Chapter Text
A ticking in the background. Your senses are wandering. Part of you starts to see it. That one point they always warn you about. Your demise. It might also be the only moment in your life that actually seems exciting. The pen slips from your fingers, rolls over the edge of the table, was never there, never gave you the chance to write your own story.
Because it has already begun.
You didn’t want to become part of his collection, not at any time, not in any breath. But all you had left was acceptance. When it happened, it was already too late. All you had left was the certainty that you were strong enough to become one of those half-curses that he loved and cared for as if they were a part of him. At least as long as they are useful.
And maybe you really are the closest thing to him, because he forced some of his own energy into you. Or maybe you’re nothing more than an irrelevant toy that he gives a smile to every now and then before splashing around in blood and ensuring that he needs to replenish his supply. After all, his experiments take lives. Senses. Raised walls that he tears down as if they’re made of paper.
The rattling of the chains on your body – collar, handcuffs, even your ankles are fixed – roars in your ears whenever you move. The darkness in this place eats away at everyone’s senses; there is no escape, and all you have left is his return. Soon he will come for you and let you breathe a little more freely, because anything is probably better than hour after hour of silence, surrounded by nothing and even less. Every second here ticks slower than you’re used to. Time doesn’t want to pass, and yet it probably passes faster than the blink of an eye.
But you don’t have to worry.
After all, you are Mahito’s favourite.
An experiment that makes his eyes light up. The one who has defied his ability. A complete success, if that’s what you want to call it, because you are a jujutsu sorcerer, doomed to no longer be fully human because Mahito has turned a part of you into a curse. Under his nimble fingers, your soul has been warped, leaving no more than a few traces that could hardly be more revealing. There is also this yawning emptiness. An abyss that comes for you in your dreams. A deep, black hole that licks across the back of your neck like a cold tongue. It swallows everything inside and leaves a rumbling deep within you that could devour someone. Just like that, because it could perhaps fill this uncertain depth.
In some moments, Mahito seems like the perfect target for this emptiness because he is closest to you. He is often all you see in this place. His muscular figure, his long slender legs, that smile that would still exist even if you were smearing his blood on your lips as the beast inside you rips the flesh from his bones with a smacking grind, while he has nothing but mockery for you with a roar of laughter.
On other days, you long for warmth as if you’ve walked through the coldest rain shower you know. And even then, Mahito is often all that seems within reach. That loose-fitting piece of fabric on his torso, the unusual warmth emanating from his body, his ability to mould himself into whatever your heart craves while his hands are on your skin, his lips on yours, your form nothing more than shapeless chaos.
Your lips are chapped. Not even saliva can make them smooth. Footsteps reverberate in the distance, echoing along the walls. They are slow movements that you can only listen to because they last forever without bringing any real change. All they tell you is that someone is coming. Maybe to save you. Or to kill you in this absurd hole, probably twenty metres underground, where no one but the bugs in the cracks of the stone walls can hear you.
Both things are possible, but nothing seems to want to take shape when the footsteps suddenly fall silent. A brief stillness pushes your heartbeat to the fore – one of the most human things you have left. Then you hear the jingling of keys and the thick metal door, which has let in neither light nor warmth, springs open with a screech. Only the stone wall stops it with a loud clatter.
Faint light creeps across the floor towards you, scaring away a few isopods, and although you haven’t seen light for ages, it doesn’t burn like sand in your eyes. It merely distorts the outline of the entrance so that you have to look more closely to recognise the shadow-stricken figure.
As always, his dirty grey-blue hair is tied in three plaits, and while one of them is neatly draped over his shoulder to his chest, the others hang down his back.
“You’re still alive!” His words are an almost astonished statement, making it impossible not to show at least some reaction. Your body twitches without any impulse. The chains clink.
With a few steps, he comes closer to crouch down in front of you. The scars on his face seem to tense even with a friendly smile, and the smell of faint death clinging to his clothes penetrates your nose sweetly. As a human, death incarnate has never been so close to you. Now he is literally offering you a glimpse into eternity. An option that knows how to entice every soul, so you also accept this unspoken invitation by leaning forwards – so close that Mahito’s breath brushes against your skin.
In an instant, he places a hand under your chin, looking at you with that amused gaze that reveals everything and nothing. He has beautiful eyes; one deep blue like the ocean floor in the far distance, the other metallic grey and focused like the hunger of a predator. He has perfected that humanly devouring expression that seems almost forgotten among mankind.
“But you don’t seem to be sane anymore.” He purses his lips like a child who has broken his favourite toy. “We were so close...”
You can’t let him think that. If he disposes of you, you’ll lose any chance of getting away or at least finding a way for yourself to live. You are still sane, you can still make decisions that will at least keep you alive. So you loosen your tongue and contradict him. Your voice sounds like that of a completely different woman. It has nothing in common with you, and yet it belongs to you.
But that doesn’t change Mahito’s pleasure. The spark in his eyes rewards you with a silent compliment for a breath before he releases the chains on your body with a flick. You could almost believe he’s setting you free with that. But he wouldn’t be the cursed spirit he is if he knew what kindness meant. “How about we find out what you can do?”
Proving yourself useful to him would be a step in the right direction, but in this state you don’t even know what’s possible. So it’s more logical to turn him down, to make it clear that you don’t want to play games or fight battles. Not so suddenly. Not when the cold is deep under your skin and Mahito seems terribly warm. Once again, he’s like that blanket in a snowstorm that could make you more comfortable while slowly suffocating you. Besides, your eyelids weigh like lead. Whenever you last slept – surrounded by darkness, it’s impossible to tell the difference between falling asleep and just taking two minutes to blink – it must not have been enough to make you burst with energy.
“Rest is important for your own well-being, there’s nothing to add to that!” He sounds energetic, as if he knows what it’s like to be exhausted. But the cheerfulness in his expression changes in the same beat to a serious, superior, almost mocking expression. “But I don’t think you’ve reached your limit yet. Where’s the fun in that?”
Wherever the fun is in all this, he doesn’t even give you the slightest chance to protest or say anything back. Instead, he juts his chin, looking down at you. “I am a part of you and you of me, in case you’ve already forgotten. Your curse is me.” He moves closer, almost too close. “And I know what drives you. In this matter, you remain human.”
He knows. He realises that a part of you longs for comfort or to devour someone. Both are coursing through you at the same time, two impulses that despise each other and yet are intertwined. And he understands that this chaos is inevitably directed against him because he is the only living being within reach. It is a grotesque contradiction. The human in you clings to control, trying to resist the curse, while the curse itself searches for something – anything – greater than the miserable daily grind that otherwise so obviously holds you captive. And in the middle of it all is you, unable to tell which voice inside you is still your own.
“I know all your thoughts and feelings.” Mahito can’t help but shrug his shoulders. In his eyes, it’s no big deal. After all, you’re not the first experiment he’s shared this process with. You’re probably just the first one who hasn’t thought about a knife in your throat. At least not directly. “I can’t relate to it much, but it’s not like I haven’t studied human needs.” He taps his chin thoughtfully, just pretending to search for words to summarise all this. “And there are a few things I’d really like to try to see what you humans enjoy about it. And what fruit it bears.”
Everything he says makes sense and is completely pointless at the same time. You are his prisoner. A human curse that he created when he wanted to reshape your innermost self. You are neither half nor whole. You are just an experiment that he has kept because his interest in this absurd game hasn’t faded yet. But instead of dissecting you, putting you to the test and finding out if he can do to others what he has done to you, he offers you a human waste of time. Perhaps amusement. Maybe something other than that. Games, closeness, everything that is foreign to him and yet could hardly be more familiar. Not least because he is made of ugly, human emotion.
Your gaze glides along his chest, which is only covered by this simple thing that leaves one arm half-naked. The visible muscles give him an air of superiority because he looks stronger than you are. These arms could offer you protection, could give you a warmth that makes the biting chill inside you disappear. All you have to do is play along and entertain his curiosity.
Your legs tremble with weakness as you try to pull yourself to your feet, causing you to lose your balance. After all this time sitting so immobile in one place, it’s no longer possible to move freely despite the lack of chains. Head first, you bump into Mahito’s chest, unable to catch yourself. The curse takes it with amusement.
“Good girl!” He even pats you on the head, accepting you like a dog begging for forgiveness, before grabbing you by the shoulders and pushing you away with a jerk. All of a sudden, his face comes so close to yours that you automatically hold your breath. The tip of his nose nudges against yours, his eyes hold you captive, the air between you becomes frighteningly thin, and his words float gently in between. “Try not to hold your breath. It won’t hurt much. At least according to the magazines.”
You don’t even get to exhale before he skilfully pulls you to the side, then towards him, only to let go of you when he’s pulled you over his legs. Although he is crouching, he has amazing balance. Not even your body can make him sway, despite the fact that you are supported by him from belly to thigh. Your arms push the rest of you off the dirty ground, while your legs hang down awkwardly.
“You should be a little more honest with yourself, you know?” His voice nestles against you like something that simultaneously warms and suffocates you as his hand gently slides down your back.
The Jujutsu High uniform is the last shred of protection at this moment, a promise of fabric that can’t stop his warmth from eating through every layer. He can probably read you even through several coats, as if your soul lies directly beneath his fingertips.
If he decides to bend it again now, you will most likely die. You will squirm and scream and probably even beg because it will feel like liquid fire is being injected into your body until you don’t know where it ends and the madness begins. Last time, only a single part of you held on, a desperate fragment clinging to life, while the rest of you is still cowering deep in your consciousness – shaken, quivering and traumatised. All you have to do is close your eyes, and it’s all there again. The blood. The fire. Mahito’s distorted laughter.
But the way his fingers dance across your ass in those seconds is nothing like the pain he inflicted on you. It’s a soft touch, one that’s testing something. Something seemingly banal that should seem ridiculously innocent in contrast to the suffering before and yet could make you shatter. This could be his genuine attempt at tenderness. Or he’s trying another form of control.
Your gaze slides over your shoulder to Mahito, and though you could easily get away from him your body doesn’t move a bit. As if frozen in the face of a natural disaster that allows no escape. Your legs tremble, the cold gnaws at your flesh, and this curse, this man, is the only source of warmth in your immediate vicinity. All you can do, with a clear mind, is ask him, maybe even order him, to stop.
“No,” he counters in a cheerful tone, his eyes fixed on your backside in fascination. “That wouldn’t achieve anything.”
Your body is too stiff for there to be any point in resisting. All you can do is wait. Endure it. Grit your teeth as he swings out with one hand. Immediately afterwards, it lands with a muffled clap on your ass, chasing widespread pain through your flesh before stalling electrifyingly between your legs. Your body reacts just like that. You have no control over what it does – trapped in this position, in this situation where nothing really belongs to you and yet everything is happening to you.
As if out of nowhere, he reaches for the fabric on your body, tugging at it to reveal the bare skin underneath. The hem of the skirt suddenly rests around your waist, and the tearing of the tights, which were supposed to protect you from the bitter cold outside, echoes through the room. The dampness in the air of this dump clings restlessly to you, as if it too wants to run away. But Mahito won’t let either of you go.
Another slap draws heat across your skin, tingles in your abdomen and awakens a twitching reflex in you that doesn’t stop even when he presses you a little harder against his knees. None of this helps. Mahito’s warm hand brings more hot blows, burning and throbbing, tingling and emphasising your mere existence with simple force. In those seconds, no part of you can deny that you are still capable of feeling.
“You might enjoy it if you let yourself go.” This time Mahito looks at you as you glance at him, and the icy, probing coldness in his eyes threatens to swallow you wordlessly. The darkness sets his features into sharp contours, revealing seriousness that becomes palpable as he tightens his grip on your sore flesh.
It’s only a moment in which you notice the throbbing of your reddened skin before Mahito slides his hand between your legs. Unexpected wetness combines with foreign warmth, and your legs automatically squeeze together. A pitiful attempt by your body to defend itself fails when he suddenly slides two fingers between your lower lips. Instantly, everything gives way. You have no say in the matter as your legs spread as if they belong to someone else. In slow, steady movements, Mahito penetrates you – a little deeper each time.
“You like it?” The amusement on his lips mocks you as he stops pushing you against his legs and uses his free hand to lash out and spank you once more. Your insides can only tighten, squeezing Mahito’s fingers but not forcing them to retreat. Instead, he pushes a third finger into you. No matter what you do, what you press over your lips or hold back, it rolls off him.
“I can barely hear you.” Mahito teases. “I thought humans could hardly hold back doing this.” Another blow shakes your flesh, echoing off the walls and squeezing the air from your lungs.
Every inch of your body screams for him, or for more. It wants Mahito, wants to feel him inside, no matter what else is going on inside you. His energy inside, what he’s done, leans more towards him than any clear thought in between. His beating barely lets you breathe, and the fingers inside you, moving so steadily, make any saving, human reasoning hazy. What’s left of you is what he’s made of you. This experiment that isn’t quite you and yet has his name rolling off your tongue like a prayer.
“Yes?” He tilts his head curiously.
But you don’t get any further. There’s the trembling under your skin, the quivering of your muscles, the lust dripping out of you – things that leave your mouth dry as dust. For a moment, you can’t even make a sound as he stops moving. His fingers disappear, and the spanks stop. It’s so sudden that the short circuit in your senses spells out how much you want him. A few words that should reach him, but don’t. When you look at him, you can see how his interest is focused on his fingers. They shimmer in the faint light coming from the corridor behind him. There are traces of your desire.
“Yes, I think it’s time you got out of here.” With his tongue, he tastes what’s left of you on him. “It’ll be fun.”