bakerstreet

( info in journal. )

(info on her journal!

bexthered also available for fantasy/historical stuff.)

(crosscanon & AU settings encouraged.)

[ aged up julio because he and laura both deserve a second chance. DP3 spoiler compliant or post-Logan. ]

Edited 2024-07-27 18:33 (UTC)

[ pls take him away ]

[ it's a bad idea. it's the sort of idea Suguru wouldn't sanction under typical circumstances. but Satoru, by dint of being himself, promises anything but typical.

they had decamped the compound abruptly, under night's cover. no time to puzzle through or talk it out, Suguru comprehending that his attempts to problem-solve were no good here -- he only knew to follow, that Satoru needed him. there his fidelity lies. and it has carried him through packing his backpack breathlessly and throwing on something warm, slouchy.

the woods that veil the Gojou Clan's grand, deep compound -- its wood corridors, its silent walls, and its museum-cold beauty -- are forbidding, and antagonistically chilly. and whether by some accident, through ages of unimpeded evergreen growth (or eras, something primordial about the waiting stillness of this landscape), or intention (as Suguru has gathered the Gojou family tends to be), on the precipice of escape, Suguru feels further than he's ever been from Jujutsu Tech.

it isn't impossibly far-flung from the familiar valences of the city -- he thinks he can see the wan light of a sleepless metropolis beyond the foliage -- but far enough that Suguru wonders where, and for how long, they will decide to go.

the tenebrous night cannot blot Satoru's brilliance, and yet Suguru is compelled to touch. virtually instinct, he holds at Satoru's arm. an he holds at Satoru's elbow.

Satoru knows his way around these grounds even in the dark, doesn't he. maybe (and Suguru's stomach flips, queasy with worry for Satoru, at the notion:) Satoru has even run away before.

he casts a furtive glance to Satoru, and finally allows himself a brief interruption of their operation to ask, voice raising scarcely above a hiss: ] Where to-?

[ his grip on Satoru's arm tightens. anywhere, it means to assure. I'm here until anywhere. ]

( they're supposed to be learning here, as if there's anything left to be learned. as if there's anything here he hadn't already mastered, by the time they sent him away to the school: as if he didn't know precisely what they would think, finding the two of them walking up to the compound on the hottest day of july, the heir apparent and his miserably human-stenched companion.

it's not even necessarily that there's a burden to be held here, something out of reach of suguru's hands, as though a clan as ancient and as engrained in sorcerer society as this one looks down on those born from human families, or those born with just the faint traces of sorcerer ancestry down the line. he'd never heard his mother talk much of it, when she had been there: though it's not like she had stayed for long. even the elders, the trainers, the other members of the clan hadn't reacted with outward disgust when they'd welcomed them in, bowing the way they should, offering them clean, comfortable rooms the way they should. but he had lived here long enough to recognize that razor-thin distaste, hiding behind pleasant manners; he had recognized that distinct disapproval that he knew meant more than anything else.

it's because of stupid old people like these, rooted in their ways, that it feels like sorcerer society is going to shit. there are so many stupid rules and traditions that don't even matter anymore, so many little digs and divots that undermine every child trying to grow up to be something better. when he'd left this place to go to school, it had felt like freedom: even if yaga could, at times, not be any better, he would never look at suguru this way.

days pass, a week or two, and he's already had enough of the tension. suguru is smart enough to read it, too, which flips his stomach into knots; does he think that satoru himself sees him like this, too? that he would give him up for people like this? and maybe to anyone else, the idea would be ridiculous: they've been treated as relative equals, from an outsider perspective, given the same trainings here, the same meals, the same treatment. but it's not equal. it's not. and for not the first time, here, his temper gets the better of him.

that's what has him stalking out into the woods with suguru at his elbow; the moon seems so far away, glinting through the heavy tree cover, and a part of him is so pissed that he wants to put his fist through one of the passing tree trunks, red or blue it into splintered pieces. that would just call attention to them; agitated, he kicks a sneaker out against it instead in complaint. )

If we go down the hill, there's a bus. ( quiet, agitated, he's not looking at suguru--his gaze is following their steps through the brush, and with suguru connected to him, touching him, extending limitless out to cover him is easy; it makes their feet keep from making sound against the leaves, their footfalls as eerily silent as the night around them. )

...Won't come until five in the morning. ( it's delivered with a grumpy wince, like he's sure suguru will scold him. ) But whatever, sleeping on the gravel is better than being in there.

[ he doesn't think, maundering through the trees and blinking owlishly into the dark, watching Satoru (hallowed scion, bright and sharp as a star against the bosky backdrop) use his brawn alone to fight a tree, he has ever felt so young and dumb.

entering the Gojou Clan's halls, you'd nearly believe it an offense: to be nothing but a student, as good as nameless, to have found a friend in Satoru (best friend; beyond best), to have audaciously followed Satoru here in the simple desire to know him better. you would nearly believe, as the clan seemed to, that Suguru was a fool, wielding only good manners and an even-keeled mien in his attempt (failed) to soften that hue of suspicion coloring the house's every engagement with him.

his mouth lengthens into an approximation of a smile, meaning to offer appreciation, when Satoru shares his limitless with him. the nerves are wearing off, now that Suguru is nearly -- nearly -- certain no one is just about to ambush them and visit a lasting pain upon them: brand Suguru a corrupting influence, and remove Satoru from Jujutsu Tech forever.

what takes precedence now is parsing through the tense coil of Satoru, and unwinding him. can he? he keeps his words sotto voce, letting the breeze hide his words: ]

There are worse places to rest a head. It's like camping: we'll find a good rock or some trees nearer to the bus stop, and we'll lay low there. Yeah?

[ there's no blaming Satoru for making a hasty exit, and he wants Satoru to know it.

a thought occurs to him just as he begins reflecting on how they might end up huddling for warmth -- it strikes him as so significant that he confesses it nearly as soon as it's countenanced. he looks down to his meager hold on Satoru's elbow. ]

I think I'd been holding off on touch, hadn't I, [ said to himself as much as to Satoru. his easy intimacy with Satoru had become fettered through the days by those stifling, expectant silences and his hosts' stilted words.

they were always watching, after all.

-- but that's past tense, abandoned uphill.

feeling almost unpracticed, his touch is nonetheless intent: the hold at Satoru's elbow slides now over Satoru's scapulae, spine -- and he lets his fingers curl around Satoru's shoulder. his arm slings around Satoru, firm enough and close enough that this could be an embrace, if only they could find it in themselves to stand still.

but they're moving, still, down the ungainly slope of hill, they are getting out of here, and Suguru will not stop until Satoru's say. ]

( and is that part of the irritation? is that part of his ire, part of his wound, part of the place inside of him that feels like it's being pressed on like a bruise, every time he comes back here? it's always felt like a place locked out of time: quiet, serene, the perfect place for training and manners and learning all about sorcerer history and society; it's always felt unnatural, being here, as though all the praise and all the careful hands touching him had never been genuine. having suguru beside him should have at least tempered some of those feelings, but instead, it put him on edge, as though suguru's cool manners and careful consideration of the rules meant that he could no longer enjoy any of the other things they used to do.

touching, cuddling, pulling each other's hair--laughing, spraying each other in the shower, kissing, causing trouble.

it's a relief, when that touch gives, when it's not just his elbow but his back and then his shoulder and then he's being tugged into suguru's orbit more than letting him escape out into his own, wayward and lost. it feels like being tethered back to the only thing in this world that makes him good: or maybe makes him want to be good, with all this power at his fingertips. rather than lash out or pull at the low-hanging tree branches as they walk, now he just wants to hunker into suguru's side. )

Thought maybe you changed your mind.

( a soft voice, almost sulking, playfully put upon--it's not that the sentiment is a lie, but more that he wants to be able to play it off as a joke if he has to; if suguru gets angry at him, he can wave his hands and laugh and shrug it off.

his head tilts, brushing in against suguru's neck, against his cheek, like a dog bumping in for attention. )

This isn't what your house was like, huh? ( another few silent steps, one hand falling down into his jeans pocket, the other reaching in to snag his knuckles into the side of suguru's shirt closest to him, as though locking him in place. ) I'm jealous.

[ a frown at Satoru's little jape. he shakes his head, troubled and wholly unappreciative of uncharacteristically self-deprecatory humor out of Satoru, meaning to despoil Satoru of the idea. it does not banish Suguru's sinking impression that he has let Satoru down.

having sneaked this far afield from the clan's compound, Suguru flips open his phone to shine its faint screen light to their surroundings, but his attention meanders from their path and to Satoru's shadowed face. ]

No one can change my mind when it's made up. [ he punctuates the obstinate declaration by jostling Satoru closer: a squeeze of a hold. ] Not your tutors [ domineering as they were. ]; not even your dresser who kept the running commentary on my 'presentation.' [ all about the Getou nobody's gauged ears and the Getou nobody's very alarming overfamiliarity in addressing the young master Gojou. ]

[ before he answers Satoru's question, a hand reaches up in reflexive reply to Satoru's little cuddle -- disarming, needy -- into him, and he tousles Satoru's hair slowly. nearly there, whatever there looks like. they'll know it when they see it. somewhere tucked away, shelter from prying eyes or tugging breeze.

he hopes Satoru won't catch the little scrunch of a grimace alight on his face as he weighs his own response. ]

Well. No. [ not even close. ] No ceremony or old rites to follow in my house. We'd usually spend summer breaks camping or barbecuing with neighbors. [ his lips part to say more, but he only exhales after consideration -- after feeling Satoru's fingers bunching into his shirt. expressing incredulity about what passed for the fabled clan's welcome (he wouldn't call what they'd just escaped a 'house' -- at least not in any way that means 'home') seems more to Suguru like rubbing salt into the wound when they're on the run back to something better, than helping. he means to help.

he squints to scan the ruck of rock, the thickets, with a renewed intent while they slink down the hillside. ]

We'll make our own house out here. [ for a few hours, at least: a do-over. ]

( it's such a strange thing to fathom--a house. a normal house, not the looming sprawl of tatami and soft sliding doors, the large, empty rooms opened up for ceremony, the pain of constantly folding long legs into proper seiza. it should feel like salt in the wound, just as he's sure suguru is cautiously trying to avoid; he's protecting him by offering him very little in the way of details, but he's always had more imagination than anyone might give him credit for, and in a way? it feels nice to think about it, some imaginary little life that he could see himself having, could see suguru having.

kind neighbors, the kind that might wave a student over and offer them snacks on their way to school, or who might be a solace when one's own parents get upset--it's easy enough to imagine, to piece together the pictures of such a life from movies, manga, television. spending summers out with hot meat and cool tea and laughter: not the utter silence of waiting for the gojou clan head to sit for meals. not the whispered quiet of trees and cicadas creaking in them, not the cold stare of visitors, awed by him, afraid of him, desperate for favour from the blessed gojou heir.

does suguru miss it now? the school has its own rules, but they're easy enough to abide by, or even work around--the world of sorcery, too, has its own rules, but suguru seems steadfast in upholding them; he's the one that wriggles around in discomfort, as though unable to believe in most of them at all. )

Oh~. ( a warm hum, as he's jostled in closer; his eyes shine in the dark, but suguru's phone gives a valiant effort to keep up with him. ) So we're gonna play house, huh?

( at least he's grinning again--as though the further they get from that place, the more his own wits come back to him, his own personality bleeding back in like watercolor. )

Do you want to be the mom or the dad? I'd be a shit mom and we know it.

( another unbalancing grin: and his head rolls, gaze cast out, tilting his head and giving suguru's shirt a plaintive tug. the six eyes tell him what he wants-- ) No, this way. There's some flat ground.

Edited 2024-08-15 21:56 (UTC)

[ a snort (fond) in reply. but Suguru won't deny it: they're gonna play house. because Satoru is back to smiling, looking to Suguru's bleared sight like a firefly flicker in the dark. and because Satoru is already walking them to a comfortable little homestead, his burden of the Six Eyes a blessing to Suguru. -- Suguru snaps his phone shut to conserve the battery, giving up his trust to a fumbling hand and Satoru's sight as they enter what serves for a clearing. it might be cozy ]

Where'd your ego run off to? You know you could do it if you decided to apply yourself, Satoru.

[ he's already shrugging off his backpack, briefly taking inventory (he hadn't planned for a night flight) and wondering if he'll find anything in it that two runaways might find useful.

-- or if the two of them will be making do with nothing but each other. ]

I might even have to stock our kitchen with one of those coffee mugs. 'World's Best Mom.' [ a hand skims along the dagger-shaped foliage of a small maple (their deciduous kitchen), which can screen them from any manner of growling things on the prowl, before he encourages Satoru to sit, sit down with him. ]

And you'll have to be the Best Mom every morning you want to ruin a nice cup of coffee with five sugar cubes.

[ easy as breathing though it is to tease, Suguru shows himself in a hurry to be sincere: folding himself into a cross-legged position, he bumps his shoulder against Satoru's before his arms come around Satoru and pull him in. it's an embrace. it could even be a comfortable one, if Satoru will ease himself into it and maybe improve upon it: Suguru's hug is in a hurry after so many days pent-up just waiting for a chance that never arrived on that estate. it won't wait another second. ]

Edited 2024-08-16 21:29 (UTC)

'You know you could do it if you decided to apply yourself, Satoru'.

( the tone that escapes his lips is a mockery, just as he feels the words are--he doesn't begrudge suguru for using them, but he's heard that often enough, lately. is there really something holding him back, these days? maybe, but it has nothing to do with applying himself; he thinks that he could stand by sheer power alone, that it wouldn't matter about technique, or otherwise, so long as he's himself, so long as he has the gojou clan blessings. (and won't this be a funny thing to reflect on, later, when he's staring down the sorcerer killer, feeling his blade sink into his throat?)

but he's good-natured about it, as he takes the first few steps into the clearing, with suguru following after. it's small: room for a cozy little home, maybe, with only a single bedroom, or maybe two; his fingers reach for branches, for brush, imagining wallpaper and trimmings--his feet slide, imagining hardwood floors instead of the damnable tatami back at the prison they've just vacated. what would they have, if they truly played house like this? is it something made of wishful thinking, or something they could actually achieve?

suguru sinks down, folding himself to sit cross-legged, and satoru goes with him because he's directionless without him; suguru is his compass here, despite the dark, despite the gaping night around them. his bag gets tossed, tumbles and knocks into the trunk of a tree; gracelessly, he smothers himself down in front of suguru, laying with his back against his chest, his stomach, slouched into his lap to face away from him. )

Six cubes. ( he says it after a moment, after suguru's arms have encircled him, after he's taking a soft inhale of the smell of him. his legs bend at the knees, and his hands lift, palming greedily down suguru's arms, forcing them to stay wrapped around him. )

If I'm old, I'll probably take six cubes. Doesn't the taste of sugar like, slowly go away or something?

( his nose wrinkles as he says it--his gaze darts up, to the green cover of trees above them, and there's a grin, off-center, and a little snorted laugh. )

We'll start our kids out on two cubes a-piece. Wind them up slowly. And they'll be your problem every time you get home~.

Mm. [ he's quiet for a moment, stilled to just hold Satoru a touch too tightly for relief alone, something so simple as that.

he does, on a delay, mull whether it is the best time to grimace at Satoru's coffee 'preferences.' -- he does anyway, a little. the juncture between Satoru's neck and shoulder receives the reaction, when Suguru drops his head there in a bid for 'closer.' ] ... Mm? If it does [ of course this is the fun fact Gojou Satoru knows ], you could always try resetting your palate by skipping sugar altogether for at least a few days. It works. [ a fun fact for a fun fact (and this is fun to Suguru, being Suguru). there's an edge of challenge in the suggestion -- maybe he has chanced upon one of the only truly impossible asks of Satoru.

but he isn't willing to dwell on how to deprive Satoru of anything, for the time being. Satoru is insisting on him, hands certain and encouraging of the tangle they make together. Suguru thunks his head upon Satoru's shoulder: a wan play at a scolding, although he's smiling to think -- ]

Little Satorus-? [ he halts to picture, with burgeoning trepidation, the chaos, but then -- ] I've already received world class training from your sugar highs, Satoru. There's no hyperactivity I can't handle.

[ Satoru in this role is a pleasing sort of abstract -- utterly at odds with the hideous inevitabilities of a sorcerer's life that would topple it all from the outset.

it is eerie, he thinks, to dream up easy, silly dreams with the knowledge that a sorcerer's lot is insularity and hardship, with danger a constant companion. he thinks about when he might have to say goodbye to the way he and Satoru are always, always together like this --

-- he is thinking too much, suddenly quiet and wishing he had been using the silence to concoct absurd plans for a little family, removed from all of the things they're outrunning now.

he thinks instead about how he has cast Satoru as Best Mom, and finds he'd much rather just ask Satoru the vast, perhaps difficult question, while he's crowding Satoru into his embrace and before anyone -- anything at all -- can interrupt to try gainsaying what they want: ]

What would you want to be?

( the mere thought of a palate reset has him immediately blanching, a twist of his mouth, a gag of his tongue--there are very few things in the world that he thinks are important enough that he could never live without them, and it's an unfortunate fact, or maybe weakness, that sugar is one of those things. it's an easy way to help keep him focused on the present, an easy way to stave off the slight lurching, almost sickening feeling that the six eyes give him, with their constant input of everything around him; maybe, if he keeps getting stronger, maybe in the future, there could be a world where he isn't so focused on it--

but then the other things that he can't live without: things like suguru, would he ever want to learn to move past them? so what's so wrong with having a few harmless vices? even as a sorcerer, he should get to keep a few things. he should get to have a few human habits.

yet suguru has gone quiet, now, while he groused about the imaginary lack of sugar--he's quiet, and his arms are a little tight, and he thinks that this is one of those times, more frequent these days than before, where suguru has locked himself into a room with nothing but his own worries and perceptions, a room where he can't get in no matter how many times he rattles the knob, no matter how many times he tries to pick the lock. there are some places that he still can't get to, some places that suguru shuts him out of--and his head tilts back, looking up at him, or trying to, before he settles, before he closes his eyes.

the question comes from a crack in the door: an invitation, small, but an invitation he immediately grabs for. )

...Me? You mean, if we had a future? ( it sounds morose, but he's had the same beliefs drilled into him that suguru has--the life of a sorcerer is usually alarmingly short, rife with pain and death and danger. there's not much time to play house, here or otherwise. ) Mmm...

I like...that feeling. You know, when someone depends on you? I'm meant to be useful. So I wouldn't mind kids, or...I don't know, being a teacher or something. Having people to look after, to take care of...I think that would feel good. You don't think so?

You've given this some thought, haven't you -- [ if Suguru sounds surprised, it speaks only to the unspoken barrier raised between their insular world and all the vast possibility ascribed to the word future. no career days at Jujutsu Tech; no university counselors. cursed technique is destiny: delivered to you, just for you, so young that early on you stop wondering what if.

-- until days such as these, where the outmoded customs and the claustrophobia of expectations for a life (Satoru the heir's, and Suguru the interloper's) shake you awake long enough to wonder again. ]

Gojou-sensei. [ Suguru brightens to say it. it's caring of Satoru; and Suguru knows Satoru cares, watches Satoru care, all the good in Satoru scrawled into his terrifying and brilliant work, and yet -- to hear Satoru speak it, the typical veneer of irreverence vanished for something sweeter, a sweet dream -- Suguru finds himself smiling. ] Me, I think... I like the thought of you guiding your merry band of students to their strengths. I think I already like Gojou-sensei a whole lot. [ it's a vivid vision: Satoru capturing the classroom, peals of laughter and arguments, his energy infectious.

-- he would like to kiss Satoru for it, for that little image.

he feels Satoru moving against him where he's pulled him, their embrace unbroken, and again wants to improve upon this good thing, make it a little better yet: still locked against Satoru, still grasping for Satoru, Suguru lists their bodies to the side, ground cold against hip, and then elbow, and steadily he brings them both down to lie facing one another and screened by the foliage. he refuses to disentangle their limbs, and, as if on instinct or presumptuous urge, slides his thigh between Satoru's. because it is cold, and because this is an intimacy he has missed, Suguru won't be finished with it anytime soon now that it's theirs to share.

his eyes are on Satoru's face: this is an improvement, meeting Satoru's gaze. he hasn't done enough of this, of late. ]

And I think you're someone I depend upon, and so I think I'd trust you implicitly to do right by the ones in your care. Because you do right by me. [ a hand lifts to touch at Satoru's chin, fingers curling there to keep Satoru's attention on him. and, because he knows Satoru won't simply forget what they've just left behind, he reminds Satoru, his tone low but emphatic: ] That's just the person you are, Satoru.

[ 'use' and cursed technique and that vaunted lineage of Satoru's are hereby excluded from their hypothetical. ]

( the praise feels good, in a way that's a little greedy, in a way that he knows probably feeds his ego more than it should. being scolded by yaga or teased by shouko or even stared at by nanami doesn't really have the same feeling as the warm words that are given, measured out, from suguru's tongue, and he knows that suguru knows it, too, the way that he balances his lectures with equal amounts of sincerity. it's easy to admit to himself that suguru's opinion matters so much more than the stuffy higher-ups that gather around to decide their fates, or the banal judgment of all the keepers of the gojou clan; the harder task is to admit to suguru that he matters this much, that he would easily move the earth if suguru told him that it was the right thing to do.

that he looks at him for balance, to know what is too much, to know when the terrifying depths of his techniques are simply too terrifying to be enacted. there's a morality there that suguru can feel, implicitly, that he's still learning; it's suguru himself that keeps him from slaughter, more often than not.

and it feels perversely good to hear suguru approve of it. what a silly thing, hearing gojou-sensei and still thinking they'll never make it that far; hearing it and thinking, will we even live long enough to see that happen?

if it's the two of them, then he thinks they can manage. but it doesn't escape his notice that suguru has said nothing of his own future: that he hasn't admitted to any plans, or any desires, that he doesn't see what might be in store for them in a few years, or a few years more. )

The person that I am? ( he says it softly, wondering--is it the person that he is, or the person that suguru hopes that he will be? as he adjusts himself down onto the ground, as he pretends it's some luxurious mattress, beneath them, in a house that will keep them both safe, in a house that they can both live in; his breath patters out, a soft rush of it as suguru's thigh slides between his, and he needs that hand bringing his head up, tilting his chin, because he's so easily swept away by that feeling.

by that want. his leg hooks over suguru's thigh, bending up, a knee that catches up along the shape of his hip, teasing a little, arching closer-- )

But who are you gonna be? ( warm, and soft--encouraging, in a way that he tries to be. ) Suguru. Who are you gonna be?

Run

kaedehara kazuha . genshin impact

eloisa paolo | lest they leave | ota

becca nova ~ original ~ ota

Claire Bennet ∞ Heroes ∞ OTA

jannah || star wars || ota

Julio (Rictor) | XMCU | m/m

Bucky Barnes | MCU l ota

"opera ghoulette" | ghost

MJ | MCU | OTA

stolas | helluva boss | m/m

gojou satoru / jujutsu kaisen / ota

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