the hammock.

He ignores both it and your question. Giving you those very curt commands one would say to a trained pet. “Up on my lap.”

You follow. “Okay-”

You’re straddling him next. Bare-chested while he lifts both hands to cup each tit.

You’re fully flushed now, face steadily getting dewy from the heat as you look away – bowing your head off to the side with your teeth sunk into your lip.

He’s playing. Groping the pillows with fingers now swallowed in the fat before releasing again, twisting the perky nips with eyes feeling a little foggy at the sight. His mouth suddenly waters, thinking about how it looks as though they were made to be eaten – no, not eaten exactly, but something else, something similar...

Indulging the thought, he leans in and envelopes the sensitive things between his lips, sucking on them with his warm wet tongue circling and flicking the point.

Old instincts resurface at the pleasant feeling and you grind your hips down on his lap without thinking.

He falls victim to it, too – taking your hips in both hands while grinding whatever it is that’s gaining weight between his thighs up into that place between yours.

The feeling is more than nice, forcing his entire body to be both mellow and tense with a hunger for more all at the same time.

He presses his face entirely against your chest, nuzzling between the soft mounds there with his cheek. Hands slipping from your hips to pull you closer and grind you harder down on his lap, slithering his arms around the small of your back and hugging you hard.

And you don’t want to think about how fucked up it is when you need it so badly – rolling your hips down, riding that bump you feel nudged against your crotch – like it's the only source of comfort you've had for months. You think about its size – it feels big – you can’t help but picture it – long and pale, probably with a curve and a sharp spine – fuck, you need it – want it pounding your guts, want his pelvis slapping against your clit as his fat cock shoves against your womb – filling you up with thick and filthy warmth-

You still with a shudder when you climax, breaths heavy and shaky. In the blind chase, you’d caressed his head and held it to your chest like a lover would, hugging him close with your body pressed flat against him.

He’s also panting, hot and damp huffs dewy against your skin.

There's something sticky in his pants… and he could have sworn your souls had merged there for a moment...

He’s never felt that before.

[lilacxquartz]

A SIGHT FOR SORE EYES

part 1 of 3 • mahito x reader

summary: following an accident that destroyed your vision, you begin to suspect that your boyfriend, your caretaker, was actually replaced by an imposter.

tags/themes: body horror, psychological horror, reader insert, disturbing themes, dead dove, dark

ao3 • masterlist • more series • part 2 >

1. Fade Away

The accident itself came out of nowhere.

All you could remember was the squeal of the tires and the slamming force that threw you forward against the dashboard. The glass around you held for maybe a second before it collapsed and fell like sharp, near lethal snow.

Soon after, darkness followed, but not the slow pull of sleep or even death, but quite literally something pitch black and devoid of colour that crept into your vision, or lack of.

Before you knew it, the world was taken away from you and as was your remaining hope.

Essentially, you were left unable to see.

At least maybe temporarily, or so the doctors had otherwise claimed, feeding you a false sense of promise that the light could one day return. Days, maybe weeks all blurred together in perpetual darkness otherwise, so it didn’t take too long for your hope to fade.

The recommendation was to wear eyepatches over your eyes, or rather, a dual patch to both protect your eyes as they heal as well to hopefully make the gradual return of vision not feel so overwhelming.

You hated the things if you were honest; the very feel of them resting atop your eyes only served as a mocking reminder of just how easy it was to ruin the course of your life within mere seconds.

Your boyfriend however, as sweet as he was, tried to see you through it all. His calm and kind voice was the only consistent thing throughout your entire experience. He was always there to guide you when you couldn’t find your way—telling you it was all going to be okay—even if that word no longer made sense to you.

What was it… to be okay anymore?

Everyday, you looked forward to his calming voice and his gentle touch, except for when you didn’t; at least not anymore.

It was a subtle shift in the air, but something had changed.

When he walked into the room, something about his presence felt off. He greeted you the same way that he did before and the sound of his voice was familiar enough, but there was a different quality to it. It wasn’t wrong, at least not exactly, but something about the way he spoke had suddenly felt unnatural.

The way he touched you felt slightly… off, too. His touches were usually light against your skin; yet whoever this was, seemed to apply an uncomfortable amount of weight against you.

The scent in the room, the scent of his cologne that he wore was the exact same, although it was certainly faint, as though stale.

Maybe you were just going insane…?

It wasn’t that unlikely, you supposed. The trauma was life altering enough and after being in a loop of total darkness for the last couple of weeks, it was highly probable that the very last strings of your sanity were finally on their last threads. This whole thing was disorienting enough, since you essentially lost what you knew as the entire world in just a matter of minutes, so maybe it was the case of your senses being elevated a little too much.

It was a possibility, right?

Your mind was probably to blame, playing sneaky and cruel little tricks on you and feeding into the exhausting paranoia of losing one of your most vital senses.

The feeling however still persisted deep down. It was a creeping unease that would sink to the depths of your stomach and bubble away into poorly digested yet festering doubt every time he would reunite with you.

His laughter, while soft and familiar, now carried a hollow tone. His breath felt somehow hotter, his words felt almost… rehearsed. Your heightened remaining senses be damned; you knew it in the core of your very being that you weren’t crazy for picking up on such things.

It was the way his footsteps walked down a methodical path on his way to be with you. or how he hesitated to say your name, instead calling you sickly sweet nicknames that he had otherwise never before in his life used on you.

It was strange, but the company of someone you supposedly had loved for the last five years, had become almost foreign to you.

At one point, you reached for his hand while lying down next to him in bed and your fingers grazed against his, only for you to pull back away in an instant. His soft palms were now calloused and you could feel strange sorts of sutures line up his wrist in brushing retaliation.

You continued to try and drill in the idea that this had to have been all in your head out of desperate delusion, hoping, praying even, that it was the fault of the darkness for twisting everything into something so vile.

But still, that nagging feeling persisted. It wasn’t fear clouding your judgement; it was an innate warning to trust your gut to understand that something was actually terribly wrong.

You didn’t dare question him however, because after all, this person—whoever he actually was—was the only one who had fed you, bathed you and cared for you. How could it not be him? You kept telling yourself that it had to be because you were otherwise stumped on all other plausible explanations.

Whoever it was that tucked themselves away next to you in bed and idly traced haunting patterns in your skin was not the person you once knew.

It was absolutely, without a doubt, someone else.

Someone pretending to be him.

~~~

The doctors had been cautiously optimistic concerning your recovery; a phone call with the person who had initially treated you had revealed that while the accident had been devastating, your future might not be in ruins just yet. With time and provided that you were correctly taking the medicine that your boyfriend had been giving you, you should actually begin to heal.

There were signs to look out for in your returning vision; flickers of light, passing shadows and the like. They warned you that it might at times seem alarming, but it was all positive; a sign of healing, if you were lucky enough.

And much to your delight, you started to indeed notice hints of your vision returning after a while. Exercised moments without the eye patches would reveal partial sight in the form of colourful blurring patches manifesting within your view. It was something so little yet so hopeful, but you couldn’t help but cling to the fleeting glimpses of colour that painted your vision with almost elated anticipation.

Anything but constant darkness.

If you could at least see colour, even if it wasn’t so clear, then suddenly the future wasn’t as bleak as before.

Yet, every time you thought you were getting better, the progress would soon slip away every time he visited.

Just like the initial shift, it all started subtly. The brief casted moments of light would be stolen from you the second that he left the apartment, leaving you behind in a suddenly plunged black void and whenever you would mention this in a call to the doctors, they were simply perplexed. According to them, if you were seeing positive changes in your vision, then it should be improving—not deteriorating.

They told you that they would arrange for your partner to pick up a changed strain for the medication, hoping that an adjustment to your treatment should guide you in the correct direction.

But try as you might, the pattern continued to repeat itself, again and again.

You would heal and then the lights would go out.

You could have sworn that it was his doing somehow, even if the assigned blame was insane in its own right. With every touch from his tainted fingertips, he would somehow weaken you despite being otherwise gentle. It was so odd, because it was like he eluded poison from every stroke against the contours of your flesh.

You soon grew to fear contact with him as a result; dreading any sort of contact with the impostor who claimed to be your lover, lest he would damage you again. It was as though every time his fingertips brushed against your skin, he changed something about you and with every recurring visit, it only got worse.

You kept trying to talk to him about it, hoping that his once warm personality would return and tell you that you were wrong about your assumptions but you never got such comfort.

Again and again, you would ask him something of the same sort of variation, “I’m getting worse, aren’t I?”

But there would be no comfort that followed.

“Don’t be silly,” he would often taunt, almost, his words always so playful as they flicked off of his tongue with hidden venom. “Why would you feel worse, huh? That’s so funny to me, because you shouldn’t. I’m taking such good care of you, silly. You should be feeling better.”

His voice was soft when he spoke too, like smooth dripping honey against your weary ears. “Maybe you’ve got it all wrong, even. You’re feeling worse from me not being around. Don’t worry though, I’ll keep you running, safe and sound.”

His words were now more erratic, almost playful. He no longer carried the same patterns that your partner once did with his speech. You wanted nothing more than to pull away from this monster—because that’s what he must have been—to escape from him, to scream at him to leave you alone because how dare he pretend to be someone you loved?

And yet you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Instead, you did nothing, resigning yourself to just sitting there, laying there as he would continue to purr falsely planted reassurances into your ears with promises that you prayed that he would not keep.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” he would say, “I’ll be right here, always. Watching every last bit of you unravel—I mean heal. We’re in this together, right? I’ll stay with you until there’s nothing left—I mean, until you’re fixed right up.”

You could only sigh and endure, the ache behind your eyes getting gradually worse, as if something was pushing and pulling inside of your skull somehow; messing around internally, poking and prodding in places that should have remained untouched.

It didn’t take long for your body to feel wrong, like it wasn’t put together correctly anymore.

Like it didn’t belong to you anymore.

You could have sworn that your skull was contorting under your skin, slowly twisting and waning through whatever pressure his passing touch would apply.

Sometimes, late at night (or what you assumed to be night), you would lie awake and feel things moving inside of you; slowly, and deliberately—as though something was crawling beneath your flesh.

And all you could do was just sit there.

Broken, blind and waiting for the next visit.

For the next time that this thing wearing your boyfriend’s persona would return and wrap its hands around your body once again, uttering sweet little lies while tearing you apart from the inside.

“It’s all gonna be okay,” he would murmur or rather, mock, “I’m here for you, after all.”

But it wasn’t going to be okay.

That much you did know.

In fact, you had a very good idea that nothing was ever going to be okay ever again.

[cutest-livv-bean]

Ugh.. Why Mahito's SO fine?🛐

[paranoiddreams]

👉👈 Just wanted to say I love your writing especially the mahito stuff and I hope u have a great day

tw. implied kidnapping!!!, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome

You’re such a little cutie patootie I decided to cook smth new up just for you☺️. Kinda new bc I’ve had this in the drafts for a while, but I decided to tweak some things and bam here it is. I hope you enjoy kinda nervous to post it lol!! 🩵

The sound of Mahito’s soft breathing is all you can hear in the dark, decrepit, room you’re in. It’s an anomaly, really, the rhythm of his breathing, the way his soft pink lips part to exhale. You know that he’s not human, he’s far from it, but still, somehow, he is sleeping like an angel. You wonder if you put your ear against his chest if you’ll hear a beating heart; you doubt it.

The cold chains around your ankle keeping you contained in this room with him is enough to tell you that you won’t. A sick monster capable of this couldn’t have a beating heart—no.

But then again, there was something so…alive about his beauty. You could feel it rushing through you every time his skin touched yours, which you initially blamed on some sick supernatural power he has over you; but now as you watch him sleep, you’re beginning to this that this fondness is one of your own.

A seed planted by him, yes, but only thrives the more you stay up at night like this, watching him sleep. The pale blue of his skin, the darker shade of his hair, and the heterochromia of his eyes, they’re all engraved in your mind.

So much so that you see him in your dreams. You feel his soft skin and hear his even softer voice. You hate it, waking up flushed and warm thinking of this monster; so you stay up all night.

But that only continues the cycle of watching him sleep peacefully, then contemplating whether he is a blessing or a curse.