devildomcrybaby - Tumblr blog

[devildomcrybaby]

A lot of people love to point at a fictional fucked up guy like "I can fix him" but like. Listen. Tomura Shigaraki could fix me.

[devildomcrybaby]

crush (mahito x reader, 1.5k)

cw: self-ship coded, reader is implied to be chubby, mahito is himself warning!!!. non-consensual voyeurism. reader is afab, wears a dress and makeup and lingerie, is in a relationship with nanami. not sfw

“What does it mean,” the curse asks Geto, his mismatched eyes far more serious than the man has ever seen them, “to want to touch somebody? Not just to change them; not just to feel the shape of their soul underneath the skin. But . . . just because you want to know what they feel like?”

Geto doesn’t respond for a moment. Mahito’s curiosity is certainly boundless; but there is usually a faint crook to the corner of his mouth, a laugh in his voice. He usually finds all of this - the little foibles of what it is to be human - amusing more than anything else. Geto - at least, the man wearing Geto’s face - thinks back on his own long life, and feels a smile tugging at his own not-really-his mouth. 

“Mahito,” he says. “I think you have a crush.”

“A crush.” Mahito repeats the word; savours the syllable against his tongue and lips and teeth. It feels good there; at once vicious and fascinating. He knows the verb ‘to crush’ - imagines holding you against him until you squeak, until you go weak and your body turns to a boneless, helpless thing in his embrace. 

“And if I want to know what they taste like?” He presses on. “Without biting into their flesh?” He pauses. “No. I just want to know what they taste like. I’d bite as hard as I could.”

Geto laughs again, a laugh too old for the man he’s pretending to be. Mahito is the most human-like curse he has ever met; he wonders, sometimes, how much easier it would have been to experiment if he had Mahito on side hundreds of years ago. Why, the curse even seems to have figured out ‘desire’ all on his own--

“Definitely a crush,” Geto hums. “Touching and tasting? Would you want to kiss them, too? Hold them? Fuck them?”

The question leaves Mahito silent for just a moment. 

“Crush,” Mahito repeats to himself, instead of responding to Geto. It seems the conversation is over; Mahito turns away without answering any further, still murmuring that syllable under his breath. But he is smiling, now - the stitches on his face pulled taut, his eyes sparkling with what somebody optimistic might call ‘mischief’ and what somebody who understood Mahito would call ‘intent’. 

He thinks about you again, later that night. In the privacy of his hammock, with a stack of aged, foxed books by his side as he flips through them. He’d taken them from a library - simply wandered in and picked a collection from the ‘romance’ shelves, intent on understanding what it is he feels stirring in his gut when he looks at you. 

It had been an accident, the first time he had seen you. It had not been you he was following - but that 7:3 sorcerer, the one who had almost beaten him. A fascinating opponent, and a fascinating man - and Mahito was always interested in learning. He had stuck to the shadows, let his body change and ripple in order to camouflage himself, as he had followed Nanami Kento around the city. 

And in a restaurant, Nanami sitting and checking his watch, he had seen you for the first time. You’d been babbling apologies about being late, a flurry and swirl of colour and motion in a dress the colour of melted butter, and Nanami had stood up to greet you and laid a hand on your shoulder and you had gone quiet, looking up at him with a smile on glossy lips until he had kissed you. 

(Mahito had found a drugstore the next night; picked up lip glosses and swiped them over his own mouth, wondering what yours had felt like against Nanami’s. Intense, sticky flavour? Strawberries or pineapples or vanilla? He’d taken one that had shone like yours). 

He had just wanted to know what fascinated the sorcerer about you at first; dissect him, work out his weaknesses. You had seemed so different from the stolid, stoic man that Mahito had encountered - and he had read so many books, of course, about human relationships and psyche and how like calls to like but also how opposites attract . . . He had thought of it as research. 

Research to watch you go about your day to day life; grocery shopping and humming under your breath. You’d seen him, once - Mahito had felt himself tense, had grinned at you something sharp and inane and waited for you to pounce on him (a pity, he’d felt at the time, to shape you into something hideous when you were such a pretty thing to observe, like a bird in a glass cage)--

But you had smiled at him and tilted your head to the side and gone back to what you were doing. If Nanami had ever said anything to you about a curse with a patchwork face . . . clearly you had not remembered it. So you could see curses, at least (would see him, then, when he dug his fingers into the chub of your cheeks and they sunk into the soft flesh - when he harshly grabbed your chin and jolted it upwards so you could see how the light played over his stitches). 

Research, then, to fade into the background and watch you with Nanami. The way he placed a hand around your waist and you seemed to go all soft and complacent. The way he placed his mouth against yours with perfect surety. 

Research, to take the form of a crawling creature and perch himself on the branch outside the apartment you and Nanami shared. To watch you shower and wonder what it would feel like to press against you in it, hot and damp and wet, humid in a different way from the sewer. To watch you pick up piece after piece of flimsy lingerie and hold it against your body, brow furrowing in distaste at the way you looked in the mirror. 

Mahito likes the way your body looks against the frills and the flounces; likes the idea of ripping them to pieces as he bares you again. Nanami, it seems, prefers something tighter - lace, stockings, complicated straps that he traces his fingers across and smiles. 

Research, to watch how you kneel for the blond sorcerer and look up at him with devotion writ clear in your eyes. Research, to watch Nanami knot his tie around your wrists - to scuttle closer until he is on the windowsill, insect creature of too many legs and eyes, something that wouldn’t attract attention on a hot summer night - and to hear the way that Nanami speaks to you. The harsh orders that you fall over yourself to fulfil. The way your voice pitches and whines when you call him ‘Sir’. 

What would Mahito make you call him, he wonders? 

He leaves when the two of you are sweat-slicked, naked, wrapped around one another in the big bed. Frustration gnaws at a part of Mahito he didn’t know he had. He has read the romance books. He knows, without a doubt, this is what they would call ‘jealousy’, and it does not abate even when he reaches his sewers and pouts, climbing into the hammock and making it swing gently from side to side. 

He thinks about yours and Nanami’s anatomy; the part of him that had fitted into you as if it was meant to be there, that had made you arch your back and beg the man for more, please, you could take it. He touches his own stitched body; makes it swell underneath his touch, makes the thing between his thighs bigger and thicker than Nanami’s so that you wouldn’t know for sure if you could take it. Would you cry? Say it was too big? Mahito thinks perhaps he’d like that. 

The jealousy does not abate, roiling in his stomach sour and irritable. Sulking, Geto had called this. Had told Mahito to go and play with some of his toys to make it go away.

But as Mahito’s hands press into fleshy quivering masses that may once have been human, that beg him to die . . . it is only you he can think about. As he makes a human soul smaller and smaller, shriveling it to the size of a kidney bean, wondering if he could ball it up in his fist so tight that he could turn it to dust. 

A crush, Geto had said. 

He thinks about you. Thinks about how Nanami had cradled you so tightly against him, about how his hips had pressed so deeply into you that Mahito couldn’t see from his vantage point on the windowsill where one of you started and the other ended. Thinks about Nanami’s mouth pressing hungrily against yours. 

Crush. The word in his mouth, murmured in a puff of stale air - like a candy, like something to be grabbed between his teeth and shaken until he had conquered it. 

He smiles to himself; thinks about the indent of his hammock pressing into your skin until it marked you for hours, a beautiful pattern on your soft, sweet, achingly mortal body.

Crush. 

How appropriate. 

[devildomcrybaby]

77, ee cummings

[devildomcrybaby]

— Tennessee Williams, Notebooks

[devildomcrybaby]

me and my undying urge to be someone’s favorite

[devildomcrybaby]

[devildomcrybaby]

people complaining that any critique of a thing they like ruins it for them is such a skill issue. personally i can spend 10 hours a day critiquing the things i like and still enjoy them passionately and wholeheartedly

[devildomcrybaby]

good morning .

if anyone in public ever bumps into you without apologizing, chrollo steals their wallet.

[devildomcrybaby]

Gege is gonna kill off every character and in the last chapter Sukuna is gonna break the fourth wall point at us saying “your next”

Then he’s gonna warp off the page and fight us🧍🏾‍♀️🧍🏾‍♀️🧍🏾‍♀️

Don’t mind me I’m lacking sleep but seriously wtf is happening in jujutsu kaisen? I catch up on what’s happening and damn near everybody is dead or injured🙃.

[devildomcrybaby]

I love horror that's nasty and bloody and weirdly sexual. Sorry. Like it's my fault

[devildomcrybaby]

I'm seeing way too many posts lately that are basically trying to shame people into commenting on their fanfics. Yes, AO3 writers aren't a faceless content machine but AO3 readers also aren't a faceless dopamine machine where you put in a fic and you get free validation and self-esteem. I write fic, I understand how the people who make these posts feel, but everyone involved here is just a human being and getting in your head about how many comments you "should" be getting is a one-way ticket to burnout.

Also, a "fandom community" that tells readers that you think of them as evil, greedy, and entitled by default but you'll totally change your mind if they praise you is... not the sort of community I would like to participate in.

[devildomcrybaby]

sorry I said I wanted to use my teeth to break your skin and taste your blood do you still wanna go out to the arcade :/

[devildomcrybaby]

apologies to anyone who ever thought i was cool and reached out to me only to discover i am just a weird little hermit who can't carry on a conversation to save my life

[devildomcrybaby]

the hustle culture is so tiring. can we all just lay on grass under the sun with our eyes closed?

[devildomcrybaby]

girls be like “he’s my baby” and it’s literally a grown man who's commit several felonies

[devildomcrybaby]

Illumi is the most yandere coded of the adult trio. Hisoka is too careless and Chrollo is too laid back, but Illumi is a menace and isn't sorry about it

[devildomcrybaby]

Why do I do this to myself? Goes back to read another chapter of that angsty fic