i'm sorry about Gojo Satoru (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
mrblueeyes) wrote2025-03-15 08:09 am
mrblueeyes) wrote2025-03-15 08:09 am
Open Post & Wishlist
RP wishlist:
Shippy stuff with Suguru forever. Also always interested in Nanami, and I'm totally here for dark shit with Sukuna. Interested to explore ship possibilities with other canonmates (but not his students or the younger generation in general). Open to a variety of power dynamics but have a preference for Gojo bottoming--I find when I play him that he likes to flex like he's more dominant and toppy, but his actual type is guys who will call him out on that shit and make him yield.
My dream PSLs are usually long, plotty, filled with conflicting motivations, and also a large side of smut and kink. I like playing with co-dependent and obsessive relationships where things get messy and characters make bad decisions. I love building plots so I'm more than happy to come up with ideas, and I'm always up for building AU backstories and settings.
Specific ideas & most wanted right now:
Sugusato:
-At the end of jjk0, Gojo spares Geto and steals him away, nurses him back to health but keeps him locked up.
-Beauty & the Beast AU. Knight Gojo shows up to slay shapeshifter Geto, but gets caught in the enchantment and trapped in the castle with Geto and his pet curses, and has to learn empathy toward curses and falls in love with Geto while he's trying to figure out how to break the spell.
weird dystopian jujutsu sorcerers openly rule modern society as kings AUs:
-heian era or fantasy au option, rebel/feral curse user geto gets captured to be used as a puppet under gojo family control
-modern au (still jujutsu dystopia, sort of arranged marriage), geto getting pushed into indentured servitude for the gojo family, with lots of bullshit about how honored he should be for the 'apprenticeship' when really it's just how the noble families control powerful sorcerers popping up among the commoners
-teenage fluff shenanigans forever, awkward misunderstandings, jealousy, cute confessions
-dark AUs generally (curse user Gojo AUs, evil Geto willing to seduce/corrupt/kidnap/exploit Gojo)
Sukugo:
-Hundreds of years ago Sukuna was defeated and bound to obey the Gojo family. Now, the heir of the Gojo family knows this curse is dangerous, but he’s starting to become a little obsessed…
@naughtydog, continued from tfln
[He sends the address to his own place, even though he also technically lives at the school and at the Gojo family estate. It's important, especially for things like this, to have a bachelor pad available.
It's an upscale apartment, immediately obvious from the address alone that Gojo's got money. Not the penthouse--he doesn't need to be that flashy, he intentionally wants a place that doesn't draw attention--but the interior is all chrome and black marble, with huge picture windows. Everything about it screams 'bachelor pad', with random items of clothing and last night's takeout left lying around, but the kitchen is spotless. (He hires someone to clean once a week.) The place feels anonymous, too. Aside from a few gaming consoles that are clearly getting regular use, nothing about it is personalized to Gojo. The expensive art on the walls is all abstract stuff, and the furniture was chosen by some interior designer, not by Gojo himself. It's impossible to tell whether he moved in a week ago or a decade ago.
When Lil arrives, Gojo opens the door and nods his head in the general direction of the kitchen in order to invite Lil in.] What are we doing, blowjob before dinner, round two after?
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Whew, you really are loaded after all! This place looks like it's straight out of a catalogue or something...
[Still in the middle of curiously taking in the scenery, Lil pauses as the other man speaks up; glancing over to Gojo with a raised brow. On one hand, the way the other man speaks so curtly is exactly what Lil likes; straight to the point. "Manly". On the other hand...
Something about it makes Lil wonder if Gojo isn't entirely used to having company linger in his place for too long? Of course, it's entirely possible that Gojo is simply impatient when it comes to getting what he wants- which Lil can certainly relate to. But if Lil's other theory is true....
There's no way Lil could pass up an opportunity to teasingly test the guy's boundaries a bit, right?]
Heh.....
[He steps closer to Gojo and leans in, gesturing towards his own cheek.] What- no "welcome home" kiss for your temporary hubby first...?
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these two are just SO much fucking fun
I'm loving these unhinged idiots rn tbh
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can't sleep can only think about these losers
I fought hard to stay awake for the same reason but failed lol
shoving a quick how-they-met in here hopefully it works
It does! I barely know anything about JJK so thanks for covering that!
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Geto - Arranged Marriage AU
Politics and money are unimportant things to him, but to the head of the Gojo clan they're what make the world go round, and the Geto family has been rising in power and wealth for generations. It's a little bit impressive that they've managed to compete at all with the three main families, but for all Satoru cares they can go right on doing that without needing him to be involved. He's Gojo Satoru, and he doesn't need to be saddled with some spouse that will only slow him down and waste his time.
The facts he knows about Geto Suguru are limited, but he's certainly not the worst choice. They're the same age, for starters, and the fact that Suguru is male means that Satoru won't be expected to produce children. He's surprised that they're letting him off the hook at all on that one, so it speaks to just how much they want this alliance. (Still, Satoru won't be surprised if later they end up pressuring him to take an eligible mistress and breed for the future of the clan.) Satoru went to Kyoto Jujutsu High while Suguru was from Tokyo, so he's only encountered Suguru through school exchange events, and they've been graduated for a couple of years now. Finding Suguru aloof, Satoru hadn't bothered to get to know him. He's powerful though, Satoru knows that. Maybe nearly as powerful as Satoru himself, and the Cursed Spirit Manipulation ability is rare and fascinating. It makes the Zen'in Ten Shadows technique look paltry in comparison.
What Satoru is (at the moment) angriest about is the fact that this was sprung on him out of the blue. They'd been hosting the Geto family for the past few days, with the most powerful members of each family doing their negotiating and politicking. Satoru hadn't been paying any attention to what all of that meant until he was informed that his engagement had been decided.
Practically crackling with cursed energy, Satoru storms out one of the back doors of the Gojo estate, thinking that he might want to punch a tree just to see it explode since he can't do the same to his senior family members. It's a beautiful evening, just past sunset, and the grounds are quiet. All the rest of the family and guests are inside eating and drinking and being generally infuriating.
He stops when he realizes that there's someone else out here taking refuge from all of that. It's Suguru. He's ... grown up nice, in the past couple of years. Handsome. (Not as handsome as Satoru.) Dignified. (Much more dignified than Satoru.)
Satoru feels a sting of shame for this being Suguru's first sight of him in more than two years, storming out here like a child with a temper tantrum. Satoru doesn't think that he himself has changed much in that time, aside from being a little bit taller and wearing a blindfold most of the time now instead of the black glasses he wore in his teens. And as much as he feels like he should try and make a better impression, he is still in a temper. He immediately blunts the edges of it so that he doesn't try to punch Suguru.
"Have they told you yet?" Satoru asks. He's still bristling for a fight, but he doesn't actually blame Suguru for this situation. He's as innocent as the tree (which has now, thankfully, gotten a reprieve of execution). Slowing his pace to a walk instead of a stomp, Satoru stops six feet away from him in order to talk. "Or did you know about this in advance?"
He doesn't specify what 'this' is. If Suguru knows about the engagement at all, then he can't mistake what Satoru's fuming about.
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his expression is calm, a typical, well-known smile curved over his lips; he doesn't say anything, at first, hands in the pockets of his loose slacks. the gojou clan seems to behold the old ways, and the old days, given that most of their clans people come dressed in elegant kimono and hakama; he's been permitted, for now, to continue with his western style of dress, at least for this meeting. surely they're already deciding on some beautiful robes for him to wear--something that he can't say he particularly enjoys.
his gaze slides to satoru, once, before he offers a faint shrug. )
I knew. ( that may rekindle satoru's temper, but he's not going to lie about it. )
I asked for it.
( it's like a puzzle that's been put in front of satoru without any of the instructions; his gaze narrows with his smile, considering, as though whatever satoru's reaction will be might tell him a little more about him.
and it's not like he'd gone to his parents begging for the gojou clan heir--rather, it had been something almost serendipitous, both families looking to keep climbing the political ladder in sorcerer society. if he has to be promised away to someone, why not satoru? he hardly thinks satoru will learn to love him, or even like him, really; that means his troubled heart is safe.
because even here, even now, he's grown tired of it all. 'the strong protect the weak' he believes, but by now he's seen far too many examples, swallowed far too many curses, felt the bile rise up in his throat at the taste and the reminder. perhaps there's nothing more to his life than this--a tool to be used, and if satoru is a tool all the same, then perhaps they simply belong together for no other reason than sheer irony. )
Does that bother you?
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Geto - Our Secret Spot
He used to. When he was a teenager, he dated all the time, basking in the attention, but it had never been anything serious to him. Then after Geto walked away, Gojo found that he turned down each request for a date, until it was a surprise to realize he hadn't dated anyone in weeks, then months, then years.
Romance had never mattered to him, so it wasn't until he stopped dating that he realized it did matter, but he only wanted the one person he couldn't have.
There was a spot they used to go, a rocky outcropping in the hills not far from Tokyo Jujutsu High. It was outside of the school's barrier, not near any trails, and up a short rocky slope, inconvenient for non-sorcerers to climb. Not anything all that unique, just a spot in the forest, a ledge with a nice view, space to sit between couple of trees. What mattered was that no one knew about but them.
Shortly after Geto had walked away, Gojo had carved their names into the tree. In a fit of teenage melodrama, he'd added a heart around the names. That way he could leave his feelings here and walk away from them, carry on his ordinary life without the weight of his heart. And when it hurt too much, he could come and sit by the tree. With his eyes closed, he could pretend to himself that Geto was sitting down nearby.
Today, however, as he approaches, he senses a figure standing there before the tree. He hesitates briefly, not sure if this is a trap, but then continues forward, leaping up the slope with a couple of smooth jumps to land just a couple of steps behind Geto. "Your hair's gotten so long," he comments, hands in his pockets and posture casual.
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It wasn't some romantic trip down memory lane that brought Geto here today, though. He had other plans, more nefarious. Scoping out an area close enough to the school and yet far enough away from the barriers Tengen had set up so that he could go relatively undetected. Oh, Geto knew Gojo was on his way to this spot long before he arrived, his dear old friend had a unique cursed energy about him, Geto could practically taste him in the air all around him.
A hand slipped out from the sleeve of his black Yukata robes, pressing the palm against the scarred bark of the tree where their names marred it. At his feet were some small curses he'd let out, a trio of Kashira sampling around with a hop and grunt here and there, rolling and bumping into each other, stopping and staring at Gojo as he stood behind their master.
"... And you still wear yours the same way, Satoru." He says as he turns his head back over a shoulder to look at them.
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Geto - Nice Cult You've Got Here
Suguru left behind everything, so Satoru has no way to contact him. No phone, no email, no shared contacts. Nothing. Some days Satoru considers sky writing as a viable means of contact. Just fucking text me, you asshole. Love, Satoru.
He chases down every lead, but there aren't many of those. A few sightings or incidents here and there, all of them quickly resulting in dead ends. Satoru writes letters that he has nowhere to send and haunts every place they ever spent time together. Nostalgia and loneliness drive him through a constant loop of their time together until he's living more in reverie than in reality. At first it's just the good times, then it's the neutral times of anywhere they visited, until finally Satoru finds himself seeking out some of the worst memories of his life, just because they hold an echo of Suguru, who increasingly feels like a ghost.
Finally he ends up at one of the old Star Religious Group locations, the one where Suguru had found him holding the body of Riko Amanai as the worshipers around him applauded.
Suguru had told him there was no point in killing them, as the group would disband in time. It had, as far as Satoru knew. But there's something still here. It just looks like an ordinary church, even once he goes inside. But once he is inside he realizes that there was a barrier around the place to keep out the intense cursed energy that fills it up inside, seeping into every corner like sewage.
The few cultists inside stare at him, obviously recognizing who he is. A fight seems inevitable, though Gojo isn't sure who he's going to be fighting or what he's walked into. So he gives a cheery wave to the people who are staring at him. "Hey! Take me to your leader."
They murmur amongst themselves briefly, then one of them breaks away from the rest and slips through a door at the back, presumably off to notify the leader in question.
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((Even if they were always stronger together.))
He still doesn't expect the commotion on an otherwise completely normal morning. It's--odd, the way whispers and agitation spreads through the building like ripples in a pond. Not loud enough for him to step out immediately, but also impossible to miss.
He waits. If it's important, someone will inform him soon enough.
And, as if he'd summoned the man by the thought alone, one of the nameless monkeys come scrambling in, his words tripping over one another as he points towards the doors. Suguru gets the gist of it, though.
"Satoru," he says, cheerful and light as he slides the door open. "I wasn't expecting you."
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in which gojo is really remarkably dense and oblivious ~ epistolatory pining
They were best friends through high school, and had similar and compatible enough aptitudes to go to college together, an unstoppable team earning research awards and accolades even as undergrads. Their paths had diverged a little more in grad school as Satoru had gone further into heavily theoretical quantum physics, but they'd stayed inseparable, choosing the same university and living in the same house. (Satoru paid for this, waving off any ridiculous offers of 'splitting the rent'.) But Satoru had rejected academia past his masters degree, wanting to start his own business instead, and he dragged Suguru with him. Satoru's genius was purely conceptual, and he would have been useless on his own. He believed that Suguru, the brilliant inventor, probably would have managed just fine on his own, but hoped that all his wild theoreticals were worth the effort Suguru had to put into honing them into workable applications. Satoru brought his charm to their partnership, too, making himself the spokesperson of the company and handling the majority of the interviews--though he still always insisted on emphasizing Suguru's importance in their partnership, and it enraged him when they did a photoshoot together and then the magazine printed Satoru alone on the cover, as though Satoru alone was the genius behind their success. As if he'd ever been able to accomplish anything without Suguru doing most of the work.
They had a certain kind of fame--especially Satoru--but outside of their circles of business and academia it didn't mean much. Satoru got recognized on the street sometimes, but his physical attributes made that a more common inevitability. Anyone who had seen the white-haired, 190cm, hotshot young physicist had a tendency to remember him.
In his personal life, whether people recognized him from his work or not, Satoru got lots of attention and he reveled in it. Never anything serious, but ever since he'd been a teenager it had been easy for him to draw admirers, so he'd indulged himself with casual promiscuity. He'd always had a crush on Suguru, but he'd never seen Suguru show interest in anyone, so Satoru had simply assumed from the available evidence that Suguru was asexual and aromantic.
Satoru was happy with his life. A sappy part of his heart still believed in romance, but it wasn't important. Suguru met all his needs for companionship and emotional stability, and Satoru could get his sexual needs met with a variety of one-night stands. Suguru didn't seem to mind when Satoru brought people home, so it was fine.
Yawning as he makes his way down to breakfast, Satoru bumps his shoulder against Suguru's in greeting as he reaches past him to get a mug and fill it with coffee. Too much milk, too much sugar.
He's not too bad about getting up within twenty minutes of his alarm, but Suguru's always up first. When Satoru comes downstairs, he usually has the benefit of whatever Suguru's made for breakfast, coffee already brewed. It definitely helps keep Satoru's schedule in line that breakfast is hot at exactly 7:20am, and starts to cool and congeal after that.
One of the other things that Suguru usually reliably does is to get and sort the mail. If there's anything that Satoru needs to deal with personally, it'll be waiting beside his plate at breakfast.
Today, there's a plain white envelope with his name on it and nothing else. Typed, not handwritten, no postmark, so someone just walked up and put it in the box. Satoru takes a bite of toast and then opens the envelope, taking out the paper inside and starting to read.
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It was stupid to send it. Suguru knew that. Writing the letter, folding it up, putting it in an envelope, and sticking it by Satoru's plate that morning was stupid. He even made sure to get the actual mail, so it would look like something some random person dropped off.
Suguru watched as Satoru opened the letter and started reading, although he only allowed himself to look at his friend for so long, worried that Satoru would feel his gaze and wonder what was up. He'd always been like that, only watching Satoru from the corner of his eyes, or for short periods, so it didn't seem untoward. That morning was no different.
Except Suguru couldn't help but look at him slightly more, wondering where he was in the letter. It had been written in a fit the night before, after a long day of Satoru talking to him, being in his personal space, leaning on him— and then disappearing for dinner with someone else. Someone Suguru had seen later, infuriatingly handsome (though not as gorgeous as Satoru) and sexy, with a shitty, annoying laugh, and a hard mouth.
五条悟—
Your hands are distracting. Those longer, slender fingers and short nails— you get manicures, I can tell. Do you keep your nails trimmed so you can fuck yourself with your fingers on the nights you don't have anyone filling your hole? Do you use them on anyone else? Let men suck on those fingers, fuck them open with them when you're giving them blowjobs?
No, that's not right. You're probably just as lazy in bed, whining like a brat when your hole is empty too long, begging men to fill it up. You never want to do the work, don't you? Don't ask how I know, princess. Your type screams it. And you sleep with these men who like to give it to you the way you want it, or the way you think you do, and it's good enough. But is it satisfying to sleep with all of them? They know how to fuck, but do they know you? Do they appreciate the sight of you beneath them, know what a treasure they have? I know those sorts, they wouldn't know how to treasure you. Sure, they can fill up your hole, but they don't do anything. Don't know how to make you work for it or beg properly, don't know what to do with those limbs of yours.
I want to see those hands of yours pinned to the bed. Gripping the sheets, unable to get away while I stretch your hole, get you nice and wet for me, and finally fuck you. I'll hold them down if you try to escape, and suck on them if you're good for me. And you'd want to be good for me, wouldn't you? I see it in you, how desperate you are to be good.
But you'll never notice me. Which is for the best— I couldn't share you with those assholes you keep flirting and fucking with.
There's no name at the end, of course. Suguru was stupid but not that stupid. He couldn't go and confess all of that in a letter and put his name on it, especially when he wasn't sure what Satoru would do. He'd never really dated anyone long term, and Suguru wasn't about to fuck up his friendship with Satoru with something as trivial as lust.
As Satoru reached the end of the letter, Suguru dropped his attention back to his plate, mentally sighing over it. It didn't look appetizing, half-finished eggs and toast, and he felt queasy now. It had been stupid. Satoru was probably disgusted by it.
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@intaking - Master & Servant
Resentment (having a servant he had to babysit). Disdain (having a bodyguard who was weaker than himself). Guilt (his last sworn attendant had died, and he'd failed to protect her). Shame (this was the nearest Satoru got to having a peer). Embarrassment (and this was how he had to meet the person who was the nearest thing to having a peer). And most of all, rage (at his family and at their entire society for this corrupt bullshit).
All of the clan members around Gojo wore traditional attire, heavy layers of the finest silks that swished as they walked. In the midst of the Gojo ancestral estate, which was a beautiful manor complex in the hills near Kyoto, they seemed to have stepped out of any era of the past, as though time had stopped entirely within the Gojo estate, preserved under glass.
Except for Satoru, who wore modern designer menswear, all in black, that covered him from throat to wrist. He stood to the right behind the Gojo clan head, while his parents stood to the right behind him. His mother was Gojo by birth, but she was only a grade three sorcerer, and his father merely grade two. They held honorable rank within the clan purely for the merit of having produced him.
Though Satoru's eyes were hidden behind black glasses, the cold fury that radiated off of him was palpable. He glared down at his new sworn attendant, the boy who would be 'apprenticed' into the Gojo clan in exchange for swearing his loyalty, and the boy's parents who were bowing and gushing their thanks to the Gojo clan for their generosity in recognizing their son's potential and welcoming him.
Finally they finished their formalities and the boy was gestured forward. He was handsome and had a dignified bearing, but he was so polite in the midst of this that Satoru hated him immediately. He didn't seem to have any spine at all.
"You'll swear a binding vow," the clan head informed him, though he'd almost certainly been apprised of these conditions in advance. "In exchange for the hospitality of the Gojo clan and the opportunity to be educated alongside our heir, you'll swear to place the interests of the Gojo family above all other loyalties, including above your own life."
"He'll swear to me alone," Satoru interrupted, taking a step forward, hands in his pockets and posture irreverent.
A ripple of surprise and affront went through the Gojo family members around him. The clan head turned to look at him, eyes flashing a warning even while his expression was patronizing. "Satoru, that isn't traditional."
Satoru shrugged, holding the old man's gaze with blatant disrespect, waiting for him to yield. His attire alone loudly proclaimed that he didn't give a fuck about traditions.
Finally, the clan head gave an irritable nod. Satoru continued forward past him.
The ceremony was being held in a courtyard, with the Geto family kneeling on the paving stones of the courtyard itself while the Gojo family stood up several steps in front of the threshold of the main house. Satoru walked down those steps to stop directly in front of the boy who was being given to him. "Get up," he ordered.
The other Geto family members shifted and looked uncertain. "Just him," Satoru specified, before any of the rest of them could think that he was allowing them any liberties.
"Go on then," Satoru said to the Geto boy, staring coldly at him. "Swear."
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Obviously, he was in this estate, now, for a reason, but that did not mean the steps to getting to this point in his life had been by his own choosing. He kept his head bowed for a moment, and then drew up to his feet, eyes downcast for a little while longer. This was more out of politeness than respect for Gojo Satoru. As though he could respect this upstart and his power-hungry family. Still, this would be a good opportunity to learn, to grow stronger, which was the only reason why Suguru had agreed to the arrangement in the first place. Not that he had much choice in the matter.
And, yet, when he raised his eyes, dark seas meeting the almost crystalline blue of the ocean, he was amused, for some reason. Perhaps it was because the other teen looked so defiant, or maybe it was because he was saying nonsensical things. Swear to him, only? Almost like... like a marriage proposal? The entire gathering of people there were lucky that Suguru had both the capacity and patience to remain impartial, and not to not burst out laughing at the spectacle.
Ah, this might be more fun than he initially thought.
For another awkward moment of silence, he stared, searching the young Gojo clan member's face for any signs of delight. He found none. What he did find was the sizzling anger, coupled with the arrogance of someone who had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. The audacity that he was able to wander into the ceremony wearing whatever the hell he wanted was not lost on Suguru. He got to make his own demands, huh? A spoiled brat, even if he did hate this arrangement.
Eventually, a small, slow smile crept up Suguru's foxlike face. And, with every amount of civility he could muster, he answered his soon-to-be master, his words dripping with honeyed honorifics and only the most professional speech patterns.
"Forgive me, my lord, but are there certain words or phrases that are required to be spoken in order to swear oneself to you? I am not sure what you are looking for."
Members of the Geto family looked as though they may pass out at this very second. But, this arrangement was no longer about the Gojos and the Getos. This was a matter between two teenage boys who had been forced into a very backwards situation, sorcerers be damned. What was wrong with a little needling between peers?
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@fullcursemeal, continued from tfln
will always be my best friend
i'm sorry that i wasn't around for you
i know that i fucked up that part, anyway
i threw myself into fighting because it was easier than dealing with ... anything else
i was just chasing the high of my own power
and i missed you
but i always kind of assumed that you'd still be there waiting for me
and i didn't realize
how shitty that was of me
to leave you behind
and to take you for granted
so i'm sorry for that
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That's all in the past now
We both had our reasons for doing what we did
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Truly the Worst Teacher
As long as they were out and already on a training exercise, Gojo supposed he should take the opportunity to further Megumi's education in other ways. Being that he was a teacher and all. Not to mention sort of technically Megumi's legal guardian. "You know," Gojo said, leaning over and giving him a wide smirk, already planning to be annoying about this. "It's probably time we had The Conversation. Birds and Bees."
Gojo please he's sixteen. You're a little late.
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He isn't sure he'd survive whatever version of the talk Gojo comes up with. The man would probably make it as embarrassing as he can, just to get a rise out of Megumi.
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@cursedd, contiued from texting
[Satoru keeps it sweet and chaste, with only the slightest playful flicks of his tongue hinting at anything more. As he breaks the kiss, Satoru smiles down at him, bright with happiness as he takes a few seconds to admire Suguru.]
Mkay. Now can I suck your cock?
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oh.
well.
he hesitates, if only for a moment. it's not like he's disinterested. his hormones would argue otherwise for hours. but taking care of satoru wasn't clinical. maybe just something any good friend would do? friends don't finger each other though. or maybe they do. augh he's bad at this.
he lets his head fall back against the head, a small hum coming from his lips]
I swear you've been wanting to do that since yesterday. Sure you're not still tired?
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@dawnmarked, Gothic Romance AU
Ieiri Shoko was the housekeeper, he explained, and she should be consulted with all major decisions and treated as the highest authority within the household other than Gojo-sama himself. They called her a housekeeper, but she was a powerful witch in her own right, and a competent medical doctor. After her, Mei Mei was the highest authority, even though Mei Mei was rarely actually present. She handled communication between the Gojo estate and the government in Tokyo, and provided immediate alerts to any developing situations in other capital cities around the world, every nation that had an agreement with Gojo. "Through the crows," Ijichi explained, indicating the crow on the roof. The crow gave a caw of agreement.
The rest of the household was maintained through their younger staff, the two locals, manservant Itadori Yuji and maidservant Kugisaki Nobara, and the footman Fushiguro Megumi. "Last is Iori Utahime, the cook. Please remember that it's important that she should never interact with Gojo-sama. They dislike each other. But Utahime is valuable as a sorcerer, she maintains the barriers and some other defenses for the household. We need to keep her willing to remain, if at all possible. She's very nice, don't get the wrong idea. She only has less patience for Gojo-sama than the rest of us. And Gojo-sama is very charismatic as well--at least when he's in a good mood. The three younger servants all adore him."
It was a long trip up out of the city, first to get out of the busy crush at the heart of Kyoto and then along the bumpy mountain roads above the city. Ijichi was happy to answer questions, but he offered very little more real information. He was hesitant to speak about Gojo in any detail, even though everything about Ijichi suggested that he was devotedly loyal to his position and his master. Instead, he tended to speak around Gojo, talking about the household, the region, things they usually kept stocked at the estate and things that they had to order.
The estate itself, when they arrived, was enormous. It was practically a fortress, the sort of thing that demanded an army of servants rather than a mere six on-site staff. Yuji met them at the gate and took the carriage and horses.
"The kitchens and servants quarters are through here," Ijichi said, showing him into one of the buildings of the estate. "Though none of us actually live in the servants quarters. The estate's empty, so Gojo-sama insists that we live in the family suites instead. He's been the only member of the Gojo family for centuries. He treats his attendants and his caretakers as family, instead."
They encounter Shoko in her office, sitting by a window and smoking from a pipe. A slender woman in a long coat, she rises to her feet and holds out her hand in a western greeting, leaving the pipe hanging from one corner of her mouth even as she speaks. "Ieiri Shoko. We appreciate having you here. Come to me with any questions you have. Don't bother Satoru with any question the rest of us can answer instead, at least until you get to know his temper. Do you want to see your room, eat something, get settled in, or do you want to meet him right away?"
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He bore the memory of that affair in the jagged scar along his side, a mark that flared up in stormy weather or moments of uncanny stillness. It hadn’t quite twinged during the ride up from the city, but he could feel the ghost of it tightening across his ribs. He handled the rattling mountain roads better than the crush of humanity in Kyoto proper. Civilization had its comforts, yes, but it smelled of iron and urgency, of people living too fast and dying just as quick.
He glanced at the pink-haired servant—Itadori, he believed—and thought, absently, that there might be Feywild blood somewhere in that line. That sort of color didn’t just appear. Kugisaki and Fushiguro were easy enough to spot as they moved through the estate—sharp in their own ways, wary with the kind of perception that didn't come from training alone. He made a note of them. Gojo surrounded himself with interesting creatures.
That alone made Asher cautious.
He didn’t much like the idea of being called family by a man he hadn’t met. It wasn’t offense—just... dissonance. He belonged to Morningstar, to the Circle, to the brothers of his blade and his gods. His work here was sacred duty. He’d guard this man, even anchor him if need be. But let no one mistake that for belonging.
Ieiri, at least, was easier to read. Direct, dry, no time for ceremony. He liked that. When she offered her hand, he shook it. She struck him as a woman who offered strength first and let affection follow on its own terms, if ever. He told her he’d like to clean up before meeting the man himself—but he also asked, quietly, if she might teach him something of her medicine, if time and circumstances allowed. Her answer was brisk and to the point. That earned his respect.
His quarters were plain but comfortable. A basin of hot water and clean towels felt almost luxurious compared to the field stations and forest dens he was used to. He scrubbed the dust from his skin and the road from his hair, then unpacked his things. He traveled light—ritual tools, basic equipment, a few supplies he’d bartered for in the city. He’d brought things to offer, too, in case the local spirits required proper introductions.
By the time they came for him, he was dressed in the subdued tones of the land: rough brown and mossy green, a nod to the countryside that surrounded this house of stone and shadow.
Now he waits.
He has met gods. He has made war. And still, there's something about this—about this meeting with a man too old and too strange to be left untethered—that sets his heart to a quieter rhythm.
For what’s left of his long life, unless Lathander bids otherwise, Asher Fenril Ward will be his shadow.
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Edwardian Era AU
As Satoru opened the door into their common room, Haibara was dissolved into laughter for some unknown reason, swatting at Nanami with a sheaf of papers while Nanami shielded his head and tried to pretend like he wasn't grinning like an idiot, while Suguru pretended that he was reading his book and not paying attention to either of them despite the wide, amused smirk on his face. Satoru stopped to lean in the doorframe, not sure what he'd just missed (it didn't matter), but overcome with affection for them all.
Nanami and Haibara had been his friends from Eton. When they'd gotten their admission to Oxford, they'd put in a request for a shared room. That had been straightforward enough, so none of them had expected to show up at their assigned room and find a fourth bedroom containing a perfect stranger.
If Satoru had been asked to predict the outcome of such a thing, he would have expected to demand a different room assignment. Or he would have expected that the three of them would close ranks against the interloper until the stranger put in his own request for a different room. At Eton, Nanami and Haibara had protected Satoru, becoming the buffer against the world that he so desperately needed. Usually when he encountered a stranger in a situation he hadn't expected, Satoru would turn sharp and defensive, and his friends would to fall into their roles as protectors, keeping the world at bay for him. Instead, the three of them had welcomed him. Satoru wasn't sure which of them had reacted first: Haibara had started asking questions about his hair and his ear piercings, maybe, and Nanami had just relaxed, as if there wasn't any threat, while Satoru had stepped forward, magnetized toward Suguru, until he was the one standing closest even though Haibara was the one talking. Until his proximity was weird enough that they both stopped talking to look at him.
"Like the Buddha, right?" Satoru asked, still standing a little too close as he stared at their new roommate. He'd never seen stretched ears like that in person, but he'd seen it in statues and drawings of the Buddha.
"Does it hurt?" Haibara asked, which drew Satoru's gaze and made him grin, and then suddenly somehow they were both asking Suguru questions, chattering away, and Satoru felt one of the sharp, defensive edges around his heart soften into a space where Suguru could fit.
He wasn't sure if Suguru had even realized, at first, that the three of them should have been a barricade against him. (He must have realized soon enough that the three of them had gone to school together at Eton.) From the first day, the four of them had operated as a unit. It sometimes felt to Satoru as though it had always been the four of them, and they just hadn't known yet that one of them was missing.
From that first day, too, Satoru had been obsessed. His attention was drawn constantly toward Suguru: the beauty and elegance of his features; the smooth and confident way he moved. Each time Suguru brushed a long strand of hair back behind his ear with strong, graceful fingers, Satoru found his lips parting, heart hammering.
Sometimes Suguru caught him staring. With other infatuations Satoru had had in the past, he'd usually become shy or defensive at that, but somehow his friendship with Suguru made him feel safe enough that he rarely ever felt defensive. He tended to grin when Suguru caught him, warm and mischievous, and then he returned his attention to whatever he'd been supposed to be focusing on instead of Suguru.
Over their first Michaelmas term, they'd fallen into a rhythm quickly, with Satoru at the center. For all that he was wary and skittish around others, Satoru was the one who was constantly dragging them to social events and theater performances, usually having already paid for tickets without having asked anyone else's thoughts on the matter. He was the popular one of the group. With his family's wealth and power and his own good looks and vivacious personality, most of Oxford wanted to be his friend. But Satoru wouldn't go out to any event unless he had at least two of the others with him, and half the time he wouldn't even go to lectures unless he had one of them as an escort both going and returning. He had memorized all their schedules within a day, and by the end of the first week he'd fully leveraged that so that he rarely went anywhere without one or all of them to serve as his social buffer.
Though Haibara was from a noble family and Nanami was from an old money family, only Satoru had brought a servant along. It wasn't unusual for the nobility at Oxford: Ijichi even lived in the same dormitory in the servant's quarters. Satoru mostly just called upon him for errands, and encouraged the others to do the same if they needed something from off-campus. He was aware of how it set him apart, but that didn't matter. He couldn't function without Ijichi. But he also never used Ijichi for escort and protection the way that he relied upon the others.
Near the end of the term, Satoru had gone brittle and wary, refusing all but the most important of social events and behaving like a wallflower even when he went to some event. He barely spoke to anyone, even the three of them. After Christmas break, he'd come back worse: sharp edges and short temper, picking fights with all of them. He'd made Haibara cry twice and Nanami ended up storming out about once a day until Satoru started to settle down again. The first week was a constant quarrel, ruining any good moods that the others might have had after their holidays. The second week had them all on edge, with Satoru still on a constant hair trigger for his temper. But by the third week it was as if the storm had passed, and Satoru was himself again. He was more doting that week, with little gifts for all of them and plenty of attention and praise, his clinginess higher than ever.
All of it had settled back to normal now, and Satoru felt happy, even as they entered the doldrums of February.
He had gone downstairs to check for mail, claiming to be waiting on some letter from his mother. (She wrote often, so this made for a convenient excuse.) But there was another letter in their box that was weighing all the more on his mind. He'd dropped it in the porter's basket that morning, knowing it would be sorted into their pigeonhole. No postage, only the college and the dormitory house number, so that it might have been dropped in any porter's basket around the university, delivered from one college to another by any of the underclassmen who took on jobs as package carriers and errand runners for pocket money.
If someone else had gotten the mail that day, it would have been out of his hands at that point. But it had been rainy and no one had wanted to leave, so the letter had remained where it was, burning a hole in Satoru's mind. Even as he excused himself to go downstairs, he thought that he might tear it to pieces on the way back up and throw the pieces into the fire. It was stupid. He was stupid.
Instead, as he pushed himself away from the doorframe, he dropped an ordinary letter in Haibara's lap in passing, then brought the other one over to toss onto the page of the book Suguru was reading. "Invitation to tea with the King, from the looks of it," Satoru said, tone as wickedly teasing as ever. "Who in the world is writing you letters with that calligraphy?"
Satoru was.
His usual scrawl was messy and haphazard, barely legible even to himself. But his expensive education had included penmanship, and he was possessed of several different styles of flawless, perfect calligraphy. He'd chosen one for this which was different than the calligraphy he used in letters to his uncle. It was beautiful and full of flourishes, and he'd carefully copied it from his original draft so that there wasn't a single stroke astray.
Then he dropped down into his usual spot on the long window-seat bench opposite from Suguru. It was where the two of them almost always sat, mirror images to each other, while Haibara and Nanami were more likely to sit on the couch near the middle of the room. Sometimes Satoru and Suguru would come and sit around the coffee table there with them, on mismatched armchairs opposite the couch, but when they wished to study or read and still wanted to be all together in the main room, the two of them tended to settle on either end of the window-seat bench, where their books and papers were always just as they'd left them. Satoru picked up his book and opened it up, pretending that he was reading it rather than fixedly studying Suguru from his peripheral vision.
Dearest Suguru,
When I look at you, I feel as though the world has taken half a step sideways into a dream. You look and act in all ways like a romantic hero, so polite and gallant, and I feel as though reality has done you a disservice by bearing you into this modern world of business and commerce, when you ought to be a knight in armor.
My Lancelot, when you flashed into my crystal mirror (singing tirra lirra, by the river)--
I was lost.
Just like Lancelot in the mirror, you seem untouchable. Like you're separated by a pane of glass from any mere mortals who might approach you. That perfect politeness of yours. The masterful way you deflect people. Pleasant smile always in place, even as you rebuff some fool's advance. You might as well be a marble statue: inhumanly beautiful and utterly cold.
It's only with your friends that the real you seems to appear. You shine when you're with them. You and Gojo, goading each other on. Haibara laughing, Nanami acting like he isn't amused.
But you're even more untouchable when you're with them. All four of you exist as though in a fairy court, something outsiders can only glimpse as in a dream. Only Haibara interacts with people like a normal human, but even he seems to slough off all other friendships. You keep people at a distance through warm politeness, Nanami through cold politeness, Gojo through his wild, shameless playfulness that can be either sweet or cutting, those reckless flirtations with any and all--but he retreats fast if anyone tries to touch him, doesn't he, and the three of you close rank around him like human shields.
Do the four of you know how intimidating you are? There's no access into that friendship for anyone else. Nor any hope of romance. Have the four of you taken some sort of vow to forswear all amorous entanglements? None of you seem to show any such interest--beyond how Gojo flirts with everything and drapes over the three of you as if he's trying to make up for how he allows no one else within arm's reach. I mean no criticism to Gojo other than accusing him of that same intimidating, untouchable perfection. He draws the eye, doesn't he? He seems to magnetize everyone's attention.
But my eye always returns to you.
Is this a terrible love letter? I feel as though you'll throw it away before you reach this point. All my words sound like judgements.
I'm a fool for writing this at all. I'm a fool for how I've become lost to my infatuation with you. I keep gazing at you through my mirror, Lancelot, because I cannot gaze at you directly. I can never reach you. I will never have you.
It sounds as though I'm idealizing you. I suppose I am. I'm in love with this fantasy version of you, Lancelot, and not the flesh and blood man that you are. Is it possible for anyone to fall in love with the flesh and blood version of you, Lancelot? You'll never let anyone get past your shield.
I like that, though. Perhaps it's what I like best of all. I know it must sound like criticism to call you cold and untouchable, but it's not. I'm grateful for it.
I cannot leave my tower, you see. I cannot and will not allow myself to fall in love. Not with anyone real. Only with the shadows in my mirror.
I am half sick of shadows, it's true. But I'll never have anything else.
So I am writing you this terrible letter, this unromantic vow of love, to thank you.
Beautiful, elegant Lancelot.
You are my dream.
I'll never have you, but it gives me the wickedest, cruelest satisfaction that I don't think anyone else will, either.
I don't think you'll let anyone see you without your armor, Lancelot.
I'm sorry for this letter. I expect I'll burn it unsent. It would be cruel to burden you with this. I mean it with the purest love and gratitude, but I don't think it will be read that way.
Is there anything that would warm your heart, Lancelot? Are you likewise bound to yearn in silence for some Guinevere (or Arthur?) you can never have? Or are you truly the sort of chaste and true knight who has no interest in such earthly things? Are you enamored of Courtly Love, which by its design was meant to be unfulfilled?
I'm glad that you have your friends, Lancelot. They seem to bring you such joy and warmth. And you have my love, for what it's worth. Even though it's nothing but a shadow in a mirror.
--Shalott
Postscript:
Maybe I will send this letter after all. I still think it's cruel to burden you with this, but I am cruel. Perhaps I do hope, a little, that you'll be cut by a shard from my mirror.
Because the most foolish part of me wants to believe that you are flesh and blood.
And that you can be touched.
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The wind dies as Satoru closes the door, returning the room to it's warm, cozy state, albeit with a little extra discordance from the ruffled books and papers on the floor. Suguru will organize them later, before he goes to bed; the chore of straightening the common room often falls to Suguru, because no one else seems to know where to put anything. The life of nobles, he assumes, having learned tidiness at his mother's knee. Despite the luxury which they now had, she had taught her son well, instilling in him the habits she brought with her from Japan.
He had not expected to fall into step with these three. Expectations had been high; his parents wanted better for him and had worked hard to make that happen, and Suguru knew he had to do well in his classes to provide the restful retirement they both deserved. He had come to Oxford knowing he would stand out, just like he stood out in London, and upon the realization that his flatmates were a.) all familiar with each other, fast friends already; and b.) nobility, he had expected the cold shoulder, and a certain amount of contempt. Which he could deal with, not unfamiliar with the attitude of little lordlings and their disdain for the merchant class. He'd earned his spot at the university through hard work and stubbornness, and he wouldn't let anything interfere.
But Yu had broken the barriers and eased some of the tension, and he'd fallen into the group. It was still somewhat awkward at times; they had a rich shared history, even Kento, who wasn't nobility like the other two but moved in the same circles. And Suguru, for all that his family was as wealthy as any of them, had grown up in vastly different environments. His parents joined the Church of England, and learned English and studied Latin, and made him learn all the skills of the English gentlemen. But they still had their family shrine, and quietly celebrated their traditional holidays in the privacy of their home. Hidden little secrets that he wasn't meant to share.
He watched Satoru sometimes when Satoru was unaware. Appreciated the times he would draw Suguru out of the house and into wild things, and sometimes he felt like the carefree youth they were meant to be. All of them were wonderful friends and Satoru was a bright point in his life, as mercurial and beautiful and untouchable as the heavens, and Suguru basked in his warmth, chest bursting with an affection he could never share. Never had there been someone in his life like that, a connection so effortless and electrifying that nothing could compare.
Satoru was going to join him, it seemed; Suguru watched as he approached, only to be shocked at the letter. It wasn't unheard of for him to receive correspondence from classmates or old acquaintances now abroad, and his mother often sent letters, though boxes of baked goods usually accompanied those. But they were rare, and his mother had sent a box only a handful of days ago; he hadn't yet gotten to his return letter to her, along with the small gift he was working on for her. So a letter was surprising.
He glances at the calligraphy on the front, eyebrows rising at the perfect penmanship, and carefully opens it. "The King's valet, apparently," he jokes, looking at Satoru before returning to the letter. "Wants to know how to fold origami."
It's far from that, but he's only gotten a few lines in, and already he knows he doesn't want to share this with anyone else. It's too personal, too private. If not for the name on the front, and the opening salutation, he would think it a mistake. He reads it carefully, curling back into his corner as he ignores anything else Satoru says.
The letter is a gorgeous masterpiece, and he feels inspired by that alone, itching to pen a return letter to this Shalott— man or woman, he doesn't know, but he's intrigued. The words stir something in him that makes his breath catch in his throat, wondering who could watch him like that. It's not impossible, he knows, since he's often out and about with Satoru and the others, in some combination, and he spends enough time in the libraries, where people come and go, talking and studying, that it could be anyone.
Eventually, he folds the letter and tucks it back into the envelope. It's not quite the time when he retires to bed, and he should stay up to tidy, but he wants to jot his thoughts down, and that won't happen in the common room.
"It was a long day," he says, slipping the letter into his book on Aristotle, and rising to his feet. "I'm going to sleep early. Going to the library early in the morning, so I won't see any of you lazy lugheads."
He retreats to his room and prepares for bed, the thoughts ruminating in his head. A letter is ridiculous because he can't return it, but he wants to say something. How can he let such a beautiful missive go unanswered? Perhaps he'll find a bird and give it to them in hopes—
Foolish hopes.
He pulls out the letter again and rereads, thumb carefully tracing over the clean lines of the calligraphy. He needs to find a book so he can remember his references. Hence, the trip to the library in the morning.
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i need to stop giving myself research projects for these letters
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Fairy Tale Princes
As he stood in the receiving hall with his uncle the king, Satoru did his best not to fidget. His mother--the princess, younger sister to the king--and his father--a lord known for his dependability if not any exceptional wit--stood nearby behind them as the guests arrived.
Satoru had stolen a glimpse of Suguru already. He'd been hidden up a tree when their carriage arrived, concealed in the foliage but with a good view of the gate, watched by an amused couple of guardsmen who kept his secret. So he'd seen Suguru alight, had seen that he ... well, he'd turned handsome since Satoru had last seen him. Though he'd never been bad-looking, Suguru's large ears and large mouth had only seemed comedic to Satoru. Marrying him? Why couldn't he have someone handsome, someone who wasn't so aggravating and false?
It was true that Suguru's visits always posed interesting challenges. The two of them spent the week playing chess and practicing archery, racing and sparring and trading insults. Satoru could reliably beat anyone else at any of those pursuits, but he couldn't always beat Suguru, and that was infuriating. Worse because Suguru would mock him and goad him, but Suguru was so good at being polite in front of adults and couching his insults so carefully, so that when Satoru lost his temper and started a fight (either verbal or physical), it was always Satoru who looked unreasonable.
Now that he was faced with Suguru in the receiving hall, Satoru felt his heart quicken with surprise. Suguru really had grown into his looks. His ears and his mouth suited him now, and the sharp lines of his face were shockingly handsome. No doubt Satoru would be overhearing swooning infatuations from maids and duchesses for months afterward. As if the usual levels of 'if only our Prince Satoru were half as polite as gallant Prince Suguru' weren't bad enough.
So Satoru just glared at him as he approached. He gave a cursory bow to the visiting king and queen, only barely acceptable levels of politeness. (What would they do? Call off the engagement? Please.) And then resumed his glowering at Suguru.
Re: Fairy Tale Princes
Then it was a simple matter of being shown to their rooms, Suguru following and overseeing the unpacking of his belongings and the gifts he'd been required to bring for the other prince. He was more or less expecting it, though, when the door to his rooms open and he turned, gaze focusing on Satoru.
"Are you this rude to all your guests or am I just a special case?"
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Re: Fairy Tale Princes
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do you want noodles
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for creativeproject, from tfln
His smile is casual and friendly as ever, but it's a defense in this case. All his easy cheerfulness is a defense. As charmed as he is by Eliot, that only gives him more reason to feel wary. He wants to be charmed, but doesn't trust his own desire to be charmed. They've already both discussed their questionable romantic histories, after all. Easier if things are just simple and sexual. He should still probably keep things simple and sexual.
But then he had to go and get charmed. So he's skittish as a cat, and hiding it behind acting as casual and careless as ever, smile wide and cheeky. "Hey, there, silver tongue."
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When Eliot hears a voice greeting him he turns to look his date over. "Well hello, gorgeous," he says, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Don't you look sharp today." While Eliot wasn't wearing a full suit himself, he wasn't very far off in his well tailored navy slacks, sky blue button down, and a snug dark blue satin brocade vest to top it off. He was also happy to note that even without including the hair Gojo is slightly taller than him. He never gets to go on enough dates with men taller than he is.
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Texting
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i've showered like three times
those clothes are gonna have to be burned
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for critruns; from tfln
[ Satoru blinks, eyes widening a little in alarmed surprise at the suggestion that Nanami wouldn't let him do this again. Instead of his usual blithe ignoring anything he doesn't want to hear and plowing ahead with whatever he wants, this he takes seriously. Gojo's shameless confidence in most things is contrasted by a deep insecurity when it comes to genuine affection or his own value as anything other than a weapon, so he takes Nanami's suggestion as a genuine possibility.
He hadn't really expected anything serious out of this, but the suggestion that this is likely to be a one-time thing stings. He pulls back smoothly, hand wrapping around the base of Nanami's cock.
Holding Nanami's gaze with cool challenge, Satoru lifts a brow, murmuring against Nanami's cock as he speaks. ] Do you think that's likely?
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With his thumb and forefinger, he takes Gojo's chin and lifts him up a little so they are face to face when he leans down, the thumb wiping the smear of lip gloss from the corner of the lips.]
For what kind of man do you take me, senpai?
[Nanami doesn't let people just waltz in and out, and especially Gojo. If he didn't want him here, the entire conversation and evening would've ended at the first "no" he sent. He wouldn't have even bothered to answer the other texts Gojo sent, like it's happened before when it's about inane things.]
You are a smart man, so I think you know the answer to your question.
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for gimu; from tfln
[ More blood blooms beneath Gojo's cheeks at the gesture. No one's ever done such a thing before. He wonders where Choso got the idea, what anime or movies he's been watching that included it. They've agreed on courtship, though Gojo has so little concept of what that might mean for either of them. It still feels a little like a joke, but for once he's not the comedian here. He expects at any point for Choso to laugh at the realization that Gojo was taking his suggestion seriously.
He's surprised by how flustered he feels. All his life, he's been seen as a weapon, with only a rare few caring to remember that he was also a person. But even those had almost never made him feel like he was a person worth time, attention, and care. Like he was someone worth choosing, staying for, making a priority.
Being the targeted focus of sweet sincerity leaves him completely off-balance. His usual chattering has been silenced. He doesn't move. Choso should be the one who is the awkward novice when it comes to gestures of courtship, but instead it's Gojo who has been rendered speechless, unsure what he should do or say in response to such a gesture.
He just stares. The only words or suggested activities that come to mind are all dismissive jokes, making light of that kiss, and Gojo doesn't want to make light of it. ]
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he does not let go. ]
I have read that romantic overtures can involve food and ventures outside. Do you wish to find food?
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Stay of Execution - for gorb
He won't thank you for this.
Gojo knew that.
Maybe there was a slim chance that Geto's wild gamble would have worked, but Gojo was pretty sure that he had simply wanted to die. Suicide by Gojo Satoru. He'd put it off for ten years, that was all, but it remained inevitable.
Simple and painless, a snap of Gojo's fingers and an aneurysm within the brain. The end of their story.
But Gojo hadn't done that. He'd knocked him out, instead. A tiny, tiny Blue to bring unconsciousness instead of the tiny, tiny Red that would have killed him. Geto had been barely conscious already, so it wasn't hard to nudge him over the edge.
Then he went to Shoko for help stabilizing him before bringing him here. A hidden safehouse with a holding cell tucked into the basement. Papered with wards to repressed cursed techniques, not that it was particularly necessary. Geto had no curses left. He had one arm and he was half dead from his injuries. The single manacle around his wrist should be more than enough to hold him.
The holding cell itself was a simple, bare room, but it was heated to a comfortable temperature, and the bed itself had a comfortable mattress and warm blankets, a bedside table and a lamp. Oddly homey, for what was so obviously a cage.
Gojo waited in the chair by the bed for the man he loved to wake up and hate him.
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The first few times his consciousness attempts to surface the effort is too much. At points, a flutter of eyelashes, an exhale, a twitch of remaining fingers, just before the big, deep black pulls him back under. He does not know enough to prefer it. He does not know that he should not struggle against it. Better that he gives in altogether. But eventually he fights against that dangerous comfort, and the world starts slowly filtering back in. At first there is pain, a throbbing behind his eyes, agony everywhere else, and Suguru knows something is wrong.
He opens his eyes and the knowledge of how wrong it actually is hits all at once.
He blinks, eyelashes sticky, thoughts a sluggish horrible mess. The wooden roof above him is unfamiliar, the bed is too. He remembers - his Night Parade, Okkotsu Yuta, ... Satoru. He breathes in too sharp and everything starts to pulse at once, head falling to one side. There he is. For a moment Suguru only stares at him, eyes unfocused, too wide. There is not quite an understanding in them. He has not reached that point yet. But there is something close to desperate. He looks back to the ceiling, his neck sore. Blinks at it some more. The bed, the ceiling, the bars. Can he feel metal around his wrist? Yes.
Oh, he thinks.
Oh.
"You fool."
It comes out raspy, almost too low to hear. Satoru will though.
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