#dark mahito

[envy-of-the-apple]

Omg hi are your requests still open??? No pressure!

Unfortunately I am here as a Mahito simp and your twoshot of him has me in a chokehold. I’ve re-read that an ungodly amount of times now. That said, I can’t get the thought out of my head of Mahito noncon-ing a reader he likes who can’t see him, who is eventually able to see him in the midst of the act. Aaaaaa

sfjklsdkljsdkfjsdklfjsdlksj oh my god bestie you absolute genius hold on- alsosorrythistooksolong

(Dark!Mahito x reader)

Bed Bugs

(Yandere, dark content, implied somno, noncon, dubcon, choking-but veryvery brief)

You've been waking up sore lately.

Maybe you aren't sleeping, right? Maybe it's your bed. It might not be expensive, but you bought it solely for comfort.

The pain comes from your thighs. Aching. Numb. And if you looked closely, you swore you could see bites-

Bed bugs. That had to be it.

"I hate those fuckers," your friend groans, "I got a couple bites when I was staying in that cheap motel back in California? Lasted for a week."

"I was looking at exterminators. Everything's so expensive these days," you mutter, swirling your latte, "I don't even know how I got them. Ridiculous."

She hums. The cafe was quiet during this time, not too many customers. The two of you were tucked away in a booth, still nursing the expensive coffee. You'd already heard her rant about the inflation.

"Y'know, my friend's older brother has some kinda' homerun pest control gig. I can ask him about it. Maybe he can give you a discount? I'm pretty sure he specializes in termites but I don't think there's a real difference."

You eye her. "Yeah, no. Termites aren't in any way close to bed bugs. Besides, don't they use acid for termites? I'd still like to sleep on a bed that doesn't give me skin problems."

"See? I'm giving you solutions, and you keep rejecting them," your friend sighs, "I give up. I think you just got roommates now."

You laugh, about to respond, when you feel something dangerously close to your inner thigh. You glance down. Nothing.

"Uh, speaking of roommates, what did you say was happening with yours?" You change the subject, shifting in the booth.

"Oh yeah! Her and Dan are getting pretty serious, I think she's gonna move out soon."

"Oh really?" The touch came back. Harder. More insistent. You gasp when something grabs you by the hips, squeezing.

Your friend gives you a look. "You okay?"

You look around again. Nothing. Again.

"Um, yes! I am." You managed to respond, "Sorry, sorry, just....long day."

You clear your throat, plastering on a smile as you listen to her prattle about the drama in her life. Her voice distracts you from your thoughts swirling in your mind. Each getting more ridiculous than the last. 

You swore it felt like a...hand.

Work kicked your ass today. 

You'd never been so tired, practically falling asleep on the train. Crowded as always. You scrunched your nose as yet another person conveniently forgot to wear deodorant that day. Wonderful. 

At least, the day was over. You could resign to being as unproductive as possible for the rest of your night. 

You scroll through the forum. Almost everyone said that bed bugs- Cimex lectularius because now you've researched them so much you know their scientific name- are a losing battle. The final verdict is to get rid of your mattress immediately. Either that, or you'd need to call a specialized exterminator that cost at least twice the price of your current mattress. You didn't know which was the worst deal. 

You ignore the first few touches. Trains. Crowded area. People who don't understand boundaries. It's the swipe on your ass that makes you turn around and glare at the likely culprit. A sleazy-looking man in his late-forties. He barely even reacts, just arching a brow at your look. 

Typical. You inch away from him, squeezing past the other bodies until you're well past the other side. You lean against the window, blocking yourself from any other unwanted touches. Finally. Some peace. 

Until it started back up again. 

Something solid presses against you. Like-like a wall. Insistent, begging to be noticed. You're forced back, squished against the already small space. It wasn't your imagination. You can't delude yourself. It was real. A real hand was pressing against your pants, right above your clothed pussy. 

But there was no one there. 

What the fuck. 

The rhythm is rough, forceful as the hand starts grinding on your clit, sending tingles up your spine. You let out a confused whine, slapping a hand over your mouth as you squirm fruitlessly against whatever the fuck this thing was. You can't stop it. It's too much. Too sudden. You want it to stop but it takes you higher and higher and higher and-

It's gone just when the train rolls to a stop. All at once, the opposing wall disappears. You stumble out of the doors, legs shaking, panting. 

There's a whisper of a laugh right by your ear. You realize you're very wet.

What. The. Fuck. 

You could have deluded yourself into thinking it was a hallucination. That you were so tired from work you had an orgasm untouched. It sounded ridiculous, but it was plausible, right? Stranger things have happened. 

But, it just kept happening. 

The touches range. Sometimes, it's just a brush against your shoulder. A poke on your cheek. Other times it's more insistent. You can still remember the sharp spank on your ass in your very much-alone apartment. 

You were starting to think you might not be so alone, anymore. 

The worst was when you were out in public. It always happened in public. You'd be at work, typing on your computer when you'd feel a sensation on your pussy, grinding on you until you're close to cumming. When you'd break away to hide away in the bathroom, you'd always find your panties soaked.

Sometimes, you find yourself typing something ridiculous on your computer. Are ghosts real? Can apparitions touch the living? 

In one of these rabbit holes, you stumble across the word Spectrophillia. Forums of tons and tons of people sharing their own experiences that are eerily similar to yours. A woman describes her encounter with her own aspiration, saying that the thing had physical teeth, a physical tongue, a physical- 

You stop reading after that. A horny ghost. Is that seriously what you were dealing with? You weren't raised religiously, so the idea wasn't very appealing. 

Luckily, your doctor was a woman of science. 

"The symptoms you're describing are a very common indication of stress." She types away on her computer. 

You eye her, both in relief and incredulous. "Really?" 

"Of course," she says, "Trust me, people have come up with crazier stories. Now." She turns back to you, clicking her pen before writing a couple things down on her clipboard.

"I'll prescribe you diazepam. Take one two hours after you've eaten before night." She instructs. "Come back if you feel anything out of the norm." 

You nod, still a bit dazed by her answer. Stress, that's seriously all that this was? 

But it worked, oddly enough. The first night back from the clinic, you stopped feeling those pseudo touches. Your insomnia started going away. You started getting a proper sleep cycle. For the first time in weeks, things were starting to work in your favor.

And then you wake up to the sounds of your bed moving. 

Creaking. Back and forth and back and forth and back and forth. 

Also, you feel...good. Really really good. Tingles shoot up your spine. A pleased sigh unconsciously escapes from your lips as the pleasure between your thighs grows. You're still incoherent, hips following the feeling. Hands are wrapped around your wrists, pressing them against the mattress. There's a puff of air against your ear. Tongue and teeth that nip against your throat. 

It feels like a wet dream, you think. Blearily, you open your eyes, fully prepared to see some Hollywood actor, your crush from work, a cute stranger. 

You see nothing but the ceiling. But the pressure only increases. 

Immediately, all sleep is gone. You wiggle and squirm under the sudden weight. Weight that shouldn't be possible, considering there's nothing there. Your scream is blocked by a hand clamping itself over your windpipe, squeezing. 

The panic is immediate. You're writhing, doing whatever you can to get air into your lungs. It's not working. You can't move your hands. You can't move your legs. You're dying you're dying you're-

"Can you see me now?" 

You can see him. 

You were expecting something a bit less inhuman. Apart from the stitches that litter his face, he looks familiar, in terms of shape that is. Two human eyes. A human head. Human lips that are curved into a grin. Human skin. 

He looks so normal. And that makes whatever is happening even more scary. 

He releases your throat, and you're sucking in mouthfuls of air, regulating your breathing. He hums in clear delight, leaning away so he straddles you. He tuts when you start crying, sobs wracking your shivering body. 

"Is that all you can do?" He clicks his tongue like he's disappointed in you. 

"Get off," you wheeze, wiggling away, "Get-get off." 

"Why? You were enjoying it a couple of minutes ago." It? You glance down at the mess of bedsheets, where he's still inside you, lazily grinding his cock back into your wet hole. 

Nothing about this makes sense. What was he doing-How can he be-How is he even real when you couldn't see him before? You can't think; your mind is still drowsy on fatigue and the medication. Fuck the medication? Is that why you can barely even struggle?

"What a-are you?" You manage to slur out, words slipping around your tongue like butter. 

He laughs like you just said the world's funniest joke. It only makes your stomach drop. You've never heard a sound so evil before. 

"That's kinda' rude. Your parents never taught you manners?" He drawls, "Mahito, that's my name! I know yours!" You hate the way he says your name with so much perversion. He's ruining the innocence, just like how he's ruining you. 

You open your mouth, intent on screaming, but at that exact moment, his cock slams back inside you. You give out a stuttered moan instead. 

"See? Told you: you like it." Mahito gloats and your mind swirls in and out of focus again. You're barely coherent, moaning and huffing underneath him. You feel disgusted at yourself. For being so okay with this. But-but you can't move. You can barely breathe. 

And, you note with reluctance, he's been doing this for a while. You're practically mid-way through your build-up, so close to an orgasm that you don't want. Given by a fucking monster. 

"Have you-have you been-" 

"Yeah, it's been me, for a while now," he answers without much cadence, "You were so close with the ghost theory. It was kinda cute watching you get so desperate. Finding whatever you could to check out of reality."

Oh. You get it. This was all a game for him. How long has he been doing this to you? Making you stumble around, drowning in your own paranoia. How long has this thing been watching you? Touching you. Fucking you.

"You, on the other hand, are on a whole other level with your delusion." He grins, showing teeth. "Fuck, seriously, did you think you were hallucinating me fingering you? At that point, I have to admire your creativity." 

You can barely focus on his words, not when his cock was digging you out. You were so close, practically on the precipice. He gives one more snap of his hips, and you're gone, pussy clenching around his dick, back arching.

The orgasm feels like it lasts for hours because he refuses to stop moving. He finally grants you mercy by spilling his cum deep inside you, forcing you to milk his cock as he lazily rolls his hips, forcing your oversensitive body to jolt. 

You catch your breath when the world stops spinning. When it grows quiet, you can only hear your own panting. Another wave of tears threatens to spill. 

"Aw, cheer up," Mahito purrs, "At least it wasn't bed bugs, right?" 

[f4irycafe]

thinking about sugar daddy toji who loves to go for the sweet and innocent girls. while his other ceo buddies (gojo, geto, sukuna) prefer to go for the high maintenance, hair laid, expensive ass women, toji prefers the cutie pies. he wants a tiny, pretty little baby on his arm. don’t be fooled though, while he might admire the innocent outward appearance, he likes his girls to have bite to them. he finds women he can walk all over and treat any type of way boring, and why would he spend his hard earned money on something that doesn’t entertain him. but most of all, he loves it when he gets to watch his little girls reduced to a mile of mush and cum underneath him every night as he fucks you like he wants to break you, sometimes you think he truly might. your hands are white knuckling the sheets as he rudely pounds into you from behind, his eyes locked on the way his massive cock stretches out your tiny, wheeling hole. “daddy. daddy. daddy” you chant as he his cock reaches places you didn’t even think where possible. and when he’s all finished, he loves his pretty baby curling onto his big chest as he lazily plays with your messy cunt, giving you sweet kisses as he promises to pay you 2k for each orgasm you gave him that night.

should i continue this hc w a lil fic 👀 lemme know

[digital-domain]

hypothetically…

A fucked up mahito drabble (is there any other kind?)

Word Count: 1300

Synopsis: after you witness him killing for the first time, mahito reassures you in a way that makes you feel much, much worse.

“If I was gonna kill you…it wouldn’t be like that. It would be much more personal.”

Content Tags: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. DARK CONTENT. noncon. description of gore/dead body, blood, dacryphillia, hypothetical description of reader being murdered during sex (does not actually happen), fear kink, reader is scared out of her damn mind, biting (accompanied by more blood!), mahito implies that he would be down to fuck a corpse

When you see him kill for the first time, you break down into tears. You’re not sure what pushes you over the edge: the explosion of flesh and blood that spatters the floor of the sewer as you peer around the corner, or the gleeful smile that spreads wide across his face as he looks down at the remains of his work. When you follow his gaze, you can see chunks of skin, bone, sinew - the limbs are still intact, their tattered edges dripping with fresh blood, but the entire torso is blown to bits. You heard the screams moments ago…now, you regret following them.

It takes him a minute to notice you standing there. You know that you should take the opportunity to run back to the place where he left you, to pretend that you didn’t see, but your sheer horror pins you in place. When he does see you, he rushes to your side, and smushes your face between his hands to kiss you. His palms are wet - you don’t want to think about why. “Aww. You came to watch! How sweet.” When he notices your expression, he cocks his head. “There’s nothin’ to cry about, cutie. I’m just having fun.”

You sniff, and do your best to wipe your tears away. “Most people wouldn’t call that fun.”

“Not a person, sweetheart,” he reminds you. He hasn’t stopped smiling for a second, and his grin broadens as he stares down at your face. “You’ve got fear in your eyes…it’s lovely. And so strong that I can smell it on you, too.” He inhales deeply, and his tongue darts over his lips. “You really that scared?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” His eyes stretch unnaturally wide, glowing in the dim light. “Why?”

Your hands shake, a black haze encroaching on the corners of your vision. “I don’t know…”

“That’s a lie!” He jabs a finger between your eyes, and pouts. “I don’t like it when you lie to me. You know that.”

There’s a good reason for you to keep your thoughts to yourself. He’ll find them entertaining…and that’s never a good thing. But if he already knows that you’re not being honest, it’s safer to tell him now. Before he decides that he needs to force the truth out of you. “I’m scared because…if you did that to them…” You shudder, and choke back a sob. “How do I know you won’t do it to me?”

“Ohhh.” He laughs, and slings his arm around your waist, kissing you gently on the top of your head. “Don’t be silly. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

You know better than to feel completely relieved. But for the moment, you think you’re safe - until he opens his mouth again.

“If I was gonna kill you…” he muses. “It wouldn’t be like that. It would be much more personal.”

Your heart drops into your stomach. You feel weak at the knees - he follows you as you sink to the ground and takes a seat against the wall, spreading his legs and dragging you between them, pressing your back against his chest. He wraps his arms tightly around your waist, and rests his head on your shoulder. “You’re such a pretty, pretty thing…” he murmurs. “You deserve a very special death.” His tongue slides up your neck, breath hot and dank against your bare skin. “I like you alive, for now. But hypothetically…if I did decide to kill you…” He squeezes you, hard, forcing the air from your lungs. “Yeah. I know exactly what I’d do.”

You stiffen in his arms, every one of your senses painfully sharp. Almost as sharp as the fingernails digging into your sides.

“I’d fuck you before I did it,” he declares, his voice bristling with excitement. “I’d put you on your back so I could see your face. I’d put my hand around your neck, and at the moment you came…” He pauses. “Hmm. Would you prefer me to strangle you, or slit your throat?”

Fuck. You knew he was deranged…but this is worse than anything he’s said to you before. Magnitudes worse. An unintelligible whimper is the only response you can manage.

“If you don’t have a preference, I think I’d prefer slicing you open. I like blood.” He grabs your jaw, wrenches your face towards him, stares intently into your fear-stricken eyes. “Not too much blood, though. I’d be gentle with you. Much gentler than I was with him.”

You follow the line of his hand to the mutilated corpse lying just feet away. You can smell it, the stink of blood and guts and death worming its way into your throat, churning the bile in the depths of your stomach.

“I’d be so sweet…I’d only rip you as much as I had to.” He turns you around and pulls you close, smiling as a fresh wave of tears streams down your face. “So pretty,” he hums. “I’d want you to still be pretty when you died, so I’d be very careful.” You try to hide your face, but his hand latches onto your jaw, freezing you in place as he kisses you roughly on the lips. His other hand plunges between your legs, and clamps down on your inner thigh. “Don’t worry,” he assures you. “I’m not gonna do it now. Maybe not ever.”

Maybe. He’s so casual about it - about holding your life in his hands.

Without warning, he shoves you onto your back, wriggling on top of you and trapping you against the floor before you can push him away. He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, and sinks his teeth into your neck, only pulling back once he breaks your skin - after watching your blood trickle out for a few seconds, he darts forward and laps it up, sticking out his tongue to show you the red stain before he kisses you again, leaving a rancid, metallic taste in your mouth.

He guides your hand under his body, pressing it between his legs. He’s hard. As desperately as you try to escape, he won’t let go of your wrist - he makes you touch him, grinding shamelessly against your unwilling hand.

His face hovers over yours, so close that you’re compelled to cross your eyes. “I learned something interesting the other day,” he whispers. “Can I tell it to you?”

He wants you to say yes - but you can’t bring yourself to speak. It’s all you can do to nod your head. You can feel your pulse thudding desperately in your ears, and in your palm.

“I learned,” he says, “that bodies stay nice and warm for at least ten minutes after they die. Especially on the inside.” He giggles. “I guess it takes a long time for all those squishy guts to dry out.”

You squirm instinctively, repulsed by the image that flashes through your head.

“You know what that means, right?”

“No…”

He grins terribly, and presses his lips to you ear. “It means,” he whispers, “that even if I did kill you…even after you went limp in my arms…I’d still have a little more time.”

Your mouth falls open, emitting a gasp that only makes him press harder into your hand.

“Shhh.” He presses his nose into your shoulder, his cheek rubbing against the fresh wound still leaking blood down your neck. “I told you…I’m not gonna do it today.” He raises his face as you thrash beneath him, watching your eyelids flicker, your face contorted with fear. “If I did…I wouldn’t get to hear all the pretty sounds you’re about to make.”

[dollwritesarchive]

𝐣𝐮𝐝𝐠𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 — 𝐦𝐚𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐨

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ this is a dark fic! smut ( minors dni ), fem!nanami’s apprentice!reader, virgin!reader, noncon, anal, body morphing ( tentacles, two dicks + some inflation too ), double anal penetration, size kink, mindbreak, bad end, all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ commissioned by @beebiesworld!! do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. thanks for reading < 3

“Well, you gave up earlier than I anticipated,” the Curse circled you, eyeing your frame up and down like a hungry animal, a wicked grin pulling his features taut, “Such a shame. I was enjoying chasing you around, the smell of your sweat was so sweet, and you seemed so frightened. Instead of fighting me, you tried to run away; are you sure you’re really a Jujutsu Sorcerer?”

there was a faint sound, the clanging of your daggers hitting the concrete ground at your feet, but it sounded so far away. what was really loud, however, was the beating of your heart. it thumped against your eardrums, it drowned out your panting.

how?

how had he caught up with you so fast?

you hold your hands up above your head in defeat, sheepish at just how he stared at your trembling fingers. you didn’t want him to notice them, but they would’ve been impossible to overlook. “I’m… still in training…”

he gasps with an excited grin and draws closer from behind, until the very shape of his lips forming the words against your ear shifts a tendril out of place, “I see, and does your mentor know you’re here?” you want to cower away from the softness of his voice— it was taunting and cruel, but it sounded so sweet.

you shake your head instead of answering him out loud, the lump growing in your throat making it hard to speak. to say that Nanami Kento didn’t know his pupil had wanted to impress him so badly that she skirted his rules and pursued a curse much too powerful and now she was utterly fucked with no way to call for help was too damning for your lips to bring the words to them.

“No?” both hands snake around to grasp at your arms in the air, and keep them there. your muscles all go taut; your blood freezing in your veins. you remembered what Nanami had said about this curse, and his ability to manipulate the body. would he destroy you this way? you close your eyes tight, and await an excruciating death. “He must be worried about you,” the curse croons against the shell of your ear, before puckering to plant a saccharine kiss on your lobe, his body pressing against yours from behind. “That 7:3 Sorcerer.” the way he spat it, like he was drooling acid into your ear, you knew he meant Nanami. he must still be miffed that your mentor had managed to escape him by pulling a cheap shot. lithe, dangerous digits that were cold to the touch drag along your forearms at a slow pace, and he chuckles. it sends a shiver up your spine. “You must know all about me, then. And our little game we played.”

swallowing hard against the lump blocking your throat, you nod, gathering the courage to speak, even as your voice trembled. “I know… I know how you disfigure innocent people. How you torture them… just by touching them…”

“Does that scare you?” he tilts his head, resting his chin against the crook of your neck, and his hands careen around your shoulders, towards your collarbone, “Knowing that I could pull you apart and put you together again, all wrong. I could disfigure you by force, and it would be so painful your mind just might shatter from the trauma—“ though he was threatening to mutilate you, his voice was lighthearted; playful, even. a new level of malicious that you’d never known before. you knew that he could feel the ferocity of your heartbeat, because his digit tips drummed over your chest in the same, frantic rhythm before they tug at your neckline, gentle and teasing, exposing the tops of your heaving breasts. “If I wanted to.” he pokes out his lower lip in a pensive pout, “But then I wouldn’t get to hear you scream, if I turned your brain to soup right away. I shouldn’t transfigure you, should I? I should keep you together, at least long enough to have my fun…”

don’t be a coward. you wanted to tell yourself this over and over, but it was so much easier said than done. he was considering how to torture you as easily as one might consider their options for dinner. “Why are you toying with me?” your hands clench into fists, falling down at your sides once your arms started to ache, “Stop talking about it, already… if you’re going to kill me, just… do it.”

“Kill?” he sounded genuinely puzzled, and that worried you. “Did I ever say kill? I don’t want to kill you, little sorcerer.” you can feel him moving, even as he’s pressed against you, his feet slipping in between yours, kicking them apart until your legs are spread wide, and something— no, two somethings inching up under your pant legs. they felt like twin serpents, forcing their way through the threading until your bottoms were hanging in tatters against your exposed legs. “I want to ruin you.”

your eyes widen, and your gaze drops to your legs— those tentacles were the same shade of ivory that he was, and they were wrapping themselves around the hem of your panties, like fists ready to jerk them down.

you react, but not fast enough. trying to launch yourself forward, both hands flail to shove at the curse, but he’s coiled two more of those strong, thick cords around your torso, cinching your arms in their constriction. the vice knocks the breath out of you, and you would’ve fallen forward had his many extremities not tangled you up— the very tips of them form fingers, one by one, morphing into stitched hands identical to his original ones, and pull at your clothes, jerking your panties halfway down your thighs. as soon as your sex is met with the cold, damp air of the underground, he inhales deep; smelling you. “Ahhh,” he moans, and the tentacles coiled around your midriff begin to pry at your top, pulling it down, “I can’t wait to destroy you!”

your legs tremor, fighting against the inhuman strength of his organic bondage to try and close, to minimize your exploit, but you’re no match for him, not wrapped up like this. you kick your feet, and scream to be let go. but he giggles, watching you fight for your life, and lose. all the while, those many hands of his grope at you, squeezing and kneading your breasts, long fingers running laps between your folds, coaxing your sex to weep, unwillingly.

“Stop—!” you cry out, writhing hopelessly,

“Why? It seems like you like it, your little cunt is wet!”

but you couldn’t bite back the hapless whining that left your lips fast enough, surprised by the stinging sensation when a middle finger and thumb flick at your sensitive clit. “So swollen already,” he laughs, twisting you around to face him. you see now, as you’re hoisted off the ground, that those tentacles ripped his shirt so severely that it’d slipped from his body completely, leaving his rippled torso bare. he was incredibly muscular, and you hadn’t noticed until now, with his silvery tresses hanging over one shoulder, tickling his navel. the feelers winding up and down your legs spread them further into a wide split, opening you up completely, and you wince. you’d trained plenty, physical feats, but you’d never had your muscles forced this tight. “You must be a virgin, you’re so sensitive.” he hums as he steps closer, his clothed groin pressing flush against your most sensitive portion. you can feel a thick tent, hard and pulsating, just beyond the fabric, attempting to push through and get to your sex, and you mewl, shaking your head, mostly to yourself. “I almost can’t believe that 7:3 Sorcerer didn’t fuck you himself, what with how cute this pussy looks when she’s wet. He hasn’t even seen it, has he? I wonder if he wants to?”

both of his hands reach down, pressing his thumbs against your netherlips, and spreads them apart to expose your maiden entrance, his dual-hued gaze sparkling with wicked delight when you whimper a pathetic, ‘No…’ and shut your eyes tight. it wasn’t an answer to his question ( which seemed to be more of a musing than a true inquiry ), but a protest to his touch. you didn’t have to say out loud that Nanami didn’t see you in that light; he was your teacher. you looked up to him, you saw him as a second father. he wouldn’t think like that. not like this monster.

would he?

you feel pressure, unlike svelte fingers, prodding at your sex. your eyelids snap open and you stare down the sea of slithering tentacles in horror. his hands hadn’t moved, your folds still pulled back, but Mahito has rid himself of his pants and, thus, freed a thick, hard cock from its prison. with just a subtle jut of his hips, he’s able to press the bulbous head against your hole. you clench in response, trying to close completely, but his teasing is just powerful enough to stretch you back open. “Hhhnnnn,” Mahito moans, his tongue darting out to swipe along his lips, “Keep clenching, keep trying to keep me out— it makes me want to hurt you.” one of the hands growing from his many appendages reaches up to caress your cheek, which you promptly turn away from. “You’ll only scream louder when I stuff you full of three, big cocks and make that cute, little hole gape for me.”

three.

you tried not to think about that, but there was no denying the creature before you was demonic enough to conjure and do just what he threatened.

“Nanami… he’ll… come to save me…” you insist, squirming. it was a pathetic attempt to instill fear into the curse— try to scare him with what your mentor might do to him if he follows through with his demented plan.

“I hope so!” Mahito chimes, “I hope he’s on his way right now.” with one hand grasping himself at his base, he drags the engorged tip of his cock between your lips, purposefully bumping your vulnerable clit, and watches you bite your cheek to stifle a breathy sound. “He knows where to find us, and you’ll be broken in long before he makes it here, it’ll be so fun to watch him realize just how helpless I’ve made you. Now, I’ve got a tough decision to make,” thoughtful, Mahito tilts his head to one side, and then the other. you open your eyes, reluctantly, and stare down at his cock, rubbing between your folds. he catches you staring and smiles wickedly, wide, “This tight, little pussy… or…” one more swipe, and this time, his tip pressed against your hole and you braced yourself— were about to be invaded for the first time.

for only a fraction of a second.

before he pushes down on his base, sliding his tool just below your sex; it was slick and shiny with your arousal. the thick head sits flush against your anus, and you haven’t the time to protest, though you suck in a flustered breath to do so, before he plunges inside.

a jolt of pain wracks you, and you cry out, voice breaking, when he forces his way into your canal. he was merciless, instantaneous in falling into a brutal, deep rhythm. you were wincing, one eye closed right whilst the other glared daggers up at him, snorting heavy breaths through your nostrils. sealing your tiers muffled painful whimpers, but your toes still curled, your fists still tightened, in protest.

Mahito swoons, seeing how much you hate having him in your guts, and it only spurs him to fuck you harder— deeper. “Yes! That greedy, wet cunt of yours can wait; it’s much more fun stretching you out this way instead,” he’s purring, lids weighing heavily on his duo-toned eyes, “you look so cute, right now, in so much pain. My cock’s just too big for that virgin asshole of yours, isn’t it?” you nod. you knew he wouldn’t care. hell, maybe he would even find amusement in it and fuck you harder just to inflict more pain, but you answer anyways.

helpless.

pathetic.

both hands clasp against your waist, digging his thumbs against your belly to jerk you back to him each time your body lurched from the power of his thrusts. the intensity, the incessant force behind his cock barreling into your insides was all but maddening. he was right. he was too big for you, he was too rough for you. your body was struggling to keep up with all of the sensation and it overloaded your system. that must’ve been the reason you clenched around air, the reason you felt your stomach bunch up in pleasured knots. right?

you could hear the sound— your sex was dripping down over your ass cheeks, and each time the curse drove himself home, his balls smacked against them, sticking just enough to emit a sickening slap. over and over.

Mahito was panting, but you could tell he wasn’t winded because his velocity never even faltered. he pounded you relentlessly, and squeezed your waist so furious that you could swear he was about to fold you in half at the midriff, his thumbs digging into the squishy flesh. “Still a little vice,” he whined, mostly to himself, “I wanted to get another cock in you, but no matter how hard I drill you to stretch this fuckhole out enough, you still grip like crazy. Heh, let’s see if we can fix that, eh?”

“N—no—!” shaking your head, as fervent as you could muster having been fucked halfway into submission, you mewl out in protest. another cock? your stomach flipped. your body couldn’t even handle this one; surely you would split open if forced to take any more. your opposition fell on utterly deaf ears, because it wasn’t even a full moment later that you felt yourself stretch. “S—stop!” clawing at your own fists, you thrash in the tentacles’ grip; at first, it felt like he was prying you open, your battered ring yielding helplessly to the extraction, but then you could feel it on the inside. your walls were stretching. desperate to accommodate the slow-growing bulge you could see peeking against your belly button. he was inflating himself whilst balls deep in your belly, giving you no choice but to extend around him.

“There we go,” Mahito let out a breathy sigh, but never once let slowed the pistoning of his hips. he was determined to hollow you out completely, “open up, cutie. If you don’t, I might just fuck a hole right through you.”

you’d never felt so full before, and you couldn’t imagine anyone had. your body was stretched, your stomach distended in an unnatural bulge that moved, back and forth, with each merciless hip snap. you could feel every inch, thicker than humanly possible, as they pummeled your rectum. you couldn’t enjoy this. not this pain, not this cruelty.

but your pussy was still wet.

was it the never ending fucking, the constant stabbing at every, intimate nerve inside that was numbing your mind? or had you always been destined to enjoy such depravity?

no, it had to be him.

Mahito was fucking the urge to resist right out of you. with each buck of his hips, each time his balls smashed against you, you were losing a part of your brain. the will to fight back had all but dissipated. as did your hatred of the pain he inflicted.

“N— Naa—nami—“ repeating his name under your breath was the only thing keeping your brain from melting away. forcing yourself to remember that your mentor would come for you. he would save you. if you simply held on to your sanity. “H—help— me—“

“Hmm?” Mahito crooned, his tempo changing drastically for once. he was still incredibly deep, but his thrusts were torturous and slow, coaxing weakened whimpers from your lips each time he pressed his abdomen to yours, as flush to you, as deep in your ass that he could go. “You still remember that 7:3 Sorcerer’s name? Even after I’ve stuffed you to your limit?” he didn’t sound at all disappointed. he sounded… impressed. “Fine, I’ll just have to fuck you until your brain turns to mush.” grinning ear to ear, Mahito releases your stomach, leaving one hand tight on your waist, but the other flees to his groin, gripping the base of a brand new cock growing out from his pelvis. perfectly planted just above his original member, this new appendage is already throbbing and erect when it sprouts, drizzling precum over its twin and your abused hole. “You won’t even remember your own name when I shove this one inside of you. Watch!”

he was so fucking right.

your ring protested taking another, girthy intruder, but he was too strong and, in the end, your body had to give in. worming its way inside, the new cock rubs against the other, coaxing a vulgar moan from your assailant, but you didn’t hear it. this new, impossible feeling had hit a switch in your brain. both dicks bulged in your belly, pressing hard against the sensitive wall protecting your g-spot, scrubbing rough, pulsating veins against the nerves. the two sexes were roughly the same length, jabbing deep in your belly, and when he pulled back, and both withdrew before slamming home, you saw stars behind your eyelids as your head dropped back and you yowled.

Mahito must’ve had an amazing memory, because that very same fierce speed and depth returned to his rocking hips in no time, even as you hang— limp and suspended by those extremities. your mouth was agape, so your moans flowed free, but you couldn’t form any real words. you couldn’t cry for help anymore. your eyes rolled around behind twitching lids.

you didn’t remember Nanami’s name.

you didn’t remember your own.

and you couldn’t care. you couldn’t think.

his cocks seemed to be working in tandem, reaching every sensitive cluster of nerves that you had and punching them over and over, an orchestrated attack to shatter your mind. and it was working.

you felt utterly claimed, decimated. his cocks had invaded you, dominated you, broken you. and deep down you knew that, even if someone did rescue your beaten body from this devil before he crumbled it, your brain was long beyond salvation.

“Poor thing,” Mahito moaned, using his now free hand to press down against the dueling protrusions in your belly, but you only squealed louder when he did so, “you’ll never be the same after this, you know? You’ll never recover from me, and we’re not even close to being finished. This is only your ass, cutie, I’ve still got to conquer that little cunt of yours. I wonder if you’ll even hang on long enough for that, or if your body will simply give out.” but, it didn’t matter to him, not really. you knew that he wouldn’t care if you were mangled beyond repair; he’d said himself, he wanted to break you. “No,” he said, finally, within a whiny, ecstasy filled moan, and grasped your face. squeezing your cheeks together hard, he forced your chin into your chest, and kept your visage angled towards him. he didn’t care if you couldn’t see through your glassy eyes, or that you were drooling all over yourself, he cooed at the sight of your loss against him, “I’ll make sure you stay with me, at least long enough to be the prettiest, sloppiest bait for that 7:3 Sorcerer.”

he could hear you.

Nanami could hear you, panting, crying, but as he called your name, he got no response. he repeated it over and over, stampeding the corridors, following the helpless sounds of his pupil. please be okay. he didn’t say it out loud, and he didn’t have to. he was the only one there to hear it.

should he have asked for back up? of course. but, Nanami couldn’t wait for anyone else to come to the rescue, and he had a gnawing fear in his gut that he was already too late.

if Mahito had already gotten to you, then he was getting closer and closer to discovering that you had been transfigured, and he would have to put you out of your misery, and he wasn’t even sure he could do that.

his heart was racing, but as he turned the corner, he saw a crumpled figure on the ground just a short sprint away— it was you, he could tell, but he couldn’t make out much more. he barked your name, hoping to grasp your attention as he approached, but when the visage of you finally cleared, his blood ran icy in his veins.

you were on your knees, completely nude, and yet you were slumped forward with your face against the ground, cheek smushed and distorting your expression, forcing one eye closed. the other was half opened— you looked drowsy. but your thighs quivered. his gaze was immediately drawn to them, and he drew in a harsh breath.

one of your hands worked diligently between your hips, your middle two fingers thrusting deep inside of yourself. with each probe, sticky white dribbles out of your cunt and over your hand and wrist. it’s the same as the substance that oozes from your butthole as it spasms. it must’ve also matched the cocktail of cum and spit smeared across your features, and splattered on your ass cheeks and thighs. you were a complete mess, and you didn’t even seem to care.

you hardly even noticed Nanami when he approached you, still fingering yourself, gurgling moaning, your eyelids flittering. “What…” Nanami’s brows knit together, his teeth grind. “What happened to you?“ he asked, but he was already relatively certain that you wouldn’t be able to answer him. mortified, he steps closer, kneeling down with his arms extended, sleeves rolled up and ready to scoop you into his arms. “I’m going to get you out of here—“

“C—cock—“ you whimper, tongue hanging out of your mouth, and Nanami freezes. “P—please… give me… cock… fuck me… use me… h—hurt me… fff— fuck me, p—please…” sharp eyes widening ever so slightly behind his spectacles, he sews his jaw shut right when he hears that damned familiar giggling from behind him.

Mahito had appeared there, clasping his hands together with glee. “I hope you won’t be too mad at me, but I borrowed your little toy here.” he exclaims, gesturing towards the mess of what’s left of you.

when you hear his voice, you shake harder, fucking yourself more fervently with both fingers, and whimpering, “Please… please… fuck me… fuck me… fuck…”

“The only problem is,” Mahito smirks, a devious twinkle in his eye when Nanami turns around, “I think I broke her.”

[undermine-the-instinct]

Flies in Honey

Mahito/Reader/Yuji Word count 3K

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, EXTREME NONCON, mIndbreak, character death (reader insert)/ You’re already dead prior to this fic, Mahito uses your body, Mahito is his own warning, humiliation, victim blaming, profanity.

Aged up characters. Spoilers for jjk S2. Consider this an Au where Todo dies and Yuji loses against Mahito.

Yuji doesn’t know how he got here.

It's dark, and damp, wherever he is. It soaks into the rags of his clothes and his exposed skin, gravel tearing at his back. He hardly feels it.

The cracks on the ceiling fissure and twist together, but he’d rather look at them. It's better to look above him than what lies before him.

He’s wearing your face. 

Above him, you sigh, breathy and high pitched, Your hips roll into his, and Yuji bites back a hiss. His hands lay limp at his sides.

“Why aren't you saying anything? I thought you would like this.” Your voice is wrong, you’re talking with his voice and Yuji feels the bile rise in his throat.

You switch rhythm, and Yuji chokes on his spit as you bounce up and down his cock. His hands spasm into claws, but no, he doesn't touch you. He won't, he won't.

You laugh. It's so fucked up but he sounds like you.

“You like this better, right?“

“Fuck you–” It was a bad idea to talk. Your– Mahito's hand shoots out and he sticks three fingers into his open mouth to gag him. Two on his tongue, the other on the roof of his mouth, keeping his mouth open. He chokes, but Mahito presses down on his tongue.

He’s going to come again. What number was this? He lost count around the fourth. All he could focus on was the hot coil in his belly, the tightening of his balls and that horrible fucking sound of your warped laughter when he spills, again.

It shouldn’t feel this good. He wants to tear his fucking skin off. He wants to bite down on the fingers in his mouth, he wants to curl into a ball and never wake up.

He's not going to admit to himself he's enjoying this, that he's missed this. It's not you. You're dead. You died, and it's Yuji's fault. All of it is. He got to you, and now he's wearing your likeness like it's a new coat, the bitch.

But damn, it really looks like you.

“I memorized everything about her, you know.” Your fingers leave his mouth, punched out gasps leave his chest while hands drag down his skin, drawing red lines. 

“She was fun to play with. Stubborn too. Kept fighting even when I made her unable to,” he giggles.

“But she made the prettiest sounds when she finally broke. Prettier when we slept together too. She was just like you–Human. Always trying to deny yourselves at your most desperate, out of some half formed sense of dignity. See?” He presses down with your body, chest to chest while your walls flutter around him. Yuji’s eyes roll back, his hands leave bloody gorges  in the ground.

“But human dignity is just the same as human depravity; you can't hide your baser instincts even in the worst circumstances, huh?”

Yuji would fight back, but his head is swimming, and his bones feel like they’re replaced with jello. There is a rage that simmers as he talks though, and Yuji bites his tongue until he tastes iron. It drips through the hole in his cheek. Mahito sees this and sighs.

"Your base instinct is to kill me. My base instinct is to murder your soul. That's what this is." He gestures between the two of them, not breaking pace. His hand drifts down, and he wipes away at the blood on his face, though he only succeeds in smudging it more.

“I did the same thing to her. Took your face and made her tell me how to do it right.”

“You’re sick–”

“I consider myself considerate. It's why you’re here and not dead.” He stops moving, tilts his head and meets Yuji's eyes in an eerie stare you've never given him. “Did you know that was my first time? I liked it.” You, fuck, he tilts your head, eyes pointed up in thought.

“Well, I'm a ‘human curse’ so I guess of course I would.”

“You fucking–” This time Yuji tries to buck him off, get some room in between them to get a hit in, but all he accomplishes is Mahito pushing him down and pinning his hands, going back to his earlier motions. Yuji's weaker now. Maybe its because its your face. He could never fight against you, even while sparring.

“That's how–I was able to memorize it too. All her faces, her sounds, what she likes. I wanted to understand you, through her. And now," a sound, high pitched and miserable leaves Yuji's throat.

"You like it too, right? A perfect replica, right? Wanna keep going?” Yuji just shakes his head, and tries to fight off his grip. But Mahito has more hands, and he remains pinned. He can't help the slight bucking of his hips, and when he notices, Mahito grins, a ruddy flush spreading across your face in a bald faced insult.

He can't breathe. He needs to vomit.

You had gone missing weeks ago, called on a mission to deal with a second grade level curse. Nothing too hard for you, it was a quick job and everyone had thought that you’d be in and out.

But cursed spirits have been acting strange lately, and everyone simply thought that it was due to the encroaching Halloween date. Due to various thoughts and practices towards the day, this was normal. But you had gone missing and the only sign of your whereabouts came from another encounter with the patchwork curse.

He went down to the sewers with Mr.Nanami, following the smallest clues they had towards your disappearance, where they met Patchwork. He had been vague and leering and lewd, and it was the first time Yuji saw Mr. Nanami’s face twist into such visceral rage. He mirrored the feeling, but Mahito had escaped, along with any other clues to where you were.

He had tossed a lump of...something to Yuji with a mocking grin, spongy and pale. They took it back to Miss Shoko, and it was confirmed to be a piece of your brain matter. Your death was confirmed.

Hope had dragged him along, weary and spitting blood, but losing you…was too much. Shibuya. Nanami, Kugisaki, Todo, you… His mind broke. He could feel the cracks. They fought, Mahito had knocked him unconscious, and dragged him to god knows where, and now he’s here.

And now he was faced with this horrible caricature of you, with too wide eyes and a leering grin that reminded him exactly of who was wearing your face.

Mahito didn't even seem that interested in the sex, too busy staring at the way Yuji reacted. His muscle spasms, the way he would jerk away from his touch or forward when he couldn't help it, the blank look on his face that sometimes twisted into an expression of such utter loathing– Or lust, and then his face would twist with such despair, a broken sob dragged from behind his clenched teeth, wrangled and bloody. Mahito felt the dark glee drip honey sweet through his soul, like the slick that ran down his thighs.

You really were a fun experiment. He knew how much you meant to Yuji, and initially just wanted to use you to damage his soul further. But where was the fun with that? You were something special. Yuji Itadori had plenty of friends and mentors, and killing any random person in front of him would always garner the same effect. But there was only one you. He wanted to understand you, and the exact place you held in Itadori’s life.

What made you special? What made you stand out to the one person, his natural enemy? Humans and their romantic relationships always seemed like a Greek tragedy to Mahito; Of course the person you let know all your weaknesses would be the one to destroy you in the end. Love always gave rise to hatred. It gave rise to a particular brand of hatred that made up Mahito, and if he was anything, he was always curious to know the full substance of his soul. That's where you came in.

“We would talk, and I'd have her tell me all about you–” Mahito drawled. “I had to pry out all the other stuff but she eventually spilled. I wanted to know everything you see,” he punctuates his words by slowly pulling himself off of Yuji's cock, before dropping down with a slap of flesh. He watches in fascination as Yuji’s lower belly flutters.

“We made deals the other half of the time. A few less experiments if she talked, or let me touch her.”

“I’m going to fucking kill you–”

“I got bored eventually, after she told me everything, and I took everything I could... I don't even remember what I did to her in the end."

Mahito wondered, if love gave rise to hatred, would you hate your lover for not rescuing you? Or for being the true target of Mahito's morbid intrigue? He never got his answer, you never voiced any thoughts like that, and strangely, he sensed no hatred at all when you died. Not for Yuji, or even for himself. You were probably too broken.

Mahito shrugged. “Oh well. She’s dead now anyways.” An ugly, violent sound tears through Yuji’s throat, and finally his hands reach out to grab at his–your waist with a bruising grip. He shoots up and doesn't let Mahito move, and Mahito is curious about this reaction, so he waits while Yuji catches his breath.

“You…how can you…just do that to people? She never did–she never did anything wrong–” His head comes to rest on your collarbone, and Mahito watches this all play out with an intense curiosity, and a growing glee.

Yuji continues to break down, tears slipping from his eyes down to the soft flesh of your breast.

“What the fuck did you do to her…why the fuck did you take her…" Mahito sighs, lets the familiar timber of your voice take over, and drags a hand through Yuji’s hair. Not as gentle a touch as he made you demonstrate on him, but Yuji shudders, and burrows further into the mimicry.

“Yuji.” At the sound of our voice, your true voice, Yuji's shoulders shake horribly.

So this is grief? Or despair? Mahito remarks. What's the difference? He watches Yuji as he shatters. Yuji sobs, ugly and loud off the sewer walls when Mahito starts moving again, but his hips thrust shallowly into your slick cunt.

Mahito wondered, had wondered, if love gave rise to hatred, then you just needed to love him, right? If he wanted to understand your place in his enemy's life, your place as his 'lover', than you just had to love him, right?  And lovers do things together, they talk about their vulnerabilities, they watch and learn their tics and preferences and dislikes and habits. They stick through the good and bad. And Mahito was….bad.

Yuji continues to sob, but he tilts his head back and starts fucking him back, soft whimpers slipping past his bitten lips.

“I’m sorry, I’m so damn sorry, ah–! Fuck, I'm sorry, I wasn't there, I let him get to you, fuck I’m sorry I let him hurt you–”

This isn’t even about the sex. But Mahito is a disaster curse–he was born from hate. And hate has flavors. Rage, vindictiveness, envy, glee; he’s all of them. And the hatred rising from Yuji Itadori is so potent and despair riddled that Mahito sighs, and in an act unbidden comes with a choked out gasp.

Its sudden. Mahito hasn't orgasmed once this entire ordeal before, but as soon as he does, Yuji groans, deep and guttural. His head flops back to the hard ground, and immediately his gasps turn shallow and fast before he pulls your hips down and comes in thick, hot ropes.

Is it because Mahito is wearing your face, or did he always hold on this tightly to you? Mahito is sure he’ll see dark purple bruises on your skin when he lets go, and Mahito decides he’ll keep them. He’s never fixed you, after all, so bruises were a common sight. He just wonders how it’ll look as it ‘heals’. Maybe Yuji could give him some pointers on the visual front.

Yuji lays there, and cries. The tears cut clean streaks through the blood and dirt and grime, and Mahito stares, and he stares. His pink hair is flat, and stringy with dried blood.

"Why are you pretending you don't like this?"

"What...?"

he tilts your head. "Its sex. Even if you're not one for carnal pleasure I still look like her. I still feel like her. Don't you love her?"

"No...I--"

"You dont?"

"I do, you're just--! Fuck, get off of me--" Mahito swats his hands away, almost halfheartedly, clicks his tongue.

"If you did 'love her' than wouldn't you stop me already? I read a plot like this in a book once... Shouldn't you kill me for 'defiling her memory' or something? You're enjoying this."

"I'm not--"

"You are."

"I'm--"

"You are. Stop denying it. I'm not going to stop if that's what you're scared of." Mahito chuckles.

“What the fuck…is your problem, what do you want?” Yuji gasps out. His breaths are shallow and his voice is high patched, chest rising up and down, up and down, too fast. He runs his thumb over his collarbone if only to feel the rabbit-fast pulse.

“What do I want...?” 

“Why me? Why do you want to break me? ‘Natural enemy?' I don't even know what that means...” Mahito is silent for a moment longer, enjoying the moment, before he leans over. With the use of Idle transfiguration, your mangled face takes up Yuji’s vision, and he feels the breath die in his throat.

“You are my natural enemy Yuji Itadori. But I can't kill you. Physically, that is. So this is the next best thing.”

“You, I–”

“Don't take my words too seriously, I am a curse after all,” Mahito brushes your hair out his face and leers.

“But you seem to think that this is a punishment. This is a reward, Itadori.”

“‘Reward’?” He hiccups.

Mahito nods.

“Without you, I would have never gotten to understand my soul on such an intimate level. I know the essence of my soul because of you.” He leans closer, breath full of mirth and rot.

“And I thought, surely you missed your little girlfriend. And isn't intercourse the most sacred act between two lovers?” Mahito shrugs.

“An experiment for me on whether this would fully break you or not. You can consider it a gift though.”

“You think…you think I want to see her like this?”

“Yes?”

“No!”

“Then would you like to see what's left of her?” Mahito points back to the mouth of the sewer. Tortured, anguish moans rise from there, and Yuji can already guess what was there. Despair grips his heart and rips it out.

“Don't worry, I didn't tranfigure her, actually. I bet I can find the parts of her around somewhere …but only if you ask nicely.” Again, he thrashes, but from battle, or loss, he’s weak.

No, Yuji knows why. He could never raise a hand against that face. Even now, seeing dark purple bruises on a body that even resembles yours makes guilt curl in his chest.

“Get off of me."

“What was that? You're talking so low I can't hear you.”

“Get off of me!” Mahito drawls out a low note, but surprisingly, he does as he’s told. Yuji hisses as he slides off his dick, letting him feel the drag of your walls and how they flutter. It's familiar, and Yuji wants to kill something when he thinks of how this curse must have learnt that from you.

He wants to kill himself when his breath hitches at the feeling.

Mahito gets off, but does not release his hands. The image of an extra pair of hands holding him down creates enough clarity for him to differentiate between the two of you, and Itadori growls under his breath.

Your face smiles down at him, and Itadori tries not to stare back. Just like that, the anger is gone. He’s missed you, after all.

“...You know I'm getting out of here, right?”

“And you’ll try killing me. I know. That's if you don't come back for this, though.” He gestures with a stitched hand the bare curves of your body.

“You’ve killed my puppets, transfigured humans, even the kid ones! Shibuya didn't break you, killing Mister 7:3 didn't break you, or that Gorilla, that hammer woman’s death almost did… but something tells me…”

He slithers up and slots himself against Yuji’s side, and it's an ingrained habit to hold you. He jolts back quickly enough in horror, but Mahito grabs his arms, and keeps them on him.

“Killing me while wearing this face would really shatter you, hm? it's why you didn't stop me when I dragged you here and did what I did. You let me. You let this happen." He shakes his head even before you, fuck, it's done. He denies it, because what else could he do?

Mahito moves to hiss in his ear. 

"Is it because of guilt? You're so human, Itadori Yuji.” And his eyes switch to that familiar silver and blue.

“Even if it's self loathing, I can still sense it. That hatred. You’ll come back, and I'll break your soul down some more each time. Little by little…until eventually, one of us kills the other. That's how this is going to go.” He rests your head on his shoulder, listening to the dull drag of his heart. The movement is so familiar that Yuji could cry again, but he holds it back.

“....So that's how it is.”

“Yup. Oh, and I'm still waiting for my thank you.”

“....” 

He sits up, and laughs at the way Yuji’s eyes go pinprick small, copying your laughter down to a terrifying degree. Yuji doesn't know how, he’s sure you never laughed in a place like this.

“Hate me all you want, it only makes me stronger. But, even if it's unconventional, I still let you see her, feel her. I want a thank you for that.”

And Yuji must truly be broken because what if I really never see her again? What if I never hear her voice or touch her? This here, horrible as it was, was both knife and balm, like peroxide on an open wound. Cleansing and burning.

“....”

“Well?”

If…he just pretends it was you, if he just watches your mouth and imagines….

He used to thank you after sex in the beginning, before you told him to stop thanking you like you were being paid to sleep with him. Of course, this led to the private joke, where you would demand your payment–anytime, anywhere, and he would smother you in kisses. Fushiguro, Kugisaki and even Gojo-san would roll their eyes or tease or gag, but he loved it. He knew you did too, with how often you used the joke.

“...Thank you.”

Fuck, he misses you.

“Nuh uh uh! Not like that!” Mahito shoots up, hovering your face over his again, noses touching. He switches his eyes back for yours, extra arms gone.

“Thank her. Like you used to. Go on.” He's broken. Yuji is broken.

He reaches a hand and cups the side of your face like he used to. You cant into it like a cat, and a fondness rises in his chest, just to be awashed by despair. He has to clear his throat, and still his voice breaks.

“Th-Thank you...” And because he can't help the fact that it's you, it looks just like you, he pulls you down for a kiss. It's so familiar, down to the way you would tilt your head to the side, and your tongue would swipe over the bottom of his lip. But Mahito bites down, reopening a wound from when he bit his tongue earlier. Blood fills his mouth, but Mahito laps it up. His tongue pokes at the hole in his cheek.

He pulls away, and his eyes are still yours, warm and loving, red smeared at the corner of your mouth. He smiles your smile. He speaks in your voice. Soft, so soft it kills him.

“You’re welcome, Yuji.”

[bakubunny]

depraved jjk nonsense ahead ft. mahito & geto. check the tags and read at your own risk.

tw: kidnapping, dubcon/noncon, gaslighting, corruption

food 4 thought: mahito keeping you locked up cause you’re just so pretty and malleable. geto finds out and decides he wants in. they take turns fucking you night after night, using you together and separately. teaching you how to please them. making you their pretty little fuckdoll. convincing you with sweet words and a soft tone that this was something you wanted, remember? they’re going to take care of you, just like mahito promised. why would you ever want to leave their care when they treat you so well?

[thorerre]

people who see junpei yoshino exclusively as a soft uwu boy need to remember that he once told a bully girl that she wasn’t even that pretty and the boys only wanted to fuck her. which would be kinda questionable under different circumstances. people also need to remember the scene at the movie club where he refused to leave even though he knew he would be beaten afterwards. he was a bitch to his bullies. yes he was also shy but are you normal about his shyness

[so386700]

Posted on twitter but imma post on here too-

Y’all pls y’all gotta see @Drag0nartzz (on twitter) designs on this AU- makes me feral and I jump in joy 😖

[envy-of-the-apple]

Yandere!Mahito x reader

sorry for the long wait! I cant write smut and i kept rewriting parts cuz id be like ‘wait he’s being too nice, fuck i forgot he’s a terrible person’ and just delete like five paragraphs. 

I’m def missing a few warnings. let me know what i gotta add

(Warning: General existence of Mahito, tw rape/noncon, unsafe sex, dark content, overstimulation, a tad too much licking ) 

word count 2.9k~

Part one is here

Look Pt2 

18+ content below

You often wondered what was better: to live in ignorant bliss or know the cruel truth? 

You asked your friend this question once. She told you that she’d prefer to live with the truth, that living a lie would be absolutely mind-crushing. 

You instantly knew she couldn’t see them either. 

A snap of fingers brings you back. Mahito’s grinning, tilting his head as he observes you. He looks amused. 

“Pretending not to see me won’t work again. Nice try though, it’s kind of adorable how stupid you are,” He leans forward, roughly pinching your cheek. 

It hurts. You try not to wince. 

“I-I wasn’t,” You weakly argue, “I swear.” 

You weren’t lying. There was really no use in pretending anymore. There was no use in fighting back either. He’d won. 

No, it was more like you had lost from the start. 

Mahito hummed. His fingers started playing with the end of your shirt. 

Oh, right. 

You weren’t surprised. Mahito had heavily hinted how deep his obsession with you went. The looks, the sensual touches. You expected something like this. 

Expectation didn’t make it any less nerve-wrecking. 

Your hesitance seemed to excite Mahito further. You’d barely touched your shirt before hands were gripping the hem to pull. Rebellion was instinctive. You jerked your shirt back, then you felt something sharp.

A claw, much bigger than Mahito’s other four fingers, was nestled beside your stomach. You could barely understand how he could change his body like that, how that could even be possible, when he pushed. He gently tapped on skin, not enough to draw blood, just a silent warning. Behave. 

You immediately stilled. 

“Good.” Mahito tugs your shirt off. “Much better.”

It isn’t cold, but you still shiver. The stinging in your eyes was back. You hunch over, covering your chest with your hands. 

You’re not looking at Mahito anymore-you can’t- preferring to keep your eyes shut. He doesn’t seem to mind, at least he doesn’t seem to voice any complaints. Instead, he leans closer and you could feel something wet caress your bare shoulder. 

A hot wet tongue tails over your clavicle, leaving a line of drool on your skin. You feel disgusted, dull sparks explode from where he touched you. He gripped your waist as his mouth found your neck and he bites. 

You manage to suppress your shriek. It hurts. It was like Mahito was planning on actually eating you. He wanted to rip you apart, you were sure of it, leaving only bones behind. 

He pulls away and, through slitted eyes, you can see his mouth is stained with blood-your blood. He’s panting, barely restrained fingers are running over your chest. They’re trailing down the strap of your bra. His hands are feverish, greedy. He looked like he needed more. 

And you couldn’t stop him. 

Mahito isn’t asking you anymore, more interested in just ripping your clothes off himself. He doesn’t bother trying to figure out the bra clasps, not when he can just slice the front, barely missing your flesh. You don’t have time to react before he’s meeting sensitive skin. 

His hands are cold, it’s all what you can think as they travel to your tits, traversing your burning flesh. His fingers are too firm, pressing into your skin, hands of the inexperienced, but it’s sending shivers of something up your shoulders. And then you’re barely thinking because his face nuzzles into the crook of your neck again and bites again.

You aren’t ready for it, not with his touches being an already huge distraction. You aren’t ready and something small and needy pushes through your throat. A sigh. 

You stiffen and Mahito’s pausing. His hands retract a bit, as if suddenly unsure and he’s pulling away, looking up. He tilts his head and you feel heat flood your cheeks. The taste of shame is fresh on your tongue.

He grins. 

“Hey,” He whispers breathily, “Think you can do that again?” 

It’s anger, you know it’s anger, and you’re about to scream before Mahito’s ducking back down, fingers clamping over your tits to squeeze. 

He’s touching you everywhere, not giving a moment of reprieve. To him, you respond beautifully, reluctantly arching your back, giving him gasps and moans that seem to grow louder the more insistent he gets. He’s rough and you’re sure there’ll be marks tomorrow, constant reminders of what you’ve done today. 

It’s so much and you’re barely noticing his hands trail down, past your stomach leaving cold trails in his wake. You don’t notice until you feel a tugging on your skirt and your eyes fly open as you realize far too late. 

“Wait,” You start, trying to shift away. He doesn’t let you, “Wait, just wait please-” 

You’re forgetting his threats, squirming and the beginnings of a rebel taking shape. Mahito’s quick to suppress, fluidly reaching over to pin you against the soft cushions. One hand on your hip, the other around your neck. He’s not squeezing. There’s just the tiniest hint of pressure, waiting. 

His eyes are wide, giddy, as he scans your face, the redness in your eyes, your tear streaked face. You try to sink into the pillows as he leans closer, his tongue darting out to lick your cheek. Your tears, you faintly realize. You wondered if he could taste what he did to you, if he could distinguish the feelings of anguish, dread, fear, all nestled in salty water. 

“Please.” You say again. A whisper. A beg. 

His smile widens, but he doesn’t answer. He loves this. You know he does. After weeks of being unresponsive, Mahito can finally see you look at him, tremble, fear him, hate him. 

He wants you to hate him even more. 

You know you’re giving him exactly what he wants, but as he slides down your skirt, the fear in your heart palpitates again and you can’t help it. You can feel your heartbeat quicken on Mahito’s thumb. He’s feeling it too.  

The skirt pools on the floor, the only thing you’re in is the ripped up bra and your panties. He shifts again, the hand leaves your neck as he sinks to the floor, right between your thighs. He leans his head against your thighs and you can feel his gray hair swish against your legs. It’s oddly soft. Almost human-like. 

Everything about him is almost human-like.

“You’re oddly protective of this area,” He hums, eyes flicking up to engulf your looks of panic. 

You don’t respond, but he isn’t really looking for an answer. Mahito instead focused on your rising heat, fingers just barely caressing the soft skin of your thigh. His hands suddenly clamp down in a squeeze. You jerk. He laughs. It’s cruel. 

You think you could handle it when Mahito’s finger starts moving closer, just barely skimming your panties. You expected it. Predicated it. There was no way to get out of this. There’s still this feeling of dread that comes when he places a forefinger on your clothed slit, just barely moving up and down. There’s something else too. Something that you’re trying to push away. It’s strong, an urge, and you’re praying you’re stronger. 

But his actions are growing bolder and the shame gives away to a dull spark of pleasure. You flinch. Mahito notices. It’s all the motivation he needs because he’s humming, head moving closer to latch onto your clothed pussy. You squeak, hips jerking as you try to shift away from the sudden heat. His hands keep you in place, as well as a sharp glance up. 

His mouth is dripping with hot saliva. It completely soaks your panties as his tongue lurks out to press against the cloth. The heat and pressure engulfs your pussy and a gasp threatens to break from your mouth. You’re sucking in cold air, hoping it's enough to cool your body. 

It isn’t. 

He’s not quiet either. Mahito lets out a loud moan, pressing further into your clit. It sounds so dirty, and something warm swirls in your stomach again. 

He leans back, and you think he’s finally done with tormenting you but the demon is just pulling out your panties. He lets the cloth fall to your ankles. 

Mahito grins, clearly enjoying what he’s seeing. The satisfied look on his face makes something in you jolt. 

“Is this what you were hiding?” Mahito reaches to push into your folds, “You’re dripping.” 

Humiliation is suffocating. For once, you are glad these horrid sights are for you only. 

He’s ducking down, this time paying close attention to your clit. It’s so much worse now. Your hands are reaching down, grabbing fistfuls of his hair to tug. He doesn’t even seem to care, humming in delight. 

He didn't know what he was doing. His moments are too fast, then too slow, there’s no rhythm for you to hold on to. It’s mindless. Inexperience. 

But it doesn’t matter because it’s working. It’s working and you’re sinking into the cushions, gasping as his tongue swirls circles around your clit. He’s slow, taking his time, building something up from scraps of you. Your hands no longer try to push him away but just hold on as your hips start to move on their own, reacting to his messy rhythm. 

Unconsciously, you pull him closer.

He’s voicing his appreciation, actual words muffled by skin. You can feel his tongue raking up and down your slit, crudely taking it all in. His teeth carelessly bump against your clit. You hiss at that. He doesn’t bother apologizing. 

Despite his attention diverting, he doesn’t let himself get too distracted. When your hand comes up to muffle your pathetic sounds, thick fingers wrap themselves around your wrists, yanking the appendage down to your hip. His groan of disapproval reverberates through you, and you suppress as shudder.  

You barely get a hint, there’s just the slightest tease of a breath, the smallest lick, before his mouth is enveloping your clit to suck and you’re gone. 

There’s an implosion, a sagging wave of pleasure and relief. You throw your head back, not even bothering to clamp down the scream as something good washes over your body. You are barely remembering to breathe. It’s too much and you feel yourself falling back to earth but you can’t you just can’t because Mahito’s picking up the pace, going faster and faster and- 

Oh. 

“You’re not stopping,” You gasp, “Why-why aren’t you stopping-?” The question is cut off by a dull moan, pulled out of you by Mahito’s feverish tongue. 

He doesn’t answer, more intent on pressing harsher, pushing deeper, and you’re dizzyingly wondering if he’s trying to kill you, if this is how you’re going to go, trapped by unyielding pleasure. Too strong. Too much. 

You’re forgetting the position you're in, your reluctant willingness, and you move to pull away, just for some relief. A harsh bite on your thigh makes you yelp. 

Mahito’s still smiling. But there’s a warning in his eyes. A dull sort of annoyance. 

“I’m not done yet,” He frowns, “So stay still.” 

Warmth meets your oversensitive pussy again and it’s finally finally clicking in your messy mind. He’s experimenting. Exploring. He wants to know every inch of you. Every single step to make you crack. Every human weakness. 

One down, a thousand more to go. 

It’s after your second orgasm when he finally pulls away. The lower half of his face is covered in remnants of you. He’s greedily licking it up, not letting a single drop go to waste. You don’t have the mental capacity to be disgusted, breathlessly watching as he lifts himself off his knees, eagerly crawling over your exhausted body. 

He’s not done with you, he’s not kind enough for that. Hands cage you on the couch, not leaving much room to escape. Lowering himself on top of you, Mahito’s quick to resume his earlier ministrations, glazing his tongue across your bare shoulder. Your skin is hot under his mouth. You jerk, arching your back, hoping to get away from his touch. All it does is give better access to your neck, which Mahito quickly indulges himself in. 

“Fuck,” He pulls away, “I really can’t get enough of you.” 

You peer up at him. Much to your dismay, he fiddles with his pants, impatiently jerking the fabric down. You try not to look but, much like a car crash that’s too horrific to not gawk at, you’re staring at the bulge in pants, flinching when something hot and blunt rests against your thigh.

“I haven’t really found a use for this,” He breathes lowly in your ear, “Well, I guess until now.” 

He’s not patient, then again you never pegged him as someone who waits. He’s quick to angle himself with your wet hole, before thrusting his entire length in one single movement.

It hurts. You’re squeezing your eyes shut, a few stray tears falling down your cheeks. His hands move to settle on your hips, but other than that he doesn’t move. When the pain subsides, you peer up to look at him. Mismatched eyes stare back. You can’t tell what he’s thinking. 

Without warning, he gives an experimental jerk. You wince, and your walls clench around his cock. He grins. 

“That’s it,” He coos, starting a messy tempo, “Just like that.” 

He doesn’t start off slow, why would he? It’s not like he’s your lover, overwhelming you with complete adoration, hoping you like this just as much as he does. He doesn’t care about your comfort, your likes, your preferences. Mahito just wants you to lay like that, underneath him, twitching and moaning and pliant. He wants to use you like a sex doll and you just have to take it. 

Your mind is screaming all this to you, but your traitorous body is humming, slowly becoming more and more aroused by his movements. Your walls continue to betray you, letting his movements become less jerky, more fluid. Out of curiosity, he angles his hips a little forward, coincidentally hitting that spot inside you. You mewl. 

“So loud,” He breathes, “I think you might like me.” 

Not coherent enough to form words, you just glare. Offended, he continues to press on that spot, giving a lecherous grin when your eyes widen and you throw your head back in a silent scream. 

He wasn’t watching before, but he certainly is now. You can feel his gaze raking over your face, drinking in every expression, every tremble, every gasp. Unlike you, he seems barely affected by what he’s doing. He’s far more interested in what he’s doing to you. His eyes are crinkled in a leering stare, and there’s a wide grin on his face. Disturbing. Unsettling. 

He’s a fucking creep. 

But you don’t have the luxury to cuss him out, do anything to really make him know it, because he’s picking up the pace, going faster than what should be humanly possible. When he starts to lean dangerously forward, your hands shoot out to grab his shoulders, pushing him as far away from you as you can. His fingers run across your body, tweaking your tits. Another moan spills out of your throat, reluctant pleasure overwhelms you. 

He catches your mouth before you can shut it, jamming two fingers past your lips, depressing your tongue. Your eyes widen and it’s instinct to bite, lurch. He doesn’t let you get far, forcing your head back into the soft cushions. 

You feel him spread his fingers on your tongue, pressing against the inside of your cheeks. He approves of what he sees because he laughs, rolling his hips in a way that has you keening. His fingers act like a gag, making you unable to anything but hum pathetically in his hold. 

“Oh,” Mahito suddenly coos, “You’re drooling.” 

Of course you are. Mahito doesn’t look the slightest bit disgusted, if anything, he looks eager. 

You can’t do anything but shiver as he invades your space once again, removing his fingers to replace it with his mouth. It isn’t a kiss, it barely even resembles one. There’s too much teeth, too much pressure. It’s too greedy, too domineering, too much. 

But you’re starting to see him be affected by this. Blood is rushing to his face; he looks drunk. Mahito’s grinning in pure euphoria, watching as you writhe and squirm underneath him. You think he gets off to this. How helpless you are beneath him. 

He’s barely touched you, but it takes little time to finally fall. It’s sudden, this time. There’s no build up or slow wash of relief. It’s almost blinding. You see white as something something something barrels through your body. You seize, squeezing his cock tighter as you mindlessly ride your orgasm against him. 

Mahito’s not far behind. He gives a short groan, humming into your mouth, before he gives a final shaky push. You feel something warm disperse into your pussy. You can’t even think to scream before he’s stilling above you, just moments away from feeling the pangs of overstimulation. 

You two stay like that for a while. He doesn’t move, still deep inside you. He allows you to catch your breathing, barely even moving, content to just listen to your harsh breaths, your mind still fuzzy to truly understand what happened. At some point, your hands had moved, now lazily wrapped around his shoulders in and effort to stabilize you. 

You’re breaking out of the haze when Mahito starts laughing. It’s giddy, slightly breathless. He breaks away from your lips, moving to bury himself in your sensitive neck. You can feel his hair again, soft on your skin. 

“See?” He says, nuzzling your neck. 

“I told you it’d be fun.” 

[honeeslust]

Mahito | I’m your boyfriend now

18+ only

🖤 TW: non con, blood, death!!

🖤 WC: +1k

🖤 I see y’all whispering about him and since shes a lil demented…

🖤 Scenario: Mahito finds you lonely and stranded in the train car during in shibuya.

Rushed and sloppy, I had a bad day, 👉🏾👈🏾

“ Oh what’s this?” A tall pale stranger with a model's face comes toward you. His shirtless physique dripping with blood, his salaciously long tongue licked the corner of his mouth as he stooped to your eye level. “ you’re a cute one what’s your name?” He asked, extending his hand. “ I’m y/n.” You smiled sweetly hoping he wouldn’t add you to the rest of the scattered bodies lying around you. Hesitantly you reached for his hand. Excited by your nervous shy smile, he beams at you, that lewd tongue slipping out over his lips. “ Were you here alone?” He asked helping you to your feet. “ No, I was with my boyfriend.” “ oh, is he here with us now?” He boasted gesturing to the carnage at his feet. “ no, he ran off and left me.” You said playing with the hem of your skirt. “ aww, that’s too bad. Tell you what. I’ll be your boyfriend.” You were confused and offended. “ I don’t know you.” You spat crossing your arms. He looked back and forth dramatically “uhh, what’s your point?” “ My point is, I don’t know you. You can’t just be my boyfriend.”

“ Oh but I can,” you watched in shock and horror as he shifted his form trying on a few faces of the men that you recognized lying on the floor of the train car. “Stop, that’s so distasteful.” This makes him laugh. “Distasteful?, you’re funny, I like you.” He smiled a smile that wasn’t his as he moved toward you. He reached for the hem of your shirt, tugging lightly “ I’m your boyfriend now, which means I get to have you“ Have me?” You blushed, alone, afraid, and aroused. His breath fanned your neck making your body shiver delightfully. Every little pulse of your heartbeat could now be felt between your legs that you clenched shut trying to simmer your purring kitten. He noticed this and took a stray tendril of your hair around his finger. “ I’m kind of nervous too, this being our first date and all.” He leaned in close and the itchy bearded face of whomever's poor soul brushed against your face. causing you to flinch. “ wait,” you said gently, hoping not to unsettle him. “ I-, I think I’d prefer your actual face please.” “ Well then,” he smiles and snaps his fingers. You shudder watching the rippling flesh as it warped with bone and muscle grotesquely shifting places inside his body. Settling into his original form, he grabbed for you. “ No, sir- please I can’t.” You sobbed helplessly letting the stranger feel you up. So indecent he was. Tearing your top down so your pretty tits could bounce free. All you’d done is smile at him and the patch faced entity was serious about being your boyfriend so he could have his way with you. He smacked his perfect lips together “Aww but please, you’re just scared, just give me a chance … and call me Mahito, sir seems so formal, yeah?” “ sir.. erm I mean Mahito, this is my point, I’ve only just learned your name, so you can’t be my boyfriend. ok.” He stood, cocking his head to the side. His bubbly energy starting to seem more sinister. “ well, no big deal, this would be uh, what do your humans call it, ahh!” He snaps his fingers. “ casual, ! we’ll keep it casual.” Soon again, lips were dotting your neck with kisses but when grabbed your tits, he grew meaner, sucking them into his mouth roughly, making you yelp and grasp for his shoulders but your hands were received easily and pushed aside so he could continue his work. You flinched again. His skilled tongue was too enjoyable. It was wrong to want more of it slithering all over you. “ Mahito” you whispered closing your legs again “Sir—ah- Mahito please.” “ oh, don’t interrupt me sweetheart , I was just getting to the good part.” He comes up from your navel, pouty blushed lips glistening from sucking all over your skin. “ you know it’srude to talk with your mouthful.” He said pushing you to the wall and taking your thigh into his grasp to hoist it over his shoulder. The devilish grin makes you close your hands over your now bare pussy. His laughter was hot between your legs, fanning the wetness that leaked out of you. “ hold still sweetheart.” Before you could speak he entered you with wicked fingers. Long and lithe as they pushed in deep, “ohhhh,” he giggled like a kid in a candy store. You were trembling, feeling how well your clenching walls accepted strangers' digits. He pulsed up into that delicate center until you were dripping down his arms. If this were your boyfriend, that would’ve been it, so when he slipped that sinfully long tongue through your folds, you yelped. “ bet your boyfriend couldn’t do that could he?” As he taunted you, his fingers were behaving in such crude ways, some plucking harshly at your nipples making you squirm trying to cover yourself as you vaguely recalled where you were. The other employed his cursed fingers, transfiguring them to worm their way deep inside your other entrance. Your first instinct was to cover your mouth to hide the shameful sound of pleasure that was being forced upon you. Much as you tried though, your eyes rolled skyward as you leaned back on the wall, legs wide open as you tug at his soft ponytail.

“ Mah - mah - Mahito” you sputtered as you began to ride his face. “ does this ahhhh- mean you won’t kill me.” He smirked with a mouthful of your overflowing cunt. “ who said anything about not killing you?” You froze, the hair on your neck standing up. “ ah well, the jigs up” “ Wha—.” You were cut off by him kissing away the tear that dropped from your lashes onto your cheek. He moved to your lips pushing his disgusting greedy appendage between your lips forcing you to open. Once inside, he caressed your face before pulling away. “ you were fun, thanks.” He smiles revealing a dazzling set of teeth. Awkwardly you shuffled trying to fix your clothes when your throat began to tighten. Your eyes grew wide with terror as you felt the growing orb in your throat tearing its way out violently. He laughed shielding his face from the blast. Tasting your blood on his lips he smiled. “ yummy.”

From the blood room 🩸

[benkeibear]

☰ 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐬

⧫ Character: Mahito

⧫ Reader: female

⧫ Summary: You love Mahito but you’re nothing but a little pet to him he can experiment on

⧫ WARNINGS: dark content, manipulation, syringes, drugging, surgery reader got gaslighted into, toxic relationship, gore, bodymods I guess? (horns and extra arms)

⧫ A/n: this is inspired by a scene of starving anonymous and a dream I had with Mahito after. It’s darker than my soul. But it Mahito - what can you expect??

Mahito and you always had a rather complicated relationship - A sorcerer and a curse, you should hate each other but you just couldn't. Something about Mahitos general curiosity and urge to act upon it pulled you in and he was interested in a sorcerer like you… Well, to have you around like a pet. You were nothing more than one of his experiments and he would say everything to keep you. So if he had to tell you that he loved you, he would. Despite being unable to actually care for a human being he was a great actor and you fell for it - fell for him. You loved the curse more than your own life and would do just about everything to keep him with you and to stay on his good side.

While you were doing your hair in the morning you suddenly saw a familiar blue haired man stand behind you, smiling at him through the mirror. “My sweet love, you would look amazing with a few more arms, don’t you think so?“ he asked amused and you laughed along, it was just one of his silly little jokes after all… right?

“Would you do it?“ he asked again with a sinister grin plastered on his scarred face. “Would i do what?“ you asked confused, unsure what he would like you to do for him this time. It wouldn’t be anything new if he asked you to do something weird for him - It was Mahito after all. He suddenly pulled his arms from behind his back, holding two more pairs of cut off arms, his grin now widening when he saw you back away from him. “Let me sew these on you, silly“ he held out the pairs of arms like it’s nothing and you froze up. Was he being serious? "Mahito, i would do almost everything for you, but this? Don’t you think that’s a step too far?“ you asked, your voice cracking and exposing the fear that now spread across your face.

Seeing fear was something he loved, something you never gave him because that would mean you would have lost and in this case you did. His grin slowly turned into a mocking pout, almost childlike even. You’ve done far too much to deny him anything, knowing he would let people know, destroying your life in every was possible and even if this was just a joke of his, you showed fear and that’s where things started to turn serious for him. He wanted these on you now, he needed it, so he played his winning card. "But… if you would love me you would let me do it“ he mumbled with an emotion that sounded a lot like sadness, heartbreak written all over his features now and it broke your heart since you loved him after all. "Or don’t you love me anymore?“ he added, striking your heart where it hurt most, big crocodile tears threatening to spill over his pale face and you couldn’t stand it any longer. This emotional pressure he put you under made you crumble and give in to him while your common sense screamed and begged for you to run, your heart made you stay. Finally taking a deep breath you nodded "You’re right, i do love you `Hito. I’m all yours“ you whisper out, not even trusting your own voice anymore.

His little act of sadness was over right away, the huge grin appearing once more as he reached into the nightstand on his side of the bed to get his favorite accessory out - a beautiful collar with your name engraved alongside a tag with his name, making sure you know who you belong to. With the smallest smile you put it on, doing everything to see that beautiful smile on him and you didn’t mind this, you did belong to him after all. But the love you held for him wasn’t the same anymore, it was rather a weak attempt at holding onto what you once felt for him, holding onto how things used to be between the two of you.

To weigh you in a false sense of safety he put his silly little idea aside, claiming it was just a test to see how far you would go for him but just as you were about to forget it, you found yourself pinned under him on your shared bed, two sets of arms laying next to it. Your struggle amused him, his laughter echoing off the bedroom walls which made it sound more sinister than it already was. "You agreed to this, my love. You wanted this“ he hummed as a reminder, waving at you with one of the arms. The way you couldn’t even escape the grip he had on you with just one hand made you cry in frustration, only adding to his amusement. “You’re so pathetic, thinking you can escape, my pretty pet“ he stroked your tear stained cheek gently before kissing your lips with a kiss that was barely there. But he was right, you allowed him to do this in hopes that he can love you like he once did - or claimed to do. The later slowly became more plausible for you but it was too late, he had you right where he wanted you - scared, terrified even and in complete submission beneath him, letting him do horrendous things to you, just so he wouldn't leave. Humans are truly pathetic.

“Don’t worry about it, it will only hurt in the beginning… and if you don’t like them, I’ll remove them again“ he reassured you as he snipped against the syringe in his hand. The last thing you felt before your vision went blurry was the cold fluid of said syringe run through your veins, his beautiful smile hovering right above your face.

It felt as if you only blinked but you actually only woke up hours later, your sides burning with unbearable pain and terrible headache plagued you. When you dared to look down, there were no extra arms which made you sigh in relief, only to find four long stitches.

“I didn’t like the way they looked on you“ he hummed rather upset, the bloodied limbs laying in a corner of your home now. His smile returned quickly however when he looked at your eyes which gave you hope that his love returned. "I gave you antlers instead. They look so much cuter“ he cooed, stroking the painful connection between you and what you assumed to be the antlers, completely destroying all hopes you let come up. Eventually Mahito handed you a mirror to adore his creation on your once so beautiful face. It looked hideous, devil like horns ruining your once flawless forehead and you wanted to scream and cry. That was until you caught a glimpse of his expression through the mirror - His face was full of love and adoration for you, for his creation. How foolish of you to think these emotions counted towards you…

"Now i can hold onto them if you misbehave or when you please me, I would never have to pull on your hair again“ he hummed in amusement as he tugged on them to demonstrate what he meant. The smile seemed to never once leave his face, way too proud of your little antlers. This was the moment you finally realized that you were never more than just his precious pet. Looking back on your relationship, you found nothing that resembled love from him and you were only blinded by your own love for him, seeing what you wished for instead of the reality.

A gut wrenching scream escaped your lips when you felt your heart break and you knew there was no way he would ever let you leave now - and he knew too. Together with you he screamed but his scream turned into an evil laugh, once more echoing off your bedroom walls. "You’re such a good little pet, but you need to be quiet now… before your vocal chords are next“ he giggled before kissing your aching temple. There was no way he would let his most perfect creation escape alive.

Networks: @tokyometronetwork

[digital-domain]

Outside

Mahito x Reader // Word Count ~6k

Synopsis:��Sometimes, Mahito actually tries to make you happy. This latest attempt comes closer to the mark than any other. You missed being outside, and you feel just a little bit less trapped once you’re out beneath the night sky. For a few minutes, anyways. Before it all goes wrong. If only this stranger on the street was able to keep his mouth shut – and if only Mahito wasn’t there to hear him.

Content Warnings and Tags: Dark content. Noncon, forced relationship, kidnapped reader, extreme possessiveness, choking, hair pulling, dacryphillia, throat fucking, rough sex, discussion of drinking and depiction of drunkenness (not reader), catcalling, non-gory description of physical violence, discussion of past violence and killing, off-screen murder (also not reader but boy is it traumatizing for them). In summation: the dove is dead, do not eat it.

A/N: I - don't even know how I feel about this one. Sometimes a concept pops into your head and you just have to see it through. As always, proceed with caution <3

He wakes you up with a rough grip, shaking you until your eyes flutter open. It’s an unpleasant way to be ripped from sleep, but compared to some of the other ways he’s tried in the past weeks, it’s not so bad. His hands are on your shoulders, this time, and it’s only his hands touching you – it could be worse. Still, you feel the familiar curl of despair in your stomach, the familiar urge to turn away from the face that hovers over yours, to run away from it. But you don’t do so much as close your eyes. It’s not worth it. You know he’ll only pry them back open.

“You’re cute when you wake up.” He grins broadly, giggling at the sight of your eyes struggling to remain open. “You always look a little bit confused for a second. And your voice changes when you’re sleepy. It’s adorable.” When he leans down to kiss you, you accept it, lying still and parting your mouth to allow his tongue inside. Your eyelids feel heavy. There’s no view of the sky in this wretched sewer – you haven’t seen it since the day he dragged you down here – but you can tell that it’s still the depths of night, that you were asleep for a few hours at most. This isn’t unusual. You’ve learned that when he gets a new idea, he doesn’t like to wait.

His kiss is long, and slow. It drags the breath from your mouth until at last, after what feels like an eternity, he’s satisfied. Then, he pulls you to your feet, and holds you tight in his arms, face pressed down into your neck. “I have a surprise for you.” His voice is low, but shaking, barely containing his excitement.

You stiffen involuntarily, just enough that you’re sure he notices. You can’t help it. You think you’ve spent about three weeks here, although you can’t be entirely sure, and none of the several “surprises” he’s sprung on you in that time have been anything short of horrific.

“I’ve decided…” He pulls back, and grins into your face, still far too close for any sort of comfort, his breath falling oddly cold on your cheek. “That you deserve something extra special. You’ve been so much fun, and I want to do something nice for you. Like a reward. I thought about it for a while, and I think I came up with something good.” He tilts his head, sizing up your expression. “Ask me what it is.”

You don’t want to know. But you will, soon enough, no matter what. “What is it?”

“I’ve decided…that I’m going to let you go outside!”

Your brain churns, trying to make sense of what he’s said. “Outside?”

“Mhm! Aren’t you excited?” His smile falls as you stare blankly back at him. “You should be excited,” he says petulantly. “It’s a good surprise. Humans like a change of scenery, right? You like fresh air?”

“Yes, but”- Surely, he’s not offering you what you really want. To you, outside means freedom. And there’s nothing he wants to give you less than that.

“Oh. I get it.” He laughs, and shakes his head. “No. I’m not letting you go by yourself. I’ll be right beside you the whole time. Wouldn’t want you getting lost on your way back!”

Right. Lost. As if you wouldn’t run as fast as you could as soon as you made it to the mouth of the sewer. In any direction, to anywhere at all. If he ever gave you the chance, you would take it in an instant.

“I’ll hold your hand and everything.” As he says this, he interlocks his fingers with yours, and squeezes. “It’ll be very romantic. You’ll like it.”

His grip on your hand will be tight – even if it wasn’t, you know how quick he is, how powerful. As long as he’s beside you, you’ll never have a hope of escape. Still, as his surprises go, this is the best one so far. It’s a very low bar, to be fair, but still…

“Let’s go,” he insists, tugging at your arm.

 “Now?”

“Of course!” He laughs again, like you've said something absolutely ridiculous. “You really are cute when you wake up. You get confused…”

You pause for a beat, trying to smooth out the consternation on your face. “It’s the middle of the night.”

“Mhm. And it’s nice out! Very quiet. The streets are almost all empty...no one around to get in the way of the view.”

“The streets are empty because it’s the middle of the night.”

“Yes.”

You look down at your clothes. They’re an odd ensemble, a blue, mid-thigh pleated skirt and a large black t-shirt he brought back yesterday from who-knows-where. Only the third change of clothes he’s given you in the weeks since he found you. Certainly a step up from the tattered, indecent remains of the dress you’d had on that first night, and even from the other ensembles he’s collected in the intervening time – but still not anything you’d choose to wear in public. It’s a small detail to get hung up on, but you’ve found yourself latching onto small details quite often in the past few weeks. If you think about the big picture for too long, you start to feel like your brain is going to break.

“You should be excited,” he says stubbornly. “But if you really don’t want to… I can find something else for us to do. I’ve got other ideas!”

There’s nothing threatening about the way he says it. It’s matter of fact, almost genial. But that doesn’t matter. You know that you don’t want to experience any of his backup plans – your imagination is already going into overdrive, picturing what he might have in store if you refuse his offer. “No. I…I want to go outside.” You realize, as you say it, that it’s true, and not only because your fear the alternatives. Still, your voice comes out small, and it shrinks even more as you force out your final sentence. “Thank you.”

“Aw. You’re very welcome.” He kisses you on the forehead, and starts leading you away. As you follow, slightly behind him, you rediscover another one of those small details you latch onto when everything is too much: the sewer itself is oddly warm, but the floor is always cold on your bare feet. It doesn’t make sense. Sometimes, such minute observations are comforting distractions, but right now, this particular one is only adding to your unease.

After a few begrudging steps, you manage to spit out: “I need shoes.”

“Oh…of course! You should have said something before.” He releases your hand and darts away, faster than humanly possible, returning to your side moments later with a pair of black high heels you recognize as your own. “You were wearing these with your dress the night I found you, remember? I decided to keep them.”

Of course you remember. You’d kicked them off inside your apartment, minutes before he’d shown up. Had he really stopped to pick them up when he’d carried you away? The details of that night are…well. Most of them are hazy. A few are painfully clear.

“I kept the dress, too,” he sighs, as he places the shoes in front of you. “It’s too bad you can’t wear it anymore. I still have it, just in case you change your mind.”

You step into the heels, and reluctantly take his hand, wobbling slightly as you follow him through the tunnel. “I was wearing it for days,” you say timidly. “It smells.”

“It smells like you.” In the periphery of your vision, you can see his head turn in your direction. You keep your eyes glued to the floor. “The longer you wore it, the more like you it smelled. It got stronger.” His nails scratch at the back of your hand, long and harsh against your dry skin. “I guess human scents linger for a while, because it still smells like you.”

You stay quiet, as you usually do. How are you supposed to respond to something like that? There was a time when you thought he said things like this to upset you. Now, though, you think he’s just frightfully honest. He doesn’t say things to provoke you – he says things because they appear in his head, and he has no qualms about letting you hear them. Does he know that they make you uncomfortable? He must – but clearly, he doesn’t mind.

For several minutes, you walk through twisted passages. Although you can still feel his eyes lapping at your face, at your body, at the hem of your skirt, he’s silent for once, giving you the gift of uninterrupted time in your own head. You wonder how long it’ll be before he feels inclined to get you a new bundle of clothes. A set of underwear, at least, would be nice. Maybe if you ask, he’ll do it. He does seem to like providing for you, even to take pride in it, although he certainly doesn’t know how to do it properly. When he presented your most recent outfit to you, he stared at you like he was expecting something more than numb acceptance. Like he was expecting you to jump for joy, or to thank him for giving you the dignity of wearing clothes that didn’t stink. These little moments – where he seems to truly believe he's being kind to you - have been happening frequently in the past week or so, and you’re not sure how you feel about it. On the one hand, it probably means that he’s getting even more attached to you. That doesn’t bode well for your future. Then again, your future was more or less wiped away the moment he discovered your existence. You might as well appreciate the little comforts you’re provided.

“Do you feel the air yet?” He smiles, much more gently than you’re accustomed to – inviting, rather than forcing you, to smile in return. “It’s changing.”

As soon as he points it out, you feel it. It’s the light at the end of the tunnel – a stir in the dense, cloying air that gives you a faint sense of comfort. As you move forward, that light becomes physical – he leads you up a ladder, briefly letting go of your hand to allow you to climb. You scrabble up towards the light, almost losing your shoes in the process. As you poke your head over the street line, you can’t help but feel free, just for a moment. When you look up, you can see the stars above you. There aren’t as many as you’d like – the city lights render all but the brightest invisible – but it’s something. Despite everything, you’re grateful for it.

“You like it! I can tell…I knew you would.” He smiles broadly, and grasps your wrist, pulling you onto the street above the sewer. The assistance is unnecessary – but under the circumstances, you don’t mind. You don’t flinch, as you usually do at his touch. He grabs your hand, and you walk along the street together in strange silence. He’s watching you intently, as always, but he’s not talking, and that’s enough. If you didn’t look, you could almost pretend that you were alone, staring out at the open city streets and up at the sky above. What time is it, exactly? 3? 4? One of those times where no one is awake except for you. When you were alone in your home - your real home - you used to cherish being awake at such times, cherish the strange, powerful sense of isolation. Even now, stumbling along the sidewalk with this demon at your side, you can’t help but cherish it again. At least you’re outside. At least you have the stars to keep you company, and not just him.

“Thank you.” When you say it this time, you mean it, although it’s not really directed at him. He’s barely there, in your mind. You’re thanking the night air, and the sky, and the empty, open streets for the strange comfort they provide. Only now do you realize how claustrophobic you’ve been for all this time. The dim light of the sewer, the imposing walls trapping you inside – those little oppressive details have been adding to your misery. Now that they’re gone…you still hate everything about your situation, but it’s easier for you to ignore it. Easier for you to pretend, for a moment, that everything is going to be okay.

“I knew you’d like it,” he repeats. You’re sure his eyes are glowing, that he’s got some version of his crazed smile splattered across his face, but you don’t have to look. There are so many better things to look at right now.

Just as you have this thought, a shadow emerges from the intersection in front of you, perhaps twenty paces away. Under the streetlights, the shadow takes the form of a man. He’s tall, maybe twenty years older than you, dressed simply in jeans and a grey t-shirt. And, as he gets closer, you see that he’s stumbling. He pauses to lean against a battered storefront, right beside the mouth of a shadowy alley. He’s swaying slightly, and you think you see his mouth moving, as if he’s muttering something under his breath.

“I’ve seen ones like him before!” Mahito’s hand tightens over yours, voice full of excitement, as he pulls you to a halt. “It’s almost always at night…and their breath always smells the same way.” His free hand comes out of nowhere to turn your face toward him. His eyes fix intently on yours, and his finger strokes gently over your mouth. “Your breath smelled a little like that, the night I found you, but it wasn’t nearly as strong as theirs. And you weren’t walking so strangely, either.”

You don’t ask why he was close enough to smell their breath. You already know. The horrors you’ve witnessed in the past weeks have been enough to bring you to tears – both out of pity for the bodies beneath him, and fear for your own.

“The things you humans do to yourselves…” He tugs your forward by your hand, and kisses you on the forehead, his fingers slipping into your hair. Even when he pulls back, he doesn’t let go. “You’re lucky you’re done with all that now. You can’t do anything to yourself…and no other humans can do anything to you, either. The only one who can do anything is me!”

Desperate to shake his gaze away, you cast your eyes upwards, but the expanse of the sky does nothing to dispel the claustrophobic dread churning in your stomach. Perhaps it was never about the sewer itself, after all.

He releases your hair and grips your hand tightly. “You can keep walking now. I want to get a closer look.”

You walk slightly behind him this time, your other hand clenched at your side. Usually, you’d worry about how strange you might look to passersby, holding onto what seems to be empty air, stumbling awkwardly as if pulled by some invisible force. But you doubt that the man before you will notice. You can see Mahito’s neck crane as the pair of you approach. As you draw even with the man you think he’s about to let go of your hand, and run up close for a better view.

But before that can happen, the man grins at you, his burnt-out eyes suddenly finding their focus. He doesn’t meet your gaze. In fact, he seems to look everywhere but your face, in the space of a few seconds. His mouth falls open. And the inevitable words tumble from his mouth, their edges blurred. “Hey…sweetheart. Whatcha doin all alone?”

Your stomach churns. If you were truly alone, at this time of night, this would be more than enough to set off every alarm in your head, to send you rushing down the street. But right now – right now, the fingernails tightening against the back of your hand are screaming for all of your attention.

“I didn’t like that.” You turn, giving into the sudden sense of dread that commands you to look. Mahito has never sounded like this before. He’s never looked like this either. There’s no hint of a smile, no glow in his eyes. “I didn’t like that.” You quickly realize what’s wrong with the picture: he’s serious. Not the inquisitive kind of serious – the deathly kind. He’s squeezing your hand tight enough to leave crescent moons in your skin. His eyes latch onto yours, clinging so tightly that you can’t bear to look away. You gasp as, in two places, the skin on the back of your hand gives way, sliced open by his viselike grip. To your surprise, he lets go at the sound of your voice. He holds his hand up to the side of your face, only glancing at the smudge of blood on his nails before capturing your gaze once more. “You’re…you’re not his sweetheart. You’re mine. He doesn’t get to say that. He can’t…” In the periphery of your vision, his hand is shaking.

You stumble as he turns you aside, nearly crashing onto the sidewalk beneath your feet, scrabbling for purchase on his arm. For once, he doesn’t try to catch you – he barely seems aware of your grasp on him at all. The man against the wall is staring blearily, deeply confused, no doubt, by the nothing that appears to be tossing you around.

Mahito’s hand finds the back of your shirt and drags you across the sidewalk, practically hurling you deep into the mouth of the alley beside the storefront. He disappears for a moment – not nearly long enough for you to process your new surroundings, never mind attempt to escape them. In the split-second it takes for your eyes to adjust to the looming walls on either side of you, the dustbins gathered in shadowed clumps along the alleyway, and the crumbled brick inexplicably lying at the edges, your view is interrupted by a flash of movement, unintelligible, faster even than the one that carried you here, followed by the sharp thud of a body on pavement And beneath that, a sickening sort of crack. You think you heard a similar sound or two in the moment before this violent flurry, but you're too frightened to process it entirely. Mahito stands before you, facing the dark, indistinct end of the passageway. Several yards in front of him lies a huddled mass, flung across the alley and into the pavement beneath with a force magnitudes greater than the one that carried you into these shadows. It whimpers in pain, face down, seemingly unable to move.

Your mouth falls open – but even if you could speak, what would you say? Would you tell him to stop? From the half of his face that you can see, you know this would be a futile effort.

When he hears the rasp of your breath, Mahito turns, slowly. One of his hands is in a fist at his side, the other still raised in the aftermath of a brutal throw. This hand slowly falls.

You’ve seen him kill before. Three times, in real life, and several times in the nightmares that have haunted you nearly every night since. What disturbed you most was the way he reveled in it, the grin that spread wider across his face with every movement, with every pitiful sound that echoed into the night, with every deafening spatter of indistinct human mass that forced you to your knees in terror. And his laughter – that was the most hideous sound of all. That’s the one you always hear in your dreams, the one that still echoes in your ears when you wake up.

But somehow, seeing him without that smile, standing in complete silence, is a thousand times more terrifying. You blink rapidly, trying to fend off the wave of tears you can feel building behind your eyes.

He takes a step towards you. Another. One more. It’s a narrow alley – three steps is all it takes to pin you against the brick wall that stretches up to the sky behind you. His hand rises to stroke along the side of your face, to brush over your trembling lips. “You shouldn’t be crying.” He’s far too calm, the pitch of his voice lower than what you’ve grown to expect. “You can’t cry. Not for him.” Here, his voices quivers, enough to remind you that under this strangely cold exterior, he’s just as volatile as ever.

To your horror, a stray tear escapes from between your lashes. As soon as he sees it, he swipes it away, the ragged edge of his nail dragging threateningly along your cheek. “Don’t.”

You would choke out an apology, if you thought you could speak without releasing the rest of the flood. Instead, you find yourself staring silently, helplessly, as his hand closes around your throat. “You’re the most pretty when you cry,” he sighs, soft voice contrasting horribly with the roughness of his grip. His face falls into your hair, and he inhales deeply, fingers tightening against the sides of your neck. “And you’re mine. When you’re this pretty – it has to be for me. Not for anyone else.”

How lovely it would be to look up and see the stars just one more time. To pretend that you were alone for one more moment. You’re suffocating, in all senses of the word, the combination of a lack of oxygen and pure terror sending a violent, vision-blurring rush to your head. The kind of rush that makes you feel like your mind is being violently expelled through the top of your skull, forced to watch helplessly as it floats over the hollow body it’s left behind.

He kisses you slowly, almost tenderly, staring desperately into your deadened eyes all the while. Starving for some response, even as he drains the air from your lungs. When it ends what seems like eons later, he at last drops his hand, and the pressure on your neck disappears. You gulp at the night air, eyelids flickering with the exhaustion and relief of your sudden release. You tilt your head back for another mighty inhale, but it’s cut short by cold hands sliding down your neck, onto your shoulders, guiding you gently but firmly to the ground.

For a moment, the only thing you let yourself process is the rough scrape of pavement on your knees. It’s not smooth. It’s not comfortable. But you can make it slightly better, because there’s a bit of rubble beneath your left knee, or perhaps a small stone - with all too much effort, you manage to shift the weight of your body, to move your hand and swipe the pebble away. The motion leaves you staring at the ground, eyes sweeping desperately for some other small bit of something to latch onto. You don’t want to look up, because you’re all too aware of what lies between you and the sky. It’s been watching you adjust your posture. Watching you make your futile attempts to stave it off.

Mahito slides two fingers just beneath the line of your jaw, and digs in until you have no choice but to raise your face. “You’re doing better. You’re doing good…I didn’t see any more tears. And when they do come back…they’ll be all for me. Soon. I'll know...I'll know that they're mine.”

You think you hear a sound from back in the alley, where his victim still lies alive, and motionless. But when you turn instinctively, he catches you, pressing his thumb firmly into the skin over your molars and scrapping you hard with nails beneath your jaw. “Don’t!” He practically yelps, and the high-pitched sound yanks your eyes all the way up to his face. “He – he wanted to take you.”

You took me. The thought comes to your mind, unbidden, not for the first time. It will never leave your mouth.

His eyes are wild, and his chest heaves, his face an overflowing blend of overwrought emotion, anger and confusion and urgency. “You’re mine. Mine.” He shoves his fingers into your hair, and grips hard, nails scratching mindlessly at your scalp. “No one else can have you. Ever.”

From your mouth comes a terrified whimper, not unlike the sound you heard from the shadows moments before. You follow it with words, and they come out nearly inaudible, caked in the phlegm of tears soon to come. “I want to go back.”

“We can’t.” For a tense, still-aired moment, his eyes fall closed. Without their vengeful glow, he looks more dejected than anything else. He takes a slow breath. You’ve never known whether he needed to breathe, or whether he did it for some sort of effect, but in the moment, it’s serving him, somehow. The hand loose at his side closes into a fist as he exhales, and when his eyes snap open, they’re brighter than ever. The confusion is gone, and the anger has retreated to the background – only a hauntingly familiar hunger remains. “We can’t go back. I'm not done yet.” His voice steadies, and he stares mercilessly, ravenously, into your captive gaze. “I need to - make it better. Make it right."

He yanks you forward. The tension on your scalp becomes painful as you fall gracelessly into his thigh, but he rights you, pulling you into his crotch and holding you steady. The fist at his side unclenches, and falls heavily, almost clumsily onto the back of your head, pressing you firmly into the outline of his cock.

He’s already hard. You’re hit with a nauseating wave of revulsion as you feel the stiffness beneath the cloth against your face, as he drags your lips over the length of his shaft. He holds you there, drawing out the moment, as if daring you to pull away. When you look up, there’s the ghost of a familiar smile on his face – enough to send your gaze plummeting down. His hands drop from your hair, and stretch, in their distorted, unnatural fashion, all the down way to your wrists, dragging them up his thighs before placing them on the waistband of his trousers.

There’s a moment where you do nothing, holding your hands utterly still, inches from his cock. As if your inaction might be enough for him to change his mind. He’s used these moments to toy with you before, letting you draw out your resistance, enjoying the anticipation, enjoying the anger and despair in your eyes. But he has no patience tonight. His hands fold over yours, pressing them down into his waistband, and a third arm juts out from his stomach, rending through the cloth of his shirt to grasp your face, squeezing your cheeks and prodding harshly at your jaw until your mouth is forced open.

His cock springs free, and you let out a choked sob. He’s experimented with many shapes and sizes, and tonight, it’s clearly designed to make you struggle. His third hand retracts back from whence it came, leaving nothing between you and your fate.

Both remaining hands depart from your wrists and land firmly on the back of your head. He tugs you forward, forcing the tip of his cock into your still-open mouth.

You make the mistake of allowing your eyes to flick upwards. And, for the first time since that fateful moment minutes ago, you see his grin spread over his face. “All mine,” he sighs, hands relaxing where they rest upon your scalp. “All mine.” He presses forward slowly, but firmly, easing himself into your mouth, savoring each scrape against your tongue, each time you’re forced to breathe through your nose. He doesn’t stop at the limit of your comfort – he never does. He presses past the edge of your throat, lodging himself inside you, until he’s nearly cut off your breath for the second time tonight. Your eyelids feel heavy, and your eyes themselves water uncontrollably, threatening to spill over at any moment.

Just when you think he’s too much for you to take, he pulls back. But he lets you enjoy your freedom for just a moment before thrusting deep into your throat, pressing his palms so roughly against your head that you know you have no chance of escape. You sputter uncontrollably, and narrow trails of drool escape from the sides of your mouth. Your entire body shudders, gasping for breath, for a break, for a way out. But your suffering, as usual, does nothing to slow him down. If anything, it spurs him on. He thrusts into you again, and again, gradually working himself up, speed increasing with every indecent noise that manages to escape from around his cock. Your survival instincts take over, and you desperately try to pull away, desperate for a single deep, clean breath; he pushes you down, his hands a hundred times stronger than the force your body can muster.

“So pretty.” He sighs – not with pleasure, but with relief. Like doing this to you has finally set his mind at ease. “You can cry now.”

You couldn't stop yourself if you wanted to - tears drip down your cheek as he pulls you in close. So close that you choke disgustingly loudly – so close that even if you dared to look up, you wouldn’t get a clear picture of his face. So close that you feel the bile churning in your stomach, threatening to give way. For several seconds, he keeps you here, staring down at you, crushing your every attempt to struggle.

There’s another whimper from the recesses of the alley – louder, this time - but your empathy seems to have disappeared. You only wish you had enough freedom of body and mind to make such a sound.

He thrusts once more, revels in the way you gag and balk at his size. When he frees you, several seconds later, yanking you back by the base of your hair, you feel no relief. You barely have time to take that one deep breath you’ve been craving before a sharp shove to your shoulders sends you crashing onto your back, knocking the air from your lungs. He drops to the ground and crawls on top of you, pinning you to the ground as his swelling cock drags up your thigh.

”You’re too pretty for humans…and feel too good...” The tip of his cock presses hard at the lips of your cunt, and you use the strength you have to squirm away – until your shoulders hit the wall behind you. “They don’t deserve to have you.” He drags you towards him, and you don’t resist, if only because you don’t want to know how it feels to have your skull slam against solid brick. Your lips, recently sealed shut, part once again as his cock forces you open. For as long as you can, you keep quiet, trying to deny him the satisfaction of hearing the reaction he can already see. But you can only hold out for so long. In real time – the earthly time separate from the years that pass in your mind – it’s barely seconds. He’s molded himself to stretch you open, to stretch you beyond your limits. And he knows those limits well enough not to fail.

His entire body seems to shudder with anticipation. "Come on. I know you can sound pretty, too. Don't hold it back."

You obey, a fresh thrust of his cock forcing a sob from your mouth. His growing smile warps into a full, overbearing grin, a grin that you don’t dare shut out by closing your eyes.

He fucks into you recklessly, sloppily, again and again, and his hand falls upon your neck once more, threatening to tighten to the point of no return. “See? It’s – it’s so nice when you cry for me.” He squeezes – whether it’s intentional or a sign of his failing control, you truly don’t know. “Isn’t it? Isn’t it nice?”

“Yes.” It’s a rasp, hissing out between sobs, and it’s the most painful lie you’ve ever told – but between his hand at your throat and his cock buried deep inside you, what choice do you have? Your mind floats fuzzily above your head once more, abandoning your body to hang on for dear life.

“Good.” He exhales blissfully, innocently, his pure, all-consuming pleasure at odds with the cries of pain and despair you hear emanate from your mouth. “I knew it…still like to hear you say it…”

He’s babbling – and, you realize, with a fresh wave of despair, so are you. “I can’t…please…”

“Soon.” His hand inexplicably releases your throat, and furls into the shadows, arm extending far longer than it should, to the point where you wouldn’t be able to see the tips of his fingers, even if you dared to look away from his face to watch them. “Almost…”

When you finally allow your eyes to close, he doesn’t notice – his head is already thrown back, and somewhere in the alley, yards away, his fist tightens. Hard.

The bile rises in your stomach all over again. For just a moment, you’re lucid enough to realize what he’s doing. And you can’t stop him.

He falls over you and gasps heavily in your ear. His cock pulses, and your eyes snap open against your will, mouth parting instinctually as you feel the all-too familiar shock of his release.

It aligns cleanly with a sickening splatter, exactly where his hand fell into the shadows.

“There.” He buries his face in your neck, and his arm retracts back into view. His hand, oddly slick, brushes up your forehead and through your hair. “All done. All better.” He doesn’t seem to notice the dry heaving of your breath, the uncontrollable shaking of your arms and legs. Or perhaps he does. Perhaps he’s enjoying it. Perhaps he thinks it’s a good thing. “A happy ending…you humans love those, don’t you?”

You’re beyond words. Lacking the strength to speak, the will to move. The only thing that’s working is your mind, and you wish it wasn’t. You wish it would abandon you again, instead of shoving its way back into your head. You don’t dare look back into the depths of the alley, but you know what you’d see if you did. Something transfigured, ruined, mangled – dead. It’s not your fault. It’s Mahito. All him, all him, all this suffering at his hands…and yet, you’re the only one who’s falling apart. Of the three who came into this alley, he’s the only one who hasn’t been destroyed.

“Don’t worry.” He raises his face, smiling gently into the ravages of your expression, carefully wiping a tear from your cheek. “We’re never gonna do this again. We’ll never hear anyone talk like that again." He laughs - laughs. "Not him...but not anyone else, either. I’ll keep you…I’ll keep you away from it all. Keep you all to myself.”

Your back is still pressed to the ground, skull resting uncomfortably upon the hard surface below you. There are still stars in the sky – just a few bright ones, strong enough to penetrate the city lights around you, but they blur before your eyes. Far away, they fade into nothing, pinpricks compared to the blinding glow of the manic gaze bearing down upon you.

Mahito rolls you onto your side, and you stare numbly into the street as he wraps his arms tightly around your waist. Your arm is trapped beneath you, pressing harshly into the asphalt, but it doesn’t matter. You barely notice at all. All you can feel is him. All you can hear is his breath, unsettlingly even and quiet, and his occasional hums and sighs in your ear.  

You know this won’t last long. That once he decides he’s done, you’ll be dragged back to his home, perhaps never to emerge. It’s horrifying, but you’re too numb to feel that horror just yet. You can’t bring yourself to mourn for the outside, the world you’re about to be torn away from. Not yet. Not now. And perhaps not ever. Perhaps it’s best if you never see the stars again. Best for Mahito, best for you – and best for anyone who stumbles into your path.

[lena-after-dark]

alright. alright. i didn't like him that much when i started watching, but fuck it. mahito on the roster

[acidthecorvid]

[tw horror/spooky images lmao]

obsessed with the cutie patootie to terrifying rat transition my blorbos consistently have

like-

proud of you!! cannot understand why you felt the need to do that but go off i guess!!!

[rp-partnerfinder]

25 NB, looking for 21+ partner(s) to be write semi-lit silly and serious things with

Do you love being delusional? Are you full of headcanons? Do you have ocs? If so, hit me up!

I love making delusional au's and plots where the canon is just the blueprint for my own grand schemes.

Comfortable with writing nsfw, but just as okay with just fading to black more often than not.

Dark themes enjoyer, very few triggers, but always attentive to my partner's!

OC friendly, OCxCC friendly and ask you be the same!

MxM, MxNB, NBxNB

Current fandoms n ships (my muses are colored in)

Jujutsu Kaisen

Gojo x Geto

Nanami x Gojo

Mahito x Kenjaku

Baldur's Gate 3

Dark Urge x Halsin

Dark Urge x Gortash

Dark Urge x TAV

Dark Urge x Astarion

Chainsaw Man

Angel x Aki

Discord-bound, will reach out on tumblr first

If you're interested, like this post! I'll try to get back to you ASAP!

.

[undermine-the-instinct]

Stop looking at me with those eyes!! JJK Pt l | Pt ll | Pt lll

Characters: Sukuna, Mahito, Kenjaku, Choso.

Warnings: YANDERE. Minors DNI. Due to the nature of said characters I will classify this as yandere/ darkfic. Soft(?) Gore mentions.

(A.N:I don't know what you did to get these men's attention, but good fucking luck, lol)

♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡

Love is what they call it, this lesser thing beings pursue for some semblance of worth, importance. A liability, and a weakness that {Sukuna} doesn't have. But he supposes that is love by human standards. Curses fare no better. He will not debate whether curses can love or not, he does not exist to either, and he will hold himself to no standards but his own.

You are soft and sweet in his arms, and he enjoys that. Your sounds please him, whether in pleasure or pain. He savors the taste of your blood on his tongue. He wants to rip you to shreds, but he holds himself back. It will be too troublesome to find someone good enough to replace you.

So he supposes that he loves you, in his own way. The only way that matters.

He admits that he greatly enjoys the way you look at him. Your eyes shine, and while mortal means of wealth never enticed him, these are the only jewels he wants to hold in his hands.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes."

You're held up against his side, cradled in one pair of arms, bloody and tired and limp. He is not quite sated after his latest binge, and so he holds you; the remains are scattered around you both, twitching and shivering in the open air. Much like you are, you have to stop that–Predator instincts demand he sinks his teeth into you. Your flesh is a delicacy that he knows well.

But your sweet eyes– so wide and tinged with horror, are alive and bright, like lanterns cutting through the dark mist of night. So pretty. What would he do without them?

"Stop looking at me like that pet, or I'll pluck your eyes out again, like the pretty jewels they are." They were soft and veiny in his mouth, popping like gushers. Reverse cursed technique keeps you in one piece.

As if to taunt him, your eyes gleam brighter with your tears, and his hands twitch around you.

He must always catch himself. Sometimes he doesn't. He wants to keep going, keep going further and further till you're nothing more than viscera, blood in his mouth. Until the pain turns you into a curse, held above them all, just like he is. It would be better for you. It would be better for him.

But, no, not yet. He enjoys your human softness. He deserves it.

"Oh dearest." Your tears fall out unbidden, and he sighs, brings you up to his face, and licks the tracks they run down your face. Sweet, just like the rest of you.

You will stay here forevermore. You will never belong to anyone else, much less yourself.

♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡

{Mahito} is a creature born from every nasty thing humanity has ever felt or thought or done. A maelstrom, a calamity. Not a catastrophy. He is still happening after all.

Love is twisted for him, it's a thing of malcontent for him. In fact, it's one of the main things that made him up. A lover's anger at a cheating partner, vicious joy at their pain, the satisfaction of a lover's vengeance. The soft vindictiveness that comes after, when you pick up the pieces and put them back together again. It twists and quivers up in the light, and Mahito offers it all to you with a smile and horrid gleam in his dual colored eyes.

"Stop….stop looking at me with those eyes." You can barely whisper. There is a weight in your chest. Mahito quirks his head, a mockery of innocence, and doesn't even pout to make light of the situation, like he usually does.

Maybe its because he's never gone this far before. His pupils are blown out, leaving hardly any color, and they don't leave you. It scares you. He is smiling, he has been smiling this entire time, and you hate that smile. It has never been a good thing.

"Do I scare you?"

You keep quiet. Because you can't think, and you know better to blurt out the first thing in your head.

Yes, yes, you do. You know you do. And I know you like that.

"Your soul is finally trembling back into place." He hums, trailing his hands along your prone form, and you can't help the little whimper that slips past your clenched teeth. You can't handle it again. But Mahito grins, and squeezes, hard. Like a child with a fresh new toy. You're sure he's leaving bruises. The kindest touch he's given you so far.

"I worried for a moment that I'd have to mish-mash you back together, but you're fine. We're fine."

You are not fine. You are absolutely not fine.

"I tried to be gentle, like you asked me to. I tried to be considerate. But, just, look at you." The shaky exhale of his breath sends your heart racing, and your hands rush over to clamp over his wrists. He lets you.

Your skin is broken and bruised and bleeding. Your head is fuzzy, but panic keeps you alert. Your heart lugs in your chest, heavy and thumping and you feel the blood pound in your ears, it makes you want to tear yourself out open in order to stop the sick rhythm. You are sore, and you can't tell what exactly is broken, or bent out of place, but you're not dead, not this time.

You don't know how many next times you have.

Mahito softly shakes his head, looks down at all your broken and bloody bits. A breathless smile spreads across his face, while his brows furrow in question.

"How am I ever going to replace you?"

You whimper.

♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡

{Kenjaku} has means of helping you 'reincarnate'. He says helping, but really, you don't have a choice in the matter.

He has done this dozens of times, every time he obtains a new body. You are always the first thing he attends to after, your resurrection is priority. He wants your opinion, he says, and your attention, he doesn't. Your love. You're the only one worthy, and interesting, enough of standing by his side. You will remain there.

He smiles at you in this new meat suit, long black hair and smooth skin, a monks ensemble. He sits cross-legged, chin in hand.

"Stop looking at me with those eyes dearest."

"Or what? You'll pluck them out again?" You join him at the low table, if only to glare at him closer. He smiles, almost blissful.

"Not this time, I think this form suits you more than the last. I'd hate to blind you once more."

"I'll kill you one day, Kenjaku." He nods, mockingly.

"They say love is the greatest curse."

"You don't love me." You don't hiss, you don't growl or grit the words out through clenched teeth. Your hatred and malice is a dark, cold thing, settled in the pits of your belly like sediment at the bottom of the deepest ocean. It slips from your lips like the oldest poison.

"We've done this song and dance for centuries. Your morbid curiosity and lust for power is what keeps me here. I'm a pet."

"No love," he reaches over and boops your nose. He has gotten more playful in this body, and it makes you see red. It makes you afraid.

"You're an experiment."

"Like your cursed wombs?"

"No, something more personal." You roll your eyes, and move to serve your own tea. Fuck him.

"And what experiment am I an unwilling participant in, hm? How long it takes to break me?"

"How long it takes for you to love me," he corrects. The lines of the body's scar are shiny pink in the light. You want to tear it bloody.

"Which is one and the same, I suppose."

♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡

{Choso} exists for his brothers, and that is all. That is all he wants and all he feels he was truly made for, and there is no room for anything else.

Anyone else.

Much less you.

"Stop looking at me with…those eyes." He doesn't understand adoration, only duty, and he is unused to the soft rapture in your eyes. It is wasted on a being like him, anyways.

"What eyes?" You droll out, still clearly lost wherever your mind went. He tries not to think where.

"You know what eyes you're making. Stop it." He hates how the softness leaves you, brow tugging down.

"Oh, sorry. I don't want to make you uncomfortable with all the, um, staring."

"It's not the staring. It's the reason behind it. Your feelings are wasted on me. Place them elsewhere." You don't flinch but your shoulders hunch, and he does not take back his words. They are true and they need to be said. Your feelings are wasted on him.

He just wishes he didn't return them.

"...I can't help the fact that I love you."

"You don't." You can't. You can't.

"Even if you did, it doesn't matter."

"Don't say that. Of course it matters."

"If love ever mattered my brothers and I wouldn't exist. You would understand the situation, and what this means for all of us. Your love is shallow, because you only see that which is in front of you." He sighs, and does not meet your gaze. He doesn't know what you see.

"There is no future for us." And no future that he can secure you.

His…father created him and his brothers on a vicious whim. He will not let you be dragged into that same cruelty.

There's no need to weep. He lets you leave to compose yourself, and doesn't let you take his heart with you.

A half curse, half human thing such as he– half wretched and half tainted blood, all sharp edges and harsh things.

He was not made for love. He was not made for soft things. He was born for tragedy and he will end that way too, and he will comply with his duties as an older brother.

He can not offer you soft things. Even if he dreams of your smiles.

So, please. Stop…looking at him with those eyes.