#Mahito turned him into...this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gojonanami · 1 year ago

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❝ 𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐁𝐎𝐘! ❞

❝ COME ON, FUCK ME, EMO BOY!! ❞

✧ pairing: emo boy! choso kamo x f!reader ✧ summary: saw this boy at the mall last week. got the kind of look to make me freak. wanna fuck in the back of the hot topic? ✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, so much smut, emo boy! choso, sex toys (vibrators, clit sucker), multiple orgasms, semi-exhibitionism, public sex (sex in the back of hot topic, sex in a changing room), fingering (f! receiving), oral (f! + m! receiving), big dick choso (but honey, that dick was 11 inches), also mahito + yuji make appearances, art by @/SS_utr3n. ✧ wc: 5.3K

It had been a while since you had stepped into a Hot Topic (a while meaning three days or three years, take your pick). But this had been the third time this week you had been to this specific Hot Topic, and now you were sure the manager of the place had your badly taken picture and description scrawled in some notebook as a potential shoplifter.

But it wasn’t the merchandise you were looking to pick up.

It was him.

You saw him when you were browsing the clearance rack, knelt down, evaluating whether you needed another blind box item that will inevitably not contain the character you were looking for (but on the plus side, it was on sale?), when you heard a deep voice speak.

“Excuse me,” you glance up as you spot him — and you swear your breath gets stuck somewhere between your windpipe and your lungs, because you don’t breathe while this man kneels down next to you to place more items on clearance. Spiky black locks tied up messily on either side, fringe bangs falling in front of his face as he bent down, a tattoo across the bridge of his nose and was that — dark purple eyeshadow around his eyes — and his eyes — god, his eyes were gorgeous, a deep dark brown — and you swore, was that a hint of purple in his irises?

He was everything that your teen self had wanted — the same guys whose profiles you had looked at growing up and thought were so hot. You caught a glance at the My Chemical Romance t-shirt as he stood, in black jeans, as he catches you staring, “Can I help you find something?” His tone was casual, but he was curious — probably curious why you were staring at him with wide-eyed saucers.

“No, no, sorry, I—” no, don’t tell the hot Hot topic worker that he is hot — first of all its confusing, second of all— “I just wanted to say, I like your t-shirt,”

Fuck. out of all the things to say — I like your style, I like your fit, I like your hair — you had to pick the most generic ass comment.

He only nods, but you catch the barest upward twitch of the corner of his lip, “thanks,”

And that’s all it took — you now needed to see him smile.

Over the next few days innocently shopping at Hot Topic, you find out his name is Choso from one of the other workers, Mahito, calling his name. His hair is usually in those buns, but one of the days his hair was down, and you heard him complain that his hair ties had snapped.

And his hair looked so good down, his long inky locks fell past his shoulders, but this was your chance to talk to him — “i have some extra hair ties, if you want them,” you offer him a few hair ties, “I overheard you talking with the other worker, I hope you don’t mind,”

And he shakes his head, his lips quirked in that almost smile that makes your heart squeeze.

Fuck.

“Not at all, thank you,’ and his fingers brush yours as he takes the hair ties, and you turn to leave, but his voice stops you, “what was your name? I didn’t catch it last time,”

You tell him, smiling, “Your name is Choso, right? I saw it on your nametag,” and he’s biting his lip, tilting his head in question, as you flush, cheeks burning, “I’ve noticed you a couple times when I’ve come in— not in a weird way, I just—”

“I’ve noticed you too,” and finally he’s smiling — and you know he’s got you, you know you’re fucked.

And you do get fucked — in the back of Hot Topic during his break.

It had been a few weeks of you two talking and flirting, until finally, during his break he’s got you snuck into the back to show you the merchandise they haven’t put out yet. And you scoff when you come across a bullet vibrator, “you guys sell these?”

He shrugs, “They started to in the last few years, not a lot. They don’t want the parents to become too outraged, but just enough,” And you snort, turning the bullet over in your fingers curiously, “have you never used one before?”

And your cheeks burn, as you bite your lip, “No I never have,” and the next question stumbles out as a joke, “why? Wanna help me learn?” And you want to bite your tongue, but you’re too busy with the foot in your mouth to do so, and before you can apologize he speaks.

“I would,”

And your eyes snap to his, and you realize how close he’s standing, his eyes not filled with humor but something else — lust? — and his lips curled in a small smile.

Fuck.

“You’re gonna have to be a little quieter, love,” he’s murmuring in your ear, pressing kisses to your neck, as you’re pressed between his firm chest and the metal storage rack, fingers laced as you held on, the vibration between your thighs the only thing ringing in your ears.

But how can you be quiet?

The bullet vibrator is pressed right against your clit, and his thick fingers are parting your folds, so close to sinking into you, his deep voice whispering in your ear, hot breath against your neck.

And the coil in your stomach is only growing tighter and tighter, and your squeals only grow more and more insistent. His fingers sunk into your mouth, “suck,” he ordered, and your cunt twitches at the demand, as you do, sucking and licking messily on his fingers, “good girl,”

And he clicks the button of the vibrator again, increasing the vibration, making your eyes widen, a gasp around his fingers, “so responsive,” he groans, as your legs grow weak, and he’s stepping forward to steady you, but it also settles his dick between your ass.

He’s huge.

The bulge presses into you, drawing a hiss from his lips as you lean back against it, “Trying to tease me, sweetheart?” And he’s pulling his fingers from his mouth, a string of spit connecting from his fingers to your lips, “don’t forget who’s teaching you,” and he sinks his spit soaked fingers into your needy cunt, making your back arch into his body, “so tight, despite the vibrator,” he hums.

“Choso, please—” and he starts to fuck his fingers in and out, the squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears mixing with the buzz of the vibrator — you’re already so close, “I'm—”

“Cum for me,” he’s grunting, as his fingers reach even deeper inside you, dragging against your walls as he curls them, finding that one spot that has you seeing stars. And your moan as you cum is stifled against your own palm, as he only maxes out the vibration and fucks you through your orgasm, “one more for me, pretty, you can do it,”

“No, no, Choso, please too much, can’t—” and he only presses sweet kisses to your neck, and how are you already close — you just had orgasmed, but the coil in your stomach is growing tighter by the second, and you’re nearly crying when you cum again, your slick dripping down his fingers and the vibrator as he eases it from you, and then splatters onto the dirty tile floor of the backroom of Hot Topic.

“Good girl,” he murmurs as he’s tilting your head back and around for a kiss. And you catch a glimpse of the glint of your release on his black painted nails as he presses the pads into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his digits and sucking them clean, “that’s it, clean up your mess f’me,” and his other hand is wiping the tears from your eyes, “so pretty when you cry — can’t wait to make you do it again.”

Your cunt twitches at the thought, your cum still dripping down your thighs, “Again?” and he’s pressing another sinful kiss to your lips, “You didn’t think this would be our only lesson, did you?”

And it wasn’t — the next lesson was spent in the fitting rooms, during a particular dead early afternoon in the store — and he had you spread on the fitting room bench, your black jeans pulled down to your ankles, as his head found its way between your thighs. You could barely hold back your whimpers as he pressed all too hot kisses to the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, burning already with his warm breath. It was too much.

He was too much.

“How’s that feel?” dark eyes flicking up to meet yours, half lidded with lust, as he watches your panting face, your head against the wall of the fitting room, “use your words, love,”

“Too good, Cho-so,” the last syllable of his names escapes your lips in a gasp, as your cunt twitches as his lithe fingers tease you through the soaked material of your panties, “please, please, need you,”

“What do you need?” and his fingers pull away, as his lips press a kiss to your puffy clit, pulling a whine from you, “what do you want me to do?”

“Please, just—” and he’s tugging your panties aside, cool air rushing over your all too hot pussy, “please just touch me — with your fingers or mouth—”

And his tongue drags over your messy cunt, and god, it feels too good — but a twinge makes you pause, and when you feel it draw a circle around your clit, you realize what it is — he has a tongue piercing. Your fingers thread their way in his black locks, resisting the urge to grab at his hair buns.

He grunts, vibrations against your wet cunt, as you pull him impossibly closer to where you needed him most, his nose bumping against your clit, “you smell so good — how’s that possible?” and your eyes squeeze shut as his hands press your thighs further apart.

That’s when you both hear the click of the entrance, and the door swinging shut — shit, the door — he forgot to lock it. Forgot when you had pulled him into a kiss right when he was ready to take a lunch break, all other thoughts had flown out of his brain once he let those doors swing shut and your lips had met his — well, left his brain and flooded southward. He also didn’t think a customer would be persistent enough to try the door and wander in when the doors were shut and the closed sign was hung up.

“Choso, should we—” and the footsteps draw closer — and fuck — did you get wetter? And tighter — his moan is muffled against your walls, “Choso, stop, we—”

“You don’t mean that,” he whispers, dark, half lidded eyes look up at you, your essence and his spit soaking his lips and dripping down his chin. And the footsteps are receding, the sounds of the shuffling and clinking of clothes hangers on racks in the distance, but all you can hear are the sounds of the wet, needy squelch of your cunt, “you aren’t being honest — but you are down here,” and his lips find your clit, sucking lightly, making your head jerk back, “want them to know how good I make you feel,” his lips leave your clit with a small pop, before murmuring against the soft skin of your thigh, “be quiet for me, baby,” and his tongue slips back into your cunt.

He’s nearly slurping your juices up, his tongue tasting every inch of you, deliciously dragging against your twitching walls with his piercing, as your toes curl and your mouth parts in a muffled moan, one hand clamped over your mouth, and the other digging into his scalp. How could the person not hear you? How couldn’t they hear the wet squelch of your cunt as Choso fucked it with his tongue? How couldn’t they hear your badly swallowed moans and the sounds of your heart pounding out of your chest — and if they did, they certainly didn’t care enough to stop browsing through the fucking store.

And you’re close, so fucking close, and you don’t hear the footsteps drawing close to the fitting rooms because your ears only can hear the wet suck of his mouth against your clit or the press of his tongue in and out of your folds, your thighs twitching under his grasp, fingers pressed into your flesh, “Choso, I’m so—”

“Cum f’me, need to feel you cum around my tongue,” he sucks on your clit hard, teeth grazing the sensitive spot, and you cum, hard, your hand forsaking your lips to find purchase on his head, squirting all over his face as you did, soaking him along with the bench of the fitting room. And you can’t help the whimpers and moans that left your lips, as he lapped up your release without a care.

And you slump against the wall of the fitting room, body still buzzing from your orgasm, as he finally pulls his tongue out, glancing up at you. Your chest heaves as you watch him lick your cum from his lips and chin, before wiping the rest away, and your eyes drift downward to the erection he was palming. And your fingers unconsciously reach for it, when your hear a door slam shut making your both jump.

You cover your mouth — the customer, and Choso’s eyes meets yours, as the two of you break out in a laugh, “Fucking lock the door next time,” you sigh, covering your burning face with your hands, as Choso chuckles, lips curled in a smile.

“So there’s going to be a next time?” he tilts his head, and you flush.

How could he go from eating you out like a desperate man without water to this innocent puppy? “Not if you don’t lock the door,”

“It’s their fault for coming in when the doors were closed and there was a sign that said closed in big letters on the door,” and you shake your head, as he draws closer, “now, I have twenty minutes of lunch left — so where were we?”

And you push him towards the changing room door, “Go lock the door first,” and he relents, chuckling.

“Just for that, I’m going to look for the clit sucker I couldn’t find before.”

~~~~

The two of you had fallen into a pattern.

And you had become a regular at Hot Topic. You hung around him as he stocked the shelves, did inventory, price re-labeling, and even as he spoke to customers. You watched other customers speak to Choso, even flirt with him, but he never cracked a smile. Two girls were very persistent, but they deflated as he walked away after answering their questions, brushing past you, his hand brushing against your ass discreetly. Heat rushes to your cheeks, your head snapping to him as his lips curl when your eyes catch his gaze. But even so…

You still were just as clueless of where you stood with him as you were when this started.

“You two have been pretty hot and heavy lately, huh?” you nearly jump out of your skin, as Mahito smiles knowingly at you, leaning against the counter with a shiteating grin.

“What are you—”

“Please, like we don’t know what goes on in the back during breaks?” he raises an eyebrow, as you bite your lip, “plus, never have I seen that gloomy guy smile, much less as much he does with you,”

“Really?” your eyes find him again, as he crouches and lines up blind boxes on one of the shelves — but you can’t help the nagging question circling in the back of your mind — why hasn’t he asked you out yet? The two of you have hooked up, in and out of the store, but he still hadn’t asked you on a date. Even in the last few weeks, the two of you hadn’t even spent any real time together, except for your visits to the store -- he hasn't even taken you into the back. For all you know, you’re one of many people he’s bedding. Even if he doesn’t seem the type.

“What? Trouble in paradise?” Mahito pulls you from your thoughts, head tilted and all too eager, “what’s wrong?”

“No, it’s—“ he cuts you off with a look, and you relent with a slight pout, “he just hasn’t asked me out yet, I’m just wondering what he’s thinking—“

“Well, I definitely don’t think he’s seeing anyone else,” he hums, “but he does tend to go straight home a lot when you’re not around. Maybe something is going on at home?” And then he’s pushing you towards him, “no time like the present to find out,”

“Mahito—“

“Choso! How about you and your favorite regular go for a quick walk and get us some drinks from the food court?” He grins, offering some money, “be a doll, won’t you?”

Choso sighs, “Fine,” and he brushes past you, taking the cash, before glancing back at you, “you coming?”

You glance between the two of them, before following him out of the store. You both walk in relative silence, slipping past customers, as you reach the food court. Choso orders, paying with the cash Mahito gave, as he passes you one of the drinks, “Choso, can I ask you something?”

His eyes slide to you, “Of course,” and god, his eyes stop your thoughts in their tracks — he’s so unfairly gorgeous, funny, sweet — you didn’t want to screw this up. You open your mouth to speak when you hear a voice.

“Big bro, that you?” A rush of pink hair and energy is wrapped around Choso all of a sudden, “I didn’t think you got off until later,” it’s a teen boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen, his arm wrapped around Choso, and a varsity jacket on — this was Choso’s brother?

Choso cracked his rare smile, “I don’t get off until later, Yuji, but I came to grab a drink for Mahito,” and Yuji’s gaze slides to you.

“Oh, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there,” he smiles a thousand watt smile, “I’m Yuji Itadori, Choso’s brother,” and he’s glancing between you and his brother, before his mouth falls into an ‘o,’ “are you his girlfriend?”

“Yuji—“ Choso starts, a hint of a blush across his cheeks, as you stifle a laugh, “I thought you said you were going to study at home with Fushiguro.”

“I wanted to see you when your shift got off — I thought we could have dinner together,” Yuji pouts, and Choso cracks in an instant, his lips curling.

This boy had his brother wrapped around his finger.

“Ok, but don’t goof off. Make sure to study,” and Yuji nods.

“Nice to meet you,” and he leans in to whisper, “treat my brother good, ok?” And you flush, before nodding, as Choso raises an eyebrow, out of earshot.

“I will,”

“Cho, tell Mahito to fuck off for me,” and he’s off again, gone as fast as he came.

“Sorry about that,” Choso sighs, still a smile on his lips as he watches his brother in the distance, claiming one of the food court tables for himself and his friend, as he sits down next to a black haired boy, assumedly Fushiguro, “didn’t know Yuji would be here,”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” and he bites his lip.

“It’s relatively new — we’re half brothers, but he just came back into my life. He doesn’t really have any other biological family. His grandfather just passed, and he’s staying with a teacher whose decided to foster him,” the two of you begin to walk back to the store, his gaze fixed downwards at the tacky mall carpeting, “he’s been staying with me for the last few weeks, while his foster father went on a vacation to Malaysia,”

And now the pieces were clicking into place, “And that’s why you’ve been going home a lot lately,” and his dark eyes find yours with a tilt of his head, “I mean, you just haven’t had a lot of time lately,” you can’t meet his gaze, “it must be a lot to have a teenager staying with you.”

“Yeah, he eats everything in the house, and he’s staying in my living room, which leaves little in the way of privacy,” and you can still feel the prickle of his gaze on you, “but I could use a break,” and you finally look and see a soft expression on his face, the same insecurity you had reflected in his gaze.

No time like the present, right?

“Well, should we maybe go on a date?” and his cheeks flush a pretty red, all the way to the tips of his ears, “we’ve done plenty of other things that a couple would do, like—”

And he’s shaking his head, “I know, I know!” he’s the one who can’t meet your eyes now, chewing his lip, “I’d like that — I get off my shift tonight at eight, I told Yuji we’d hang out, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind postponing—”

“We can always do it tomorrow, I don’t want to keep you from your brother,” and his lips curl into a smile, “he’s a good kid,”

“He is,” and his fingers find yours again, “I can tell Mahito that I’ll lock up tonight, and maybe after I do, we could—”

“Have another lesson?”

And eight o’clock rolls around far too slow, but Choso definitely isn’t moving slow when it’s only the two of you.

He’s pulling you into the back again, the door swinging shut behind the two of you, his fingers tight around your wrists as he’s pulling you into a bruising kiss, forcing your lips to part with a gasp, his tongue flicking against yours. The smooth surface of his piercing grazes against your tongue.

And his fingers find the back of your neck, deepening the kiss impossibly, as his other hand slips down the curves of your body, pulling you against him, his clothed cock brushing against your aching cunt.

Fuck. You had almost forgotten how big he was.

And when you hear the zipper of his black jeans, you nearly melt against him, “Choso, please—”

“I have to get you ready first, love,” his fingers find their way to the front of your jeans and undo the button, tugging the fabric down to your ankles. Cool air raises goosebumps across your skin, the pads of his fingers press against the wet patch of your panties, and he’s groaning, “but maybe I don’t,”

“Fuck, so wet for me, aren’t you?” he murmurs, as he’s walking you backwards, into one of the racks, his fingers press into the soft flesh of your thighs. And two fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, joining your jeans, pooling around your ankles, “nearly ready now, but I still have to loosen you up,” his fingers tease your outer lips, dripping with your release.

One of his finger’s slips in with practiced ease, making your hips jolt against his hand, your fingers curling around the metal bars of the rack in front of you. His finger was so much thicker and longer than yours, his digit toyed with your walls, teasing and stretching until he drew a soft groan from your lips. He was the only one who could make you this desperate, his lips pressed against your neck, the heat from his body has your mind reeling with pleasure.

“Mmm, Choso, more—" and he’s adding another finger inside your still all too tight entrance, making you whimper, as the intrusion is all too much after a few weeks of not having him inside you.

“So greedy,” he murmurs, the wet squelch of your cunt ringing in your ears, “you’re practically sucking me in, but it’s still not enough for you, is it?” his tongue drags against the outer shell of your ear, his piercing against your skin, before his mouth envelops your earlobe and sucks.

His fingers are fucking you open, your eyes screwed shut as the tips brush against that spot, heat flooding your body. And you don’t hear the shuffling of his other hand through a box, until you hear the sound of sucking, “Choso—“ and he’s pressing the sucker against your clit, your mouth falling open as pleasure rips up your spine, the sucking sensation with the lewd noises of your pussy being finger fucked is too much.

You cum all over his hand, your hand clamping over your mouth so no one hears your moans — and your legs quake as you come down from your high, as he eases his fingers from you, “so pretty,” he murmurs, and you can feel his dark, lidded eyes on your drenched cunt, watching your sticky release cling to his fingers, purple painted nails glinting in the low light.

And he’s leaning forward, kissing down your back, as he turns you around gently, so your back is pressed against the rack. You kick off your underwear and pants. You’re still panting, chest rising and falling as his fingers press to your chin, lifting it so you meet his gaze, as he sucks his fingers clean of your cum. Heat pools again, as his fingers undo the leather belt and he’s tugging his jeans and black boxers down to his knees, his erection springs out, slapping against his stomach.

Your mouth runs dry.

Fuck, he’s even bigger than you thought.

Ten inches? No, maybe eleven. How was that even possible? That shit would break you — but fuck — your cunt twitches — you kind of want it to break you.

“Like what you see, Princess?” you lick your lips in response, and in a trance, your fingers are reaching for him, curling around the base before you slowly start to pump him. You’re rewarded with a moan, a noise that goes straight to your cunt, as your fingers move faster, trying to find the right rhythm. Pre-cum leaks from the top, as you tease his tip, before stroking back up the length of it.

And he’s a beautiful mess, his pale features flushed a gorgeous red, as he presses his hand against his mouth so his moans wouldn’t resonate. And his pre-cum drips all over your fingers, slipping down your wrist even, as you lean forward to lick it off your own skin, while you meet his gaze.

His head lolls back, eyes screwed shut now, and your fingers drift to his sack, stroking and teasing while your lips find the tip, sucking lightly before your tongue drags over the length of his cock. And god, he’s going to blow his load now, if you keep doing that, from the way his hips rock against your touch.

His fingers weave into your hair, nails digging into your scalp, “Baby, ngh, it’s too good—fuck—” he’s so close, twitching in your mouth as you suck him from tip to base, tracing his slit with the tip of your tongue, “shit, I can’t—” and you suck hard on his cock, massaging his balls, and he’s gone — he’s pumping his cock into your mouth as his cum spurts down your throat, as you swallow it all too greedily. You pull away with a pop, a string of cum and saliva connecting you to his dick still, before you wipe it away.

He’s leaning against the rack, chest heaving as he watches you with lust blown out eyes, sweat sheen on his face, “Haa, baby, s’good f’me,” and somehow he’s still hard, as you rise to your feet, thighs pressed together, your eyes fixed on his cock, “you don’t have to—”

And he’s still so sweet — his eyebrows knit together as he’s examining you with concern, but you’re only shaking your head, as you press a sweet kiss to his lips, “I need you, Choso, please,” and he’s nodding, lips meeting yours in a heady kiss that steals your breath, and he’s made you brace yourself against the rack, fingers curled around the cool metal.

Your folds are exposed to him, slick and dripping, even wetter than before, “You liked sucking me off that much, love?” he murmurs, kissing your neck, before he’s dragging the tip of his cock against your needy cunt, “I’ll go slow,” he assures you, as you nod.

He’s sinking into you inch by inch — and not even halfway, you already feel like you’re ready to burst, “So big, Choso, I—” and he’s murmuring quiet reassurances, as he’s parting your folds, the pain drawing a gasp from your lips, as he finally bottoms out.

“S’good, baby, so tight,” he’s moaning, You’re taking deep breaths, pain ebbing with each second that passes. Choso pressing sweet kisses to your neck, his hands slipping under your shirt to tease your perked nipples, mixing pain with pleasure. Tears burn at your tear ducts, as you breathe shaky breaths, and finally pain ebbs away, and pleasure grows in its place.

“S’full, so big,” you pant, growing more needy by the second, he’s reaching places you’d only dreamt of — his leaking tip kissing your cervix, “move, p-please—ah!”

And he does as you say, pulling ever so slowly out before pushing back in, grunting as he does as your tight cunt adjusts to his size and length — bullying your insides in a way no toy could ever compare to. You swear you can feel every inch, every curve, every vein as he rocks into you.

“So pretty f’me,” he’s moaning, stifled by his bitten lip, as your walls only seem to pull him back deeper each time he pulls out, “so perfect, take me so well,” he’s murmuring, as he teases your tits between his thumb and forefinger, “pretty cunt made just for me, isn’t that right, Princess?”

“Yes, yes, Choso,” and his pace only grows faster, just as his groans grow louder.

“No one else can fuck you like this, make you feel this good, can’t wait to feel you cummin’ around me,” he’s panting, his fingers tweaking your nipples, squeezing, as he fucks you deeper and deeper, his tip hitting your cervix deliciously again and again, “feels s’good, so wet and warm for me—” his hand comes down on your ass now, making you gasp, your cunt squeezing around him.

Drool slips from your mouth, as you get closer and closer to cumming — the telltale flutter of your walls, “Choso, I’m coming, I can’t—”

“Cum for me, let me fill you up,” and his fingers reach around to press a vibrator to your clit, and you’re cumming, falling apart on his cock, as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. The squelch of your cunt and the way you squeeze him has him falling apart, spurting and painting your walls.

The two of you slump forward, your legs nearly buckling, as you cling to the rack, before he’s easing both of you back onto a bench in the stock room. Your quiet pants fill the silence of the room, as he eases himself out, groaning as you both watch your mixed releases leak out of your cunt.

“I don’t think I can walk after that,” and he chuckles in your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck.

“Don’t worry, I’ll carry you,” and you laugh, his favorite noise in the world, as you slowly turn, making him groan as your soaked pussy grinds against his dick.

“So then you can lift me up when I drop it?” your lips are curled in that same smile that had him hypnotized from the moment he saw it, and he can only reply with a bruising kiss, his tongue slipping into your mouth, as you sunk yourself onto his dick again.

God. He needed to buy you tickets to Warped Tour.

~~~

The next time you show up to Hot Topic, you weren’t showing up to buy any merchandise.

“Hey emo boy!” you call out, making Choso turn with a smile on his lips — the one especially reserved for you.

“Hi baby,” he murmurs, kissing you softly, his arm around your waist, “I’m almost done. I just have to punch out.”

You lean in, words whispered against his ear, “And then you’re gonna come fuck me?”

You were picking up your boyfriend.

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist, before kissing you again, “You know I will.”

note: i couldn't find who made this incredible art that i used after searching and searching, so if anyone knows, please let me know so i can credit them above in the description. this fic has been a long time coming since that silly blurb i wrote after watching one too many thirst edits of choso. edit: i found the artist: its @/SS_utr3n on twt!!!

tag list: @uroldall, @jlovesfrogs, @existential54321, @staryukis, @samistars, @chosoilysm, @astroholic, @emii4evr, @rose1238, @butterflieskeepcominback, @divinely-yourz, @fishii28, @seresukuin, @misalsmistake, @xkaidaxxxx, @cappric, @famebydefinition, @theatergeek, @sousblogga, @averagelonelypotato, @timesnewreader, @chrvstxl, @darylthekidd, @merelydaydreaming, @notafan77, @naughtygobbo, @smiley-babe, @butterflieskeepcominback, @entirelytoooobsessed, @acenanxious

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burgojo · 2 months ago

Text

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 ]

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.

2K notes · View notes

roturo · 1 year ago

Text

₊˚ෆ FALSE GOD

warnings: masturbation, sex, smut, porn with no plot, unprocteted sex, overstimulation, use of toys, cunnilingus, mentions of low/high sex drive, dom/sub dynamics, shaming, humilliation, blue balls, edging, corruption kink, mentions of somnophilia, and twitter links. (Gojo, Geto & Nanami)

author's note: this is not a goodbye, but take it as a see you soon writing.

part 2 (coming soon if it’s well received)

gojo satoru

He's been annoying you the whole morning while trying to coach the kids on their training– slapping his hand away everytime it lowers down from your lower back and giving him a glaring look.

Both of you talked about this. Not letting his high sex drive come across work, and mostly in front of his students.He looked like a lost puppy, searching for attention and someone to relieve his needs.

“Gojo. Stop it–” You pushed his hand away from you, looking back to see if someone else noticed what’s going on. “But I can’t princess, I need you right now~” He whined in your ear, he was about to throw a tantrum if you continued neglecting him this way. It’s been two weeks without sex, can you believe it? Two weeks! He prefers fighting Mahito’s annoying ass again on his own rather than pass one day without inside you.

“It’s not the time right now– and I'm not in the mood either.”

Okay. First of all he knew you weren’t too into sex, and he accepted it! He respected your boundaries, and he didn’t only want you for the sex, he loved you for who you are! But the way you said his last name instead of his first name, and looking like you were about to slap him turned him on even more.

He wouldn’t stop whining and throwing tantrums for your touch, opting for dismissing the class early so they could go to sleep or wherever, it’s weekend anyways.

Both of you sat in silence in his office. Waiting for someone to break the tense silence thanks to him— and he was about to do it, but the moment your mouth opened his mind got in control of your sweet voice.

“Get up and take your pants off. Briefs too-” His eyes light up like a kid when receiving a lollipop for behaving like a good boy he is. He took off his shirt too, feeling like it was drowning him and taking the air out of him because this was the first time you were really taking control over all this.

“Sit.” He did as you said, his cock proudly standing tall and full of cum to dump wherever you wanted him too. But he wasn’t too lucky this time, because the moment you stepped closer to him and his desk, searching for one of his blindfolds he usually leaves there– you kneeled down infront of his, massaging his hard balls that made him moan out loud– taking them in one hand, they were heavy. His blindfold was around them, in a knot– tighten them.

The moment you started jerking off he knew he wouldn’t come as easy as he would. It was wet, really wet– and all thanks to his pre-cum leaving his cock, he was begging for release, he couldn’t come, literally and physically. It was impeding him from cumming, it felt ten times worse than not having your touch– He had it now, but at what cost?

“Aw, look at those blue balls!” You laughed in front of him and slightly slapped the red swollen head of his cock– he was crying, he never did. But it felt so good but it hurt so much at the same time. You took off the blindfold, cum coming out like a big wave, wetting his abdomen, part of his chest and your neck too. His moan almost sounded like a scream, cries and nervous laughs coming out of him– He came but you continued jerking him off, this time overstimulating him instead of edging him– He doesn’t know what was worse. Coherent words were long lost, babbling out trying to stop himself but he couldn’t move himself, way too lost in the pleasure to be able to stop you.

“Let’s see if you can atleast last a week without acting like a fucking horny virgin bitch this time mhm?, let’s make you cum again just to make sure, yeah?”

geto suguru

Geto is a morning wood guy. And he knows you have a low libido, actually Suguru is the only one you’ve sex with.

“I’m scared of dicks ´guru” You whispered, kneeled down in front of him, you were at his dorm, it was 11 P.M and you decided to lose your virginity to Geto assuring he’s the one and you’ve never felt safe in someone else’s arms– he chuckled and looked at you with loving eyes– one of his hands caressed your cheek, “How are you going to be afraid of dicks and want to suck me off at the same time princess? Mhm?”

He laughed at himself at the memory, now you were 6 years together and he’s eager to know how your life is going to be with him, having a wedding, getting a house together, making you pregnant… full of him, shit. This is not helping with the main problem right now.

He’s a decent man. At least that’s what he thinks about himself– he’s not horny all the time like Satoru. Maybe that’s his form of love language? Satoru is a weird ass anyways– he thinks to himself while scrunching his eyebrows together, –stop thinking about him Suguru!, it’s going to make you puke instead of helping the problem… He was looking at the ceiling of your room while you’re sleeping right beside him. He doesn’t want to wake you up, you deserve to have a nice and comfortable sleep.

But the pain down there is not going anywhere, not even with a cold shower. He knows to identify his morning woods– living with them for his whole life, I guess. Unconsciously one of his hands is now touching himself through his boxers making him moan, his free hand quickly covering his mouth and looking to his side to find you still sleeping.

He swears he’s about to slap himself to stop this and suck it up, but he feels your hand stopping him. “Are you okay baby?, I heard something and I thought you hurt yourself or something.”

Oh my god… How could you be so… pure? So perfect for him, always making sure he’s okay, your sleepy voice sounding deeper than your normal voice… His shirt is way too big for you that he swears if he moves his head a little higher he could see your nipples. Shit Suguru, you turned it sexual again!

Should he just… ask you? beg you? beg and cry for some release? Would he sound as horny as a teenager? This problem should be for teenagers! Not for a grown ass man like him!

“Um… I might just had a little problem down there”

“Might? Little?”

His flushed face was cute, his body was fully uncovered by the blankets, leaving him with his chest exposed and a clear wet patch on his boxers.

“C’mon baby, let me help you” He called out your name, trying to stop you the moment you placed your hand on the elastic of his underwear— in one swift motion you freed his cock, catching a glance of how swollen it was due the negligence of the past weeks.

The moment Suguru felt the cold breeze on him, he came.

He fucking came with no touch.

Damn embarrassing.

“Aw, cute. Want me to suck you off?”

nanami kento

You haven’t rushed things with Nanami yet. Both of you were such a cute couple that made people gag.

He’s amazing, not like any other boys you have met before, he treated you nice, spoiled you and mostly respected you– in a world of boys, he’s a gentleman.

He’s such a hard working guy, such an inspiration, so committed to both of his works that you tell him if you ever get married you’ll be the best housewife he could ever have because he deserves it.

But one thing about Nanami is that he keeps things to himself. Just like the boner he has right now by imagining you being his little housewife. He really needs to leave this office right now and relieve some… stress.

The last weeks have been hard for him, naturally affecting your relationship with him. He was always tired, even more earnest and quiet. You know he’s bad at telling what he feels, and he’s always stressed by something– but you have never seen him like this. Like ever.

When he tries to distress himself he just keeps failing over and over again, not being enough and having to suck it up and continue his day with a hard poking erection most likely visible in his pants. That’s why he remains seated most of the time.

But one day he went to your house after work. It was impossible to not notice his erection even when he’s trying to hide with his briefcase or on the sofa.

“Take your pants off Kento.” You’re not a big fan of sex, Nanami knows that, he hasn’t even had sex with you before! So this caught him by surprise, the red on his cheeks spanding through his neck.

“E-excuse me? I’m sorry, what honey?”

“You heard me, take your pants off.” He’s seated on your sofa– unloosened tie, two or three bottoms of his shirt undone, messy hair, in his socks but that damn thing was literally capable of breaking his pants if it didn’t have some release.

He slowly started unbuckling his pants, losing his mental battle and accepting what he needed, and if you were willing to do it, all he could do is take it– but dear god, it was even worse.

All you would do is touch him. Through his briefs. Just the feeling of your fingers through them. Touching the tip was the worst part.

And he couldn’t believe that the most simple touch is capable of making him cum with just your fingers than him raming and jerking off the hardest he has ever tried.

#gojo satoru smut #geto suguru smut #nanami kento smut #gojo smut #geto smut #nanami smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nanami x reader #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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carnalcrows · 16 days ago

Text

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

summary: You were never supposed to be anything more than a thief. But a stolen bracelet, a runaway heart, and a single reckless wish change everything. Now the world is spinning out of control—and the boy you can't forget might be the only real thing left to hold onto.

pairing: princess jasmine!choso kamo x alladin!male reader

content warnings: 18+, ftm choso (she/her pronous are used in the first half bc nobody knows of this), mahito is a warning of his own, top male reader, drowning, reader is an unreliable narrator (sorry bro).

word count: 8.0k

best viewed in dark mode

The market always smelled like too many things at once. Spices. Sand. Fruit that’s a little too ripe. Sweat. You’ve been running these streets since you were old enough to steal your first loaf of bread—and dumb enough to think it was free. These days, you know better. You know which stalls swap their goods by the hour, which alleys to cut through when the guards give chase, which rooftops creak beneath your weight and which ones won’t even notice you’re there.

And today? Today, you’re hungry. Not just for food, though you could eat. It’s the other kind of hunger. The kind that scratches at the back of your throat and says don’t sit still too long. The kind that makes you pickpocket out of boredom, not desperation. Which is why you swipe the silver apple from the merchant’s tray with a grin and no remorse, tuck it into your sash, and disappear into the crowd like smoke.

⋆｡°✩

“Thief!” someone yells. You sigh. That was faster than usual. Megumi chitters from your shoulder, fur twitching, eyes sharp as ever. He flicks your ear like this is somehow your fault. You flick him back and keep moving. You don’t run. Not yet. You walk like someone with somewhere to be. Let the tension build. Let the guards get close enough to think they have you. And when the right corner comes—you bolt.

⋆｡°✩

You lose them after five turns, three leaps, and one stolen chicken skewer that you do, in fact, eat. You’re not sorry. Megumi squeaks his approval as you hop down from the awning and dust off your hands. The back street is quieter here. Fewer eyes. Fewer witnesses. And that’s when you see her.

⋆｡°✩

Dark cloak. Hood up. Shoulders tense, like she doesn’t want to be here. Like the world is too loud for her today. But her hands are delicate where they rest on the edge of a fruit cart—fingers trailing over a pomegranate like she’s trying to remember what sweetness is supposed to feel like. Her eyes flick up. Meet yours. There’s a flash of something you don’t expect. Not fear. Not scorn. Recognition.

And then the fruit seller turns, sees her fingers on the goods, and yells something sharp in a dialect neither of you speak. Her eyes go wide. You step in without thinking. “Hey!” you bark. “That’s my sister.” The man scowls. “She doesn’t talk,” you add quickly. “Head injury. Real tragic.” You loop an arm around the stranger’s shoulders, tug her away from the cart before either of you get hit with a broomstick.

She doesn’t resist. Not until you’re two alleyways over and laughing breathlessly, and then—

“Why did you help me?” she asks, voice low, cautious.

You blink. Her hood’s fallen back a bit. Her face is pale and fine-featured. Sharp eyes. Loose braid. A little too well-groomed to be anyone’s sister from the lower quarter. You shrug. “Didn’t feel like watching you get yelled at.” She studies you. Really studies. Then—“You’re a thief,” she says, like she’s not sure whether to be impressed or irritated.

“I’m a specialist,” you correct. “It’s different.”

⋆｡°✩

She walks like someone who’s used to silence. That’s the first thing you notice. Even in the backstreets—where the city’s heartbeat slows and the noise fades into sun-warmed stone and dust—she moves like she’s afraid to take up space. You pretend not to notice. You’re good at pretending.

“So,” you say casually, adjusting Megumi’s grip on your shoulder. “You always ‘almost’ steal pomegranates, or was that just for flair?” She glances at you. Dry. “I wasn’t stealing.” You raise a brow. “You had your hand on it.” “I was thinking.” “Dangerous hobby.” She doesn’t answer that. Just keeps walking.

She doesn’t belong here. Not just because of the cloak or the way her braid looks like it was combed by someone paid to do it. It’s the way she watches everything—eyes sharp beneath the hood, like she’s memorising the exits. Like you used to.

“Are you lost?” you ask eventually. “No.” “Running from something?” She pauses. Then: “Not anymore.”

⋆｡°✩

You lead her to a little archway near the edge of the district—just low enough to duck into, just quiet enough to feel safe. You toss her a piece of the stolen chicken skewer. She catches it. Megumi squeaks at you like you’ve betrayed him. You toss him one too.

She eats slowly. Not like she’s starving—but like food hasn’t made her feel human in a while. The light catches on something at her wrist—a bracelet, mostly hidden by her sleeve. Woven threads and silver beads. Not expensive, but loved. You can tell.

“Nice bracelet,” you say casually. She covers it with her hand. “It was my mother’s,” she says, too quickly. You nod. Say nothing.

The moment stretches. Softens. And then— Footsteps. Heavy. Fast. Not guards. But not far off. You both freeze. You tug your hood lower. She pulls hers up. Your heart kicks once. Not from fear—from instinct.

“Come on,” you whisper. You grab her hand. She follows without hesitation.

⋆｡°✩

You split off near a vendor stall. “Go that way,” you tell her, gesturing to the alley. “Sharp right, then left again. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.” She hesitates. Then she nods. “Thank you.” You grin, backing away. “It’s what friends are for.” She rolls her eyes. Then disappears.

You wait until the coast is clear before slipping your hand into your pocket—and finding the bracelet you never meant to steal. Your stomach dips. You stare at the familiar weight. The tiny silver bead worn smooth in the centre. You didn’t take it to be cruel. You took it because… something about her made you want to keep a piece. Just for a little while. You sigh. “I’ll bring it back,” you tell Megumi, who just tilts his head. “I will.”

You’ve snuck into a lot of places before. Noble houses. Merchant vaults. One bathhouse, by accident (long story). But the royal palace? That’s new. It’s not the guards that make you hesitate. It’s not even the sheer size of it—white stone and winding corridors, too many windows and not enough exits. No, what throws you off is how clean it is. No dust. No noise. No secrets whispered in the walls. You hate it.

Megumi clings to your shoulder as you scale the garden wall, little claws digging into your shirt like he’s second-guessing your choices. You pat him once, then drop into the hedges. “I know,” you mutter. “But I promised.”

The bracelet weighs heavier today. Not just in your pocket. In your chest.

You don’t even know her name. But you remember the way her fingers curled over it. Like it wasn’t jewellery—like it was a memory. You’re not a good man. You know that. But you can be good for one thing. Even if it’s just this.

⋆｡°✩

You make it halfway across the inner courtyard before you see her. At first, you think you’re imagining it. The light hits just right—filtered through silk drapes and pale stone—and there she is, no hood, no cloak. Her braid is clean and tied back, her robes richer, darker, edged in silver thread. Two guards flank her at a respectful distance. Another man walks just behind her—dark-haired, sharp-eyed, well-dressed. Not a handmaiden. Not someone she reports to.

They’re following her.

Your heart stops.

She’s not just from the palace.

It’s her palace.

⋆｡°✩

You’re frozen in place, suddenly very aware of the bracelet in your pocket and the stolen way you’re dressed and the dirt still clinging to your boots. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t even know her name.

And she’s the princess.

You take a half-step forward anyway. You don’t know what you think is going to happen. Maybe you’ll give the bracelet back. Maybe you’ll say something—anything—before you vanish again into the city and pretend you never made a promise to someone you never should’ve touched.

And then—

“Caught you.”

⋆｡°✩

A hand clamps down on your shoulder. Hard. You twist. Megumi screeches and leaps off you. But it’s too late. You’re face-to-face with a man you’ve never seen before. Light blue hair, loosely tied. A smile that doesn’t touch his pale eyes. He’s dressed like a royal advisor. Gold trim, rich layers. But the look he gives you is sharp enough to slice.

He glances down at your hand. “Oh,” he purrs. “What’s this?” You don’t answer. “Breaking into the palace just to return a bracelet?” he asks, tone sweet and sour all at once. “How noble.”

You try to pull away. His grip tightens. “Come,” he says, and you feel your stomach drop. “Let’s talk.”

The desert doesn't begin the way you expect. It creeps in slowly—grain by grain, hush by hush. You don't even realize you've left the city until the horizon loses its edges and the color of the world flattens. Gold swallows grey. Stone gives way to sand. And suddenly you're small beneath a sky so wide, it feels like it's watching you.

Megumi is silent on your shoulder. Tense. You don't blame him.

Mahito glides ahead, his pale blue hair ghosting behind him like the tail of some ancient thing. He hasn't said much since dragging you from the palace. Just that there's a cave. That it's full of treasure. That you'll find what he needs at the center.

"You'll know it when you see it," he'd said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

Now, as the wind picks up and the dunes shift under your boots, you're starting to think this wasn't one of your better ideas.

⋆｡°✩

The cave entrance yawns before you like a mouth. Massive. Monstrous. Carved from obsidian and gold in the shape of a jaguar—or maybe a lion, but wrong. Too sleek. Too alive. Its eyes glow. Its teeth form the archway.

Mahito sighs, almost bored. "Try not to touch anything but the lamp. The cave doesn't like greedy hands."

You stare at him. "That's it? No map? No backup plan?"

He grins. "Where's the fun in that?"

The moment your foot crosses the threshold, the ground rumbles.

⋆｡°✩

Inside, the air turns thick—warm with the scent of old incense and metal. The walls pulse with veins of gold that glow like trapped fire. And the treasure...

It's everywhere.

Goblets crusted with emeralds. Weapons wrapped in silk. Jewels in colours you don't have names for. You step carefully, avoiding the statue that watches with jewelled eyes—

—until Megumi squeaks.

You turn just in time to see the ruby in his paw.

Small. Beautiful. Terribly red.

"Megumi," you whisper.

The cave roars.

⋆｡°✩

Treasure collapses like water. The ground splits. You sprint, dodging falling stone, the lamp suddenly heavy in your grip as the entrance grinds shut behind you.

You make it out—barely—hands scrabbling at the ledge as your body dangles over nothing.

Mahito appears above you, framed by sunlight.

"Help!" you shout.

He smiles. "Pass me the lamp first."

You hesitate.

He stomps on your fingers.

⋆｡°✩

You fall.

For one terrible second, all you see is sky. Then stone. Then—

—Something catches you.

Soft. Woven.

A magic carpet sweeps beneath you, spiralling upward as Mahito's laughter fades. The lamp still burns in your hand.

You stare at it.

Wipe off the dust.

And give it one, tentative rub.

⋆｡°✩

The explosion of light nearly blinds you. Smoke pours out in brilliant blues and purples, the air buzzing like it's trying to become sound. Then—

A shape. A grin.

And a voice like laughter and lightning:

"DID SOMEBODY SAY WISHES?"

Standing before you is a man, glowing faintly at the edges, with white hair that sparkles like frost and a robe that won't stay one colour.

"Hi," he says, flashing teeth. "I'm your new favourite mistake."

You open your mouth. Close it.

Megumi faints.

The man catches him mid-collapse and coos, "Aww, that's fair."

You point. "What are you?"

He beams. "Genie. Name's Gojo. Wishes. Magic. Sparkles. Screaming exes. The usual." He tosses Megumi gently onto a cushion that wasn’t there a second ago. Then turns back to you.

“You get three wishes,” he says, lifting three glowing fingers. “No refunds, no substitutions, no wishing for more wishes, no bringing back the dead, and no, I can’t make your eyeliner sharper—that’s between you and your mirror.”

You stare. He waits. Then tilts his head.

“…You okay there, street rat?”

⋆｡°✩

You’re still trying to catch your breath when Gojo starts doing cartwheels in the air. Literal ones.

Glowing, twirling, smug-as-hell flips while conjuring a sparkling drink in one hand and a mini fireworks display in the other. Megumi clings to your shoulder like he’s ready to bite the next magical thing that moves.

“You okay there, sparkle-thief?” Gojo asks between spins. “Wanna make a wish? Something big? Bold? Perhaps shirtless with charisma?” You stare at him. Then down at the lamp in your hand. Then back up.

“…So you can do anything, right?” Gojo winks. “Three wishes. Anything your heart desires, babycakes.”

“No, no,” you say quickly, waving the lamp a little. “I mean outside the wishes. Just you. Can you do anything? Or do you need the wish to work your mojo?” Gojo puffs up immediately.

“Excuse me? Excuse me? I am the most powerful being in the known realms. You think I need permission to do a little trick like—” he gestures vaguely “—I dunno, get you out of here?”

You shrug, mock-casual. “I mean, this cave’s kind of a big deal, isn’t it? Magical, collapsing death trap and all that. Maybe you can’t.” Gojo’s eye twitches.

You lean back on your palms, baiting him harder. “I mean, I get it. Maybe that’s why you need the wishes. You know. Limits.” Megumi squeaks like he knows exactly what you’re doing.

Gojo freezes midair. Then slowly floats down, landing in front of you with arms crossed and a pout forming fast.

“You wound me.” You give him a little shrug and a smug grin. “Prove me wrong.”

⋆｡°✩

There’s a snap. A burst of wind. And suddenly, the world flips. The cave vanishes. The stone. The heat. Gone.

You’re standing in open desert again, beneath a pale violet sky, stars blinking into view one by one like they’re surprised to see you alive.

Megumi topples into the sand beside you. You blink. Then slowly turn. Gojo is frozen mid-strut, mid-celebration, one finger raised in triumph. And then—

His whole face drops.

“Wait.” You grin.

He stares at you. “You—”

“I didn’t wish for anything,” you say, smug and victorious. His mouth opens.

Closes. Opens again. “You tricked me!”

“You tricked yourself,” you say, dusting off your hands. Gojo slaps his forehead. “Oh my god, you gaslit a genie.”

“I prefer to think of it as ‘strategic flattery.’” He paces in a circle. “This is so embarrassing—this is like day one Genie Academy stuff—never let them goad you, Gojo—”

Megumi snickers. Gojo glares at him. “Don’t laugh. He’s your thief.” Megumi just grins wider.

You flop down in the sand with a sigh, running your fingers over the curve of the lamp. Still warm. Still yours.

Gojo eventually stops pacing and flops down next to you, kicking his sandals off mid-air.

“So,” he mutters, still sulking. “You've got three wishes left. Gonna wish for a palace? Infinite gold? A harem of emotionally damaged men?” You shake your head.

You pull the bracelet from your pocket. And you say, “I want to become a prince.”

Gojo raises a brow. “Oh? You royalty-curious now?” You smile a little.

“No,” you say. “But she is.”

⋆｡°✩

Gojo hovers upside down for a second. Then rolls onto his back in midair and kicks his legs like a teenager hearing drama for the first time.

“Ohhh,” he sings. “It’s a crush.” You shoot him a glare. “It’s not a—”

He floats closer, chin propped on one glowing hand. “She’s beautiful, mysterious, emotionally reserved, probably a little dangerous—”

You blink. “You’ve never even met her.”

“I’m magic, babe. I know things.” He spins once, flaring his sleeves with dramatic flair. “So! Wish number one: turn you into a prince. Let’s do this!”

You pause. Just for a second. “What’s the catch?” you ask warily. Gojo gasps. “How dare. I am deeply offended.”

“You said you’ve got screaming exes.”

“Yeah, but they’re mostly jealous I look this good in silk.”

“Gojo.”

“Fine, fine. No catch. But you have to be specific.” He floats down to eye level, suddenly serious—well, serious for him. “You wanna be a prince, I can do that. But a real prince? With history, backstory, legitimacy, social clout, a tragic origin story?” He wiggles his fingers. “You gotta be clear.”

You hesitate. Then say quietly, “I just need to be… enough. Enough for her to look at me like I belong in her world.”

Gojo softens. It’s barely there, but real.

“Got it,” he says. Then he claps his hands once.

And the world explodes.

You don’t know where you are.

There’s colour everywhere—glitter and silk, ribbons of light, sand turning to glass beneath your feet. Megumi yelps as he’s scooped into a flurry of golden fabric, then promptly drops out the other side wearing a tiny embroidered vest and hat.

You are also suddenly in new clothes. Many clothes.Too many. A turban appears, spins three times, and explodes.

A jacket snaps onto your shoulders, then vanishes, then reappears in a different colour. Gojo mutters to himself, throws a handful of stars into the air, and steps back.

The whirlwind fades. You stumble forward and catch a glimpse of yourself in the water.

You look like someone else.Not a stranger. Not fake.

Just… polished. Taller. Cleaner. Like a better version of who you’ve always tried to be. Gojo whistles.

“Damn. You’re gonna break hearts and laws with that face.” You stare.

Touch your chest. Then look up.

“…This is me?”

He grins. “For now.”

⋆｡°✩

It starts with music. Low and distant at first, like a heartbeat under the ground. Then louder. Brighter. Faster.

By the time it reaches the palace gates, the sound has become a parade. Drums pounding. Horns blaring. The ground practically shakes beneath it. People gather at the edges of the street, wide-eyed, murmuring, pushing to see what the noise is about.

The guards don’t even know what to do. One of them drops his spear. And at the centre of the chaos— You.

Perched atop an extravagant, over-decorated, too-sparkling chariot that Gojo conjured five minutes ago because, quote, “You need drama.” There are banners in colours you don’t recognise, dancers flanking your path, golden confetti swirling through the air like it’s trying to make up for your anxiety.

Megumi rides next to you on the magic carpet, arms folded and expression deeply unimpressed, wearing a crown Gojo forced on him.

You want to throw up. You smile instead.

⋆｡°✩

Choso watches from the upper balcony. He doesn’t say anything at first.

Geto stands beside him, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the spectacle below. “Another prince,” he mutters. Choso hums. This one’s different.

The way he smiles at the crowd—not too big, not too forced. The way he bows at the gates. The way he scans the palace—once, quickly, like he’s trying not to look for something he wants to see.

It tugs at something in his chest. Something familiar. He frowns.

⋆｡°✩

“Introducing,” Gojo declares from the front of the parade, spinning mid-air and throwing glitter like it's a legal requirement, “the dazzling, the dashing, the devastatingly single Prince of the Seven Sands and Fourteen Rivers and One Very Cool Monkey—”

You elbow him. Hard. Gojo coughs. “—I mean. Prince—”

The guards step aside. The palace gates open. And you step through.

⋆｡°✩

You’re led into the throne room with trumpets blaring, velvet swishing around your ankles, and Gojo whispering terrible advice in your ear.

“Don’t trip,” he mutters. “Don’t bow too low. Compliment her—them, compliment them. Say something about the tapestry. Or the hair. Or, ooh, eyes! But don’t say eyes first, that’s creepy. You know what, just—say nothing. Smile. Look rich.”

“Gojo.”

“Also, maybe mention your monkey. Everyone loves a monkey.”

“GOJO.”

He vanishes in a puff of smoke. You inhale slowly. And step forward.

⋆｡°✩

Choso is already seated. Elegant, poised, eyes unreadable behind thick lashes.

You bow too low.

Geto raises a brow. Mahito smirks from the side like he’s already smelling a lie. And the king—Gakuganji, crowned and ancient and only semi-awake—beams.

“Ah! Our guest!” he says, gesturing with a heavy hand. “Look at this fine young man! What a jawline!” You straighten. Smile. Try not to sweat. Choso blinks at you. You clear your throat.

“It’s an honour,” you say, your voice suddenly a bit too deep, a bit too dramatic. “To be in the presence of such radiant… uh, royalty.” Choso tilts her head.

You panic. “And of course,” you add, “to meet the legendary tiger. I hear it has an excellent sense of character.”

Yuuji, lounging beside the throne, bares his teeth. Loudly. Choso hums. “He usually growls at liars.”

“Ah,” you say, blinking. “How… loyal.”

⋆｡°✩

Mahito glides forward, all polite venom. “What kingdom did you say you were from again, Your Highness?”

You freeze. Think fast.

Gojo appears behind Mahito, invisible to everyone but you, making frantic throat-cutting motions. “Uh—the Eastern Expanse. South of the Glass Sea. Just beyond the Twin Cliffs of—”

“—Cringe?” Gojo mouths.

“—Valour,” you say tightly. Geto narrows his eyes. Mahito hums, clearly amused.

Choso sips from a cup and doesn’t even try to look interested.

⋆｡°✩

Gojo reappears beside Geto, this time visible, in a deep navy robe and too much jewellery, swirling wine and batting his lashes. “You must be exhausted,” he says softly. “All this watching. You should sit down. Or let someone rub your shoulders. Or maybe your ego?”

Geto blinks at him. Then smirks.

“Is this your first time attempting seduction?” he asks. Gojo grins, teeth sharp. “Would you like it to be my last?”

⋆｡°✩

You, meanwhile, are dying.

You’ve complimented the floor tiles. You’ve fumbled three metaphors. You’ve told a story about a camel that might not have landed. And Choso hasn’t smiled once.

Worse, she hasn’t looked at you the way she did in the alley. Not yet. But something in her gaze lingers now—longer than before. Like she’s trying to place a shadow she saw once. A voice she heard in a dream.

You shift, fingers brushing the inside of your sleeve where the bracelet still sits. And you think: Not yet.

⋆｡°✩

The palace quiets after dark.

Servants vanish behind doors. Lights dim. Voices hush. The music from the courtyard fades into nothing but wind moving through marble archways and the distant hiss of sand brushing against stone. You’re standing on the edge of the upper balcony, staring out at the stars, feeling like they’re too far away.

Behind you, footsteps. You turn. Choso steps into view, arms crossed over her chest, long coat pulled tight despite the heat. Her braid is loose. Her expression is unreadable.

“You’re out late,” she says. You shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.” Choso doesn’t move closer, but doesn’t walk away either. You hesitate. Then smile, gentle. “Could say the same for you.”

“I’m always up late,” she replies. “Hard to rest when everything is so… quiet.” You nod. “Silence is loud, sometimes.”

A beat.

She glances sideways at you. “You’re different.” You tense. “Different how?”

“From the others,” she says. “The other suitors. You don’t walk like you’re owed something. You don’t speak like you believe your own story.” You glance down at the marble beneath your feet.

“I don’t.”

⋆｡°✩

Just then, Gojo appears beside you. Not fully visible—more of a glimmer in the air, like moonlight caught in motion.

He leans close. “Hey,” he whispers. “This is your moment.” You blink. “She’s standing there, all mysterious and gorgeous and complicated, and you’re just standing here like a guy with no game. You wanna impress her?”

You mutter under your breath, “I thought you weren’t supposed to interfere.” He winks. “I’m not interfering. I’m supporting. Now ask if she wants to see something cool.”

⋆｡°✩

You inhale. Then turn to Choso. “I know this sounds strange,” you say, “but… would you like to go for a ride?” Choso raises a brow.

You nod toward the balcony edge. “I have something to show you.” Her expression doesn’t change.

But after a beat, she says: “Fine. But if this is another metaphor, I’m leaving.” You grin. “It’s not.” You whistle.

And the carpet soars up from the shadows.

She steps back, startled. Then stares. The rug hums with magic, hovering just above the floor, tassels fluttering like they’re twitching with excitement. Choso blinks. “Is that—?”

“Sentient? Yeah. A little sassy too.” You step onto it first, then offer your hand. She hesitates. Then places her palm in yours.

Her fingers are cold. But her grip is strong. You help her up. She sits in front of you, eyes flicking to the edge of the balcony, then to the sky.

“…Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Nope,” you say, smiling. “But that’s the fun part.” And with a soft shudder—

The carpet lifts.

⋆｡°✩

The palace falls away beneath you. The night air rushes past your skin. Choso’s breath catches in her throat as the city unfurls beneath you—lanterns flickering in narrow alleys, domes gleaming under starlight, the world spread wide and glowing and endless.

She turns to look at you. You don’t say anything. You just hold on. And take her higher.

⋆｡°✩

You land softly, almost weightlessly, on the terrace just outside Choso’s chambers.

She’s still quiet, still wind-tousled, still flushed from the cold kiss of sky on her skin. Her braid is coming undone, and one hand rests on her chest like she’s trying to hold something in—something that might spill over if she speaks too soon.

You linger there a moment longer, letting the carpet drift backwards into the shadows. You watch her, eyes drawn to the way she turns from the railing to you. A slow pivot. Unreadable expression. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For that.”

You smile. “Anytime.” You step back, ready to take your leave.

And before you think better of it, you add— “Good night, princess.” It’s meant to be charming. Light.

But her smile falters.

Not in a way that says hurt, not exactly. More like she’s standing on the edge of a truth he’s been holding for too long. You notice too late. “I’m not—” she starts, then stops.

She takes a breath. Steadies herself. And says it clearly, steadily: “I’m not a princess. I’m not even... her.” You blink.

She lifts her chin a little, eyes burning with something fierce and fragile all at once. “I’m a man,” she says. “I always have been. Even if—" She swallows. "Even if not everyone believes it.”

There’s a silence after that. Not empty. Heavy. Alive.

You don’t move. You don’t speak.

You just look at him—the way the moonlight brushes the sharp line of his jaw, the proud set of his shoulders, the tremble he tries to hide in his hands—and realise that somehow, he looks more royal now than he ever did in silk and jewels.

You find your voice. “I believe you.”

His next breath is shaky. “You thought I was someone else.”

“I didn’t,” you say. Quietly. Honest. He glances up. “I thought you were someone extraordinary,” you say. “I still do.” Something in his face cracks. Softens.

You step forward. Close enough to touch. But you don’t—not yet. “I don’t care about the title,” you murmur. “I don’t care about the rules. I care that you smiled at me once in an alley, and I haven’t been able to forget it since.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the day he was born.

And then— He reaches for you.

⋆｡°✩

His hands find the front of your robe. Yours find the line of his waist. It’s not frantic. It’s not even heated—at first.

It’s something slower. Deeper. Something that hums between your ribs and makes your skin ache just to be closer. When he kisses you, it’s hesitant. Careful. Testing the shape of your mouth like he's still afraid he’s not allowed.

You kiss him back like you’ve been waiting to. Like you knew, somehow.

Like this has always been the truth.

⋆｡°✩

The bed is quiet. Soft. Too large, too royal, too untouched by real life—but you forget that quickly. Because he’s beneath you.

Because his hands are in your hair, and your fingers are trembling as you trace them down the length of his spine, over the curve of his ribs, careful with every inch like he’s something sacred.

He breathes out your name when you kiss the spot just below his ear. His legs part instinctively when your body moves between them. Your name again—this time shakier, needier, like he’s falling open for you without even meaning to.

You ask before anything changes. He nods. And you move together like something pulled by gravity.

The room glows gold and shadow. His skin is warm. Softer than you thought. Familiar in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

You kiss down his chest, over his stomach, tasting every part of him that he gives you. He arches when you touch him—soft sounds spilling from her lips like prayers, like confessions, like things never said aloud until now.

He wraps his legs around your waist. Whispers your name again like it means something new. And when you press into him— Slow, careful, trembling—

He doesn’t flinch. He lets you in.

⋆｡°✩

It’s slow. Not quiet.

He gasps when your hips move. Moans when your lips return to his. You try not to fall apart at the sound—try to last just a little longer, to feel all of him, to remember this as the first time you were seen and wanted and welcomed all at once.

He holds you tightly. Kisses you deeper. Moves with you, against you, beneath you. You don’t rush. You can’t. It builds like a wave.

Like heat and ache and everything breaking open. And when it crests—

You fall together.

⋆｡°✩

Afterwards, you lie tangled in silk sheets and shallow breaths, the world narrowed to the space between your bodies. Your hand in his. Your thumb brushes the line of his knuckles. You press a kiss to his temple. He exhales.

And smiles for real this time.

You wake to the sound of birds. Soft, scattered, high in the distant trees.

The kind of sound you never hear in the lower quarters of the city, where the only music is wheels against stone and the creak of heavy doors. You let it wash over you. Let yourself believe—for one last, fragile minute—that the world outside is as kind as this bed, this morning, this boy sleeping beside you.

Choso lies curled on his side, braid undone, dark hair fanned across the pillow like spilt ink. One hand rests loosely against your chest, fingers twitching now and then with dreams he hasn’t woken from yet.

The light filters in slow and gold, turning the silk sheets into something almost holy. It slips over the slope of his shoulders, the faint line of a scar near his collarbone, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

You could stay like this. You could forget the city, the lies, the borrowed name stitched into the back of your coat. You could forget the way Mahito watched you with a smile that never touched his eyes.

You could. But you don't.

You can't.

⋆｡°✩

You shift carefully, brushing your thumb over the back of Choso's hand. He stirs. Blinks sleepily up at you. His lashes catch the light. "...Morning," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," you say, softer. He doesn't pull away. Doesn't flinch. He just watches you for a moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes, like he’s still waiting for you to change your mind now that the night is over.

You don't. You kiss his forehead. He exhales, a sound more felt than heard, and tucks himself closer. You let your fingers trail lightly down his back, tracing the spaces between his ribs, the small scars and marks of a life you haven’t heard about yet—but want to. You want to learn them all.

You think: I could stay. But footsteps echo down the corridor outside. A voice calls faintly—court summons, morning meetings, new dignitaries arriving. Reality creeps in like the tide.

You meet Choso’s gaze. Neither of you says it. Neither of you has to.

This world isn’t made for boys like you. Not yet.

You don’t realise you’re being followed until it’s too late.

The palace corridors twist like veins, familiar but shifting somehow in the heavy evening air. You’re almost back to the guest wing, to the safe warmth of Choso’s voice, when a shadow cuts across your path.

Mahito. Blocking the hall. Smiling like he’s been waiting for this. You freeze. Your fingers twitch toward the lamp hidden in your sash. Too slow.

⋆｡°✩

"You're clever," Mahito says, voice silk-slick. "I'll give you that." He steps closer. You don't move.

"But not clever enough." His pale eyes gleam. His hand lifts lazily—and before you can even reach for Megumi or the lamp— a sharp shove, magic crackling at your back—

You stumble. Arms grabbed. Ropes you can't see binding around your wrists, your ankles.

"Street rat," Mahito murmurs, almost tender. Then—

The balcony edge rushes up. He doesn't even watch you fall.

The air tears past you in a scream you can’t hear. The river below catches you in a brutal, crushing grip—icy and endless and roaring in your ears. You sink fast. Weighed down by silk, rope, and fear. You thrash. Fight. Try to scream for Gojo—but the water fills your mouth, your nose, your eyes, dragging you under.

You reach for the lamp with your bound hands. Mouth a desperate plea into the black. Please.

The lamp flashes against your chest. Heat surges in your lungs. And the world shatters.

⋆｡°✩

You’re gasping on the riverbank. Coughing so hard it tears at your throat. Gojo kneels beside you, drenched, furious, still sparking faintly with leftover magic.

"You—" he chokes, raking a hand through his wet hair. "You used your second wish." You can’t even answer. You just grip the sand, coughing, as Megumi clambers over your chest, clicking his teeth in frantic relief. "You’ve got one left," Gojo mutters.

Quiet now. Almost broken.

⋆｡°✩

But you don’t have time to think. Not yet. Because somewhere in the palace, Mahito still stands.

Still smiling. Still plotting. You push yourself to your feet.

And you run.

The guards are scattered. The throne room churns with confusion. Gakuganji—the Sultan—is slumped against his throne, eyes glazed, words slurring. At Mahito’s side, a tall staff gleams darkly, twisted into the shape of a cobra.

You don't need Gojo to tell you. The staff is the key. You charge.

⋆｡°✩

Mahito turns just as you reach him. He grins. "You just don’t know when to die, do you?" You don’t answer.

You swing— Hard. The staff cracks at the base, splintering under the force of your stolen sword.

The magic whines. Then— shatters. Gakuganji blinks. Shakes his head.And roars for the guards. Mahito snarls—lunges for you—but four soldiers tackle him before he can reach. They drag him toward the dungeons. He twists once to glare at you over his shoulder. "I’ll be back," he spits. "You’ll have to wait," you say, voice steady now.

And the doors slam behind him.

⋆｡°✩

Gakuganji turns to you. "You saved my mind," he says gruffly. "And my kingdom." You swallow. The lamp is heavy in your sleeve.He smiles.

A slow, approving smile. "And if my child wishes it," Gakuganji says, voice rising, "you shall have her hand."The room erupts in cheers. Choso stands stiff near the throne, eyes wide—face unreadable. And in that moment—

You realise the world would give you everything you want. If you kept lying.

Gojo appears by your side, quieter now. He doesn't say anything. Just looks at you. Waiting. Hoping. You tighten your fingers around the lamp. And you hesitate.

⋆｡°✩

The celebration fades around you.

You barely hear it—the clapping, the cheers, the way Gakuganji beams, and the royal guards stamp their spears in approval. All you see is Choso.

Standing a few steps away. Not smiling. Not rushing forward. Just… waiting. Hesitant. Hopeful. Fragile in a way that cuts deeper than anything Mahito could have thrown at you.

⋆｡°✩

Gojo stands at your side. Still shimmering faintly from the river. Still waiting. Not pushing. Not pleading. Just standing there like someone holding a string he already knows you’re about to let go of.

You reach for the lamp. Feel the weight of the final wish burning against your skin. Your throat tightens. You promised. When you first met him—lost and laughing in a puff of glitter—you promised you’d set him free. That was before you fell in love with the wrong name.

The wrong life. Before Choso looked at you like you were worth it. Before you knew what it felt like to belong.

⋆｡°✩

You close your fingers around the lamp. Breathe.

And you can feel Gojo’s gaze—steady and unbearably gentle. Waiting. Trusting. You falter. You think– Just a little longer. Just until the wedding. Just until you’re sure.

You need him. You can’t do this without him.

You can't.

⋆｡°✩

You lower the lamp. Don’t say the wish. Don’t say anything. The betrayal is small. Quiet. You don’t even see Gojo flinch.But you feel it.

In the way he goes, very still beside you.

In the way the magic in the air dims—like a candle guttering before it goes out. You glance at him. He smiles. Almost. A threadbare thing.

"Guess some promises are easier to break," he says softly. No anger. No accusation. Just… sadness.

⋆｡°✩

Before you can speak, before you can explain or apologise or take it back— Gojo retreats. The magic swirls around him, blue and gold and soft with resignation.

The lamp hums once in your hand. And he’s gone. Sealed away. Silent.

You stand alone in the throne room. Choso approaches carefully. And the crowd cheers again. But it sounds so far away. Like the echo of a door closing behind you.

⋆｡°✩

You don’t sleep that night. Not really. The palace celebrates around you—banquets and music and the rustle of gold—but it sounds muffled, like you’re hearing it through water.

You sit alone by the windows, staring out over the empty streets, watching the stars blur.

The lamp sits heavy in your hands. You haven’t touched it since Gojo vanished inside. You don’t know if he’s listening. Or if he even wants to anymore.

The knock at your door comes soft. You don’t move at first.

You think maybe it’s Choso—come to ask if you’re alright, to pull you out of your own head the way he did once with a single smile. But when the door creaks open—

You see blue hair. You see Mahito’s grin. And you know you’re too late.

⋆｡°✩

It’s not a fight– It’s a theft. A blur of motion—magic flaring cold and sharp in the small room—the lamp ripped from your hands before you can even shout. You stagger. Reach. Miss.

Mahito steps back into the shadows, lamp cradled against his chest like a prize he was always meant to have. "Thanks for keeping it warm," he says sweetly.

Then he’s gone. Vanished into the dark.

⋆｡°✩

The alarm rises seconds later. Too late.

Guards scrambling through the halls. Choso shouting your name across the marble. Geto throwing orders like knives. But none of it matters. Mahito has the lamp– And you know what comes next. You know because you know him—better than you want to.

He’ll wish for power. For the throne. For the kind of magic no mortal should ever touch. And no one—not even you—can stop him now.

⋆｡°✩

Unless. You run. You don’t think– you just move. Out of your chambers. Down the steps. Through the garden where the night air burns cold against your skin. You find Choso at the fountain, sword half-drawn, looking for you.

His eyes widen when he sees your face. "What happened?"You gasp for breath.

"He has the lamp." For a second—just one—fear flashes across Choso’s face.

But then he straightens. Grips his sword. "Then we take it back."

You reach the throne room just in time to see it happen.

Mahito stands at the centre of it all—grinning, wild, radiant with stolen magic. The lamp in one hand. Gakuganji slumped to one side. The guard kneeling with empty eyes.

He holds the lamp high. “I wish,” Mahito says, voice sharp with triumph, “to be Sultan!” The air twists. Magic slams into the walls, cracking stone and shattering chandeliers. The throne reshapes itself beneath him, black and gold and monstrous.

The room falls silent. Mahito—no longer an advisor, no longer anything human—turns his new crown in his hands. And laughs.

⋆｡°✩

You flinch backwards. Choso catches your arm. "Stay with me," he says, voice low. You nod. You draw your sword—cheap steel against magic. It feels useless.

But you raise it anyway. Because the alternative is letting Mahito win. And you’re not that boy anymore. You’re not a street rat sneaking bread from market stalls.

You’re someone worth fighting for.

⋆｡°✩

Mahito steps down from the throne with slow, theatrical strides. Around him, the corrupted guards start moving toward you. Choso draws his sword too. Geto appears from the side doors, slipping through the chaos, blade flashing as he cuts down two of Mahito’s enthralled soldiers.

Megumi—small and furious—claws his way up a guard’s leg and bites. You lunge forward. Steel against steel. Magic crackling at the edges of your vision.

⋆｡°✩

But you’re not winning. Not really.

Mahito’s too strong now. Too fast. Too twisted with power, he was never meant to touch. Every time you cut down a guard, two more replace them. You duck a strike, parry another, heart pounding, throat burning. You can feel the ground tilting—everything sliding toward ruin.

⋆｡°✩

And Mahito watches. Smiling. Like a cat watching mice tire themselves out before the kill. "You can’t win," he says lazily. "You’re nothing. You were always nothing." Your hand tightens on the sword hilt.

You think of Choso’s hand in yours. Of Gojo’s crooked smile. Of Megumi clinging to your jacket like you were something worth protecting. You raise your head. And you smile back.

⋆｡°✩

"You’re right," you say. You lower your sword. Mahito frowns– confused.

"You’re right," you say again, louder. "I’m nothing. Just a street rat. A liar. A thief." You take a slow step forward.

"You’re the powerful one now. You’re stronger than anyone. Smarter. Better." You meet his eyes.

"And it’s not enough, is it?" Mahito’s smile falters. The doubt creeps in. The greed. The fear that even with the world under his heel, someone somewhere might still look down on him. You step closer. Let him see the bait.

"If you’re really that great," you murmur, voice dropping to a whisper, "why settle for Sultan?" Mahito freezes. You smile, small and devastating.

"Why not wish to be the most powerful being in the world?"

⋆｡°✩

The silence snaps. Mahito whirls toward the lamp. His knuckles whiten around it. "I wish," he snarls, "to be a Genie!"

The magic screams. The world bends. The ground heaves beneath your feet as the lamp flares—blinding white and burning blue—and Mahito’s body twists, warps, shrinks.

He screams. Not in victory. In terror.

Because he understands, too late, what you already knew: Genies are powerful.

But they are never free.

Chains—gold and searing, lash around his wrists. The lamp yawns open like a mouth. And Mahito is dragged inside. Gone. Sealed.

Forever.

The throne room stills. You lower your sword. Choso catches you when your knees buckle, steady hands warm against your ribs. You close your eyes. And breathe.

⋆｡°✩

The throne room is a mess of broken marble and stunned silence. But none of it matters. Not the shattered columns, or the scorch marks on the floor, or the lingering weight of magic still trembling through the air. You’re still standing.

Choso’s hand is still wrapped around yours. And in your other hand— The lamp. Heavy.

Alive. Waiting.

⋆｡°✩

You lift it carefully. Thumb tracing the worn edge of the spout. You hear Gojo’s voice in your head—bright, careless, teasing:

"What would you wish for, street rat?" And you smile.

⋆｡°✩

You don't hesitate this time. You hold the lamp close. "I wish," you say, voice steady, "for Gojo to be free."

The magic bursts out like a second sunrise. Blinding. Joyous. Real.The lamp trembles in your grip—then stills.

And Gojo— Gojo appears in a cascade of light, blinking like he’s seeing the sky for the first time. He touches his own chest, stunned. No chains. No pull back into the lamp. Just him.

Just free.

He laughs—wild and hoarse and a little broken—and then turns and tackles you into a hug so hard you stagger back two steps. "You crazy, beautiful, reckless idiot," he breathes into your hair. You laugh too—wet and breathless and so full it almost hurts.

"You’re free," you whisper. "Yeah," he says, pulling back to beam at you. "Yeah, I am."

⋆｡°✩

Geto appears at his side, folding his arms and giving Gojo a once-over like he’s assessing a particularly troublesome stray cat. "So," Geto says dryly, "now that you’re not a mystical prisoner of cosmic servitude anymore…" Gojo grins, flashing teeth."You’re stuck with me," he says, leaning casually against Geto’s shoulder like he’s always belonged there.

Geto rolls his eyes. But his hand finds Gojo’s without hesitating. "S'pose I could do worse," he mutters. Gojo’s grin only widens. "Aw," he coos. "You like me."

"Don’t push your luck."

⋆｡°✩

The court regathers slowly. The king—Gakuganji—steps forward, the crown still slightly askew on his head, but his eyes clearer now than they have been in weeks. He looks at Choso.

Really looks at him. Like seeing him for the first time. And Choso—

Choso straightens. Takes a step closer. And says, quietly but firmly:

"I’m not your daughter." The words hang there. Heavy. Sacred. "I never was." A beat. A breath. And then— Gakuganji chuckles. Low. Rough. Like stone cracking. "Good," he says. "I never liked raising girls. Too much screaming." A pause. Then, softer:

"I’m proud of you."

Choso blinks. Then bows his head, just slightly, like he’s carrying something too big to hold all at once.

⋆｡°✩

"And," Gakuganji continues, voice carrying, "I suppose I’ll need a new law." You stiffen.

The king’s gaze sweeps the hall. "From this day on," he says, "royals may marry whomever they choose. No bloodlines. No borders."

His eyes settle on you. "Just hearts."

The hall breaks into cheers. You barely hear them. You’re too busy watching Choso. The way his mouth curves, small and shy. The way his fingers reach for yours again.

The way he shines.

⋆｡°✩

Later, in the garden where the stars first found you—

You stand with Choso under the heavy branches of a fig tree, the lamp finally quiet at your feet, and the moon turning the world silver. You take his hand. You feel it tremble. You let yours tremble too.

"You don’t have to say yes," you whisper. "You don’t owe me anything." Choso looks at you for a long moment. Then steps closer. Presses his forehead to yours.

"I’ve been waiting my whole life," he breathes, "for someone who sees me." You close your eyes. Breathe him in.

And the world—this strange, broken, mended world—feels like it might finally be yours. Together.

⋆｡°✩

Somewhere above, Gojo and Geto bicker about constellations. Megumi steals a peach tart from the palace kitchens and almost gets caught.

And you— You kiss Choso under the stars. Not because a story told you to. Not because a wish demanded it.

But because, for the first time—

You can.

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