Summary: coming home half-dead from the summer heat is bad enough. Coming home to Mahito discovering youβre too exhausted to fight him might be worse
JUJUTSU KAISEN MASTERLIST
Mahito knew something was wrong because you didn't tell him to fuck off.Β
He had been lying upside down on the couch when the door opened, head hanging over the edge and long blue hair spilling across the floor while one leg rested against the back cushion, occupying himself by repeatedly transfiguring the end of his pinky into increasingly ridiculous shapes - a claw, a tiny mouth, something resembling a snail with human teeth - when you stumbled inside and leaned against the closed door for several seconds without saying anything.Β
βY/N!β The curse cooed sweetly.
Nothing.
His head tilted. Usually that alone earned him a glance.
Today you merely kicked your shoes somewhere vaguely near the wall.
Mahito knew something was wrong with you by then. Not wrong enough to be interesting in the way a severed limb was interesting, or the way a body looked when he changed something fundamental and watched the soul desperately try to reconcile itself with flesh that no longer matched, but wrong in one of those small, ordinary human ways that fascinated him precisely because he couldn't understand why something so insignificant could reduce you to this.
He took a closer look, and grimaced with disgust.
You looked awful. Your hair was damp where it stuck to your forehead and the sides of your face, your shirt had darkened around your chest and beneath your arms, and your cheeks were flushed such an angry shade of pink that Mahito briefly wondered how hot human skin had to become before something actually started going wrong underneath it.
You didn't even acknowledge him while usually, you did, even if it was only a suspicious glance when you entered a room and found him there, that little instinctive inventory you always took - where was Mahito, what was Mahito doing, what was in Mahito's hands, what sort of smile did Mahito have today - because you had learned, eventually, that those things mattered when you shared a flat with a curse.
βYou look horrible!β Mojito chanted, finally sitting up.
Mahito never simply looked at someone; there was always something invasive about his attention, something that made being observed by him feel dangerously close to being opened up, as though his eyes could reach beneath your clothes and skin and muscle and bone until they found the little trembling thing called soul underneath everything else. He liked those best.Β
Your bag slipped from your shoulder and landed beside the couch with a dull thump, and normally you would've carried it into the bedroom, normally you would've complained about Mahito leaving something bizarre on the coffee table, normally you would've noticed that one of the cushions had been cut open for reasons you didn't particularly want explained.Β
Today, you simply walked past everything and collapsed face-first onto the opposite end of the couch.Β
βHellooo? Whatβs wrong with you?β Mahito asked, head tilted to the side as if he was a puppy.
βItβs thirty-six degrees outside, the bus had approximately nine thousand people on it, some man breathed directly onto my neck for twenty minutes and I think the pavement tried to cook me alive.βΒ
He stayed silent for a long moment, watching your chest rise and fall. βYouβre all droopy. I can help!βΒ
Your eyes opened. βDon't you dare use Idle Transfiguration because I'm overheated.β
Mahito looked genuinely disappointed. βAaaaaarrgghh! You never let me have fun, Y/N!β
You closed your eyes and tried to steady your breathing. At that moment, you regretted not buying the ventilator that had been on sale last week.Β
Mahito rolled onto his tummy, chin settling between his palms as his legs kicked idly behind him. "Your face is aaaalll red."Β
"I've been outside, Mahito. And I just told you itβs super hot outside.βΒ
Your shirt had become almost translucent in places where perspiration had soaked through it, sticking uncomfortably against your chest and stomach, and the moment you noticed where he was looking, you weakly pulled the fabric away from yourself. βStop it, perv.β
"You're the one walking around like that,β the curse pouted. He poked your knee with his index finger.Β
"Please. Stop it, I am not in a mood."
That made him pause. You almost never said please this early. Usually, he had to work for that.
Upon opening one eye, you realized his face was barely two inches from yours. βMahito. Go away.β
"Your pretty, little face is so red. Can I touch it?"
His palm pressed against your cheek anyway.
You closed your eyes. "Mahito."
His hand shifted, cool fingers flattening more deliberately against your overheated skin, and despite yourself - despite knowing that giving Mahito any indication that something he did felt good was practically the same as giving a toddler a loaded weapon - you leaned into the coolness for half a second.Β
"You liked that!β He seemed very proud of himself.Β
"It's because your hands are cold."
You tried turning away from him, but his fingers followed, dragging from your cheek down beneath your jaw before flattening against the side of your neck.Β
You shivered. It felt so fucking good against skin that had been burning for the last hour that you hated yourself a little for the sound that escaped you, barely more than a tired exhale, but Mahito heard it.
Not the huge, ridiculous grin he wore when he was being deliberately obnoxious, not the childish pout when somebody refused to entertain him, but this smaller one, the one that appeared whenever he discovered something about you that you hadn't intended to show him.
"You're really tired, aren't you?" The curse asked.
"I've been outside almost all day."
Your stomach tightened. There it was. You should have known.
"Mahito. Just leave me alone."
He smoothly climbed over you before you could sit up again, knees settling on either side of your thighs while his palms planted beside your head.Β
βGet off, please. I am truly not in the mood for any games.β
"You know what I like about you when you're tired?"
"You're slower." His face descended until his nose nearly brushed yours. "And weaker."
You turned your face away. "Mahito."
"Mahito, stop. Mahito, don't touch that. Mahito, you're horrible." His imitation of you was offensively high-pitched.
His tongue flicked out, tracing a broad line of sweat from your temple, and he pressed a brief kiss there afterward.Β
You grimaced in disgust. You had always loathed the way he insisted on licking your face, a habit that occurred far more often than you could tolerate, each instance grating on your nerves like a reminder of how little regard Mahito had for boundaries.Β
You attempted to wriggle out from beneath him, only for his hand to catch your wrist and press it lazily into the cushion beside your head.Β
The next thing you registered was his lips pressing against yours, and you found yourself returning the kiss simply because you didnβt have the energy to fight Mahito today. His hand groped your tit through your shirt as he deepened the kiss, trying to reach the roof of your mouth with his tongue. The moment felt overwhelmingly intense, his weight pinning you down and the warmth of his body seeping into yours.
βMahito,β you gently poked his shoulder, saying his name in an attempt to catch his attention and get him to leave you alone.Β
He glanced down at your flushed face, at the damp strands of hair clinging to your forehead and temples, and let out a loud huff before leaning in to give you one last kiss. βOkay, okay.β He climbed off, disappeared from your line of sight, and returned a moment later carrying something in his hand.Β
Then, something cold hit your stomach.
"Fuck!" You jolted upright. βFuck you, Patchface!β
Mahito collapsed into laughter. "I love it when you talk so fucking dirty. And yeah, Iβll fuck myself with you but later, after youβve rested a little.βΒ
A bottle of water rolled into your lap.
"You asshole!" You grabbed the bottle and seriously considered throwing it at him. Instead, you pressed it against the column of your neck. "Oh my God."
Mahito stopped laughing. He watched your eyes close. The relief was immediate, delicious, cold spreading into your overheated skin until you nearly sagged against the couch.
He climbed onto the couch and crawled toward you.Β
"I'm not doing anything."
"That sentence has never once been true."
He ignored you, taking the bottle from your hand. Mahito pressed it against the back of your neck.
Any argument youβd been trying to form died instantly.Β
Slowly, experimentally, Mahito rolled the chilled bottle over your skin. "Your whole body relaxes. How interesting.β Mahito was watching you with that same unsettling concentration, like your comfort was simply another response he wanted to catalogue. "You know," he murmured, rolling the bottle beneath your jaw, "I could make you feel really good whenever I wanted."
Your stomach tightened. "That's an incredibly threatening way to phrase that."
He let out a sigh. "Go to sleep. Guess you need some rest. Also, I wanna see how long it takes your temperature to go down."Β
You stared at him. "Of course you do."
"And you're cute when you're unconscious."Β
Your eyes narrowed. "Mahito."
"If I wake up and anything is different, Iβllβ¦"
He tilted his head slightly, his mismatched eyes locking onto yours as he challenged, βYouβll what?βΒ
You opened your mouth, but no sound escaped your parted lips.Β
Mahitoβs grin only widened as he scoffed. βThatβs what I thought!β
You rolled away from him with a groan, curling onto your side. βFucking psychopath.β
Mahito stepped off the couch and, without any effort at all, slipped his hands beneath your shoulders and knees, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. He carried you toward your bedroom - a space he rarely entered, aside from the few moments when you allowed him close. He set you down on the bed with quiet ease.Β
You lasted perhaps thirty seconds. Your breathing evened out, and fingers loosened around the quilt.
Mahito leaned closer. For once, there was no laughter. His mismatched eyes studied your sleeping face with the same fascination he'd shown your fear, your exhaustion, the trembling of your muscles and the involuntary racing of your heart when he was toying with you.Β
Humans really were strange. So fragile. So inconveniently trapped inside bodies that demanded water and sleep and food and the correct temperature simply to continue existing, bodies that betrayed them when frightened and weakened them when overheated and shut down entirely when they'd had enough. Mahito found it almost funny how easily those same bodies reacted to closeness, how a single touch or a wellβplaced breath could send their nerves sparking and their pulse skittering. Everything about them was a chain of involuntary responses, a collection of instincts masquerading as emotion. And he loved watching every one of them.Β
And somehow, despite everything, you still trusted him enough to fall asleep in his presence. To fall asleep in the presence of a curse was the kind of vulnerability Mahito found irresistibly strange. How incredibly, wonderfully stupid.Β
His gaze wandered over your sleeping face, tracing the slackness exhaustion had left behind, the tiny flutter beneath your eyelids, the vulnerable parting of your lips with every slow breath. There was no suspicion anymore, no immediate recoil whenever he moved too quickly, none of that delicious tension that usually tightened your soul the moment his fingers came too close.Β
He could touch your soul right now. The thought arrived with the innocent simplicity of wondering what might happen if he pushed something fragile from the edge of a table. Just once. A little pressure from his fingertips, the smallest distortion imaginable - nothing permanent, probably - and he could watch whether your body recognized the intrusion before your sleeping mind did. Would you wake immediately? Would you scream? Would your soul recoil beneath his hand while the rest of you remained unconscious, trapped inside a body too exhausted to understand why it was suddenly afraid?Β
His fingers hovered beside your cheek.Β
A second passed. Then another.
Your breathing remained soft and oblivious, and something about that made a quiet laugh tremble in Mahito's throat.Β
Mahito withdrew his hand, and his smile crept wider as he lowered his hand and settled beside you, resting his chin on the pillow. He watched the rise and fall of your chest with the fascination of someone observing a fragile experiment.
Maybe heβd test something later.
For now, watching you like this was interesting enough.
