Chapter Text
The cursed energy of four special-grades was like the force of a pulsar wrapped loosely in a cardboard box. He could sense their essence hovering above him, creeping behind his shoulder and leaving a dark, overwhelming pressure. Satoru understood the true power of a special grade then and there, like the inescapable gravitation of an event horizon.
He straightened his posture as much as he could, the grip on his bag grew stronger. The hairs at the back of his head stood taller. Heat pooled at the back of his neck.
Right now.
The elevator came up with a 'ding!’ The door grandly opened behind all of them.
That feeling grew stronger as they approached closer, everyone could now feel their presence. Okkotsu Yuta passed by first.
He wore an awkward smile on his face, his hair was slightly disheveled and to the side. Yuta was dressed in a white uniform and regular black pants. Despite his friendliness, the curse following him flexed its strength, a deadly show to intimidate everyone in the room. Queen of Curses, Rika Orimoto. There was an inhumane screech echoing from her. Still, Yuta felt like a child to Satoru, it must be difficult being so young and yet so strong. He still had his youth.
Then came Tsukumo Yuki, bright and classy. Her golden hair bounced behind her as she went. She smirked charmingly at each employee, occasionally giving an extra wink to the ones she found attractive, including Satoru. Her cursed energy was neither suppressing or faint, it was like smooth water-bending.
“Damned women,” Naoya cursed. “Have you guys no shame being up here? What a disappointment to your husbands.”
Naoya walked between the empty space formed by the two lines, his arms and hands latched onto his head, a leisurely and relaxed demeanor accompanied him.
Asshole.
Satoru couldn't help but turn his eyes opposite of Naoya’s direction, he truly was both an ear and eye sore. He heard the man whispering insults in all of the women’s ears, “whore”, “useless”, “weak”. All the words that could be used to describe himself.
A voice in the back laughed, a deep snickering similar to that of a rabid hyena.
It was Geto.
“Aren't you a bit harsh, Zenin? We wouldn't want our new workers hurt now, would we?”
Zenin quieted down in ironic submission. After all, he was still the weakest among all of them.
Thank goodness. One more word from Naoya would've made everyone jump at him. Satoru would pay to watch that happen.
Geto walked slowly with the soles of his shoes dragging on the ground. Blood-stained cursed energy circled near him, it was prominent in the air. To regular sorcerers, it would feel as if the space surrounding him would curl over and attack if edged near to. A malicious form of cursed energy.
A sadistic grin stretched onto his face, the exact same one in his picture.
Satoru’s eyes glowed as he watched the man pass by, his breathing stopped in its tracks. It was like Geto absorbed all of the attention towards himself. For just a second, Satoru noticed his gaze being reciprocated.
Sharp hazel eyes darting towards his direction.
Satoru lowered his gaze immediately. He swallowed hard.
A quiet scoff traveled its way from Geto to Gojo.
Suguru Geto noticed him.
When all four of them stood affront, the sitting woman finally arose. She smiled and clasped her hands together. She seemed to feign an ecstatic reaction.
“Well everybody, these are your new bosses. You simply follow their commands, do required tasks, sort things out, those types of things. I take it that everyone understands?”
“Yes ma'am,” replied Satoru, along with everyone else collectively.
Her smile grew bigger, she continued, “The floor downstairs and the one under it is where your offices are. Each of you will attend to one sorcerer specifically. However, a command from anyone else to you is still valid.”
Meanwhile, Satoru was staring off into the back of somebody's head. He could see several drops of sweat roll down from their hair. Poor guy. The reason, in which he was staring so intently at someone's head, was because he too felt uneasy.
It was as if somebody else was watching him every moment. Tracking each hitch in his breath, every soft movement he'd make, every pulsing nerve thumping in his body, and each time his thick eyelashes fluttered against his under-eye.
The woman's words seeped into a void as his knuckles cracked from grasping his bag too tight.
He was being suffocated under an unwavering eye, locked onto him with precision.
It was unnerving.
His six-eyes told him it was Geto Suguru who looked at him so intently, it felt dangerously raw and exhilarating.
Still, Satoru avoided his eyes, continuing to look straight ahead. He could hear the tapping of Geto’s traditional shoes against the carpet floor, the sound of his robe shifting as he moved, and could feel the man’s expression change.
His plan was going better than expected.
When the meeting ended, Satoru ended up in a daze. He found out that his office was on the 96th floor, the furthest from Geto's. He sure had quite the inconvenience despite this being a secret mission.
As per his deal with the higher-ups, he was assigned to Suguru Geto.
The offices were identical to each other, 8x8 square rooms with enough space for a main desk and a few couches. It was leagues higher than his previous working space. In total, there were ten rooms for ten sorcerers.
Next to the door was a plaque sign, shiny and silver.
Written in italics, “Satoru Gojo, Organizer and Informant for SGS”.
It made him feel special in an implemented, capitalistic way, despite the fact that everyone else here had the same thing.
Entering his brand new office, the sanitized scent of Cleanex refreshed the room. It was a great upgrade from his stuffy, packed office box.
Satoru dropped his bag on the floor and sat down on the leather chair.
At once, he melted into the cushion. The glide was smooth, it didn't creak, and the head-rest was soft. Satoru succumbed to the childish urge to roll around his office. It was all perfect. A little bit of decoration would truly turn the place into his own sacred haven.
To tie it all together, the computer was a fairly new model, the keyboard wasn't too loud either. Cherry on top, the mouse had a silent click. Satoru could really get used to this. He definitely needed to ask if he could keep his position, even after his mission ended.
Again, his mission.
It was a cold reminder that all of this, the expensive hardware, the chilly AC, the comfortable chair, and the silence, were all simply the results of “pretty-privilege”.
Satoru didn't want to be only recognized for his beauty. There was so much more to him, how could the higher-ups be so blind?
Does one fuck-up determine his entire worth?
Nevertheless, he was grateful for a chance of redemption. If he were to continue the grey routine life from before, he'd be dead sooner or later. Perhaps his blood would even turn from colors red to gray. Maybe it has already turned. Except for now, it was blooming back to a vibrant, pulsing crimson.
The thrill of playing chase with such a strong sorcerer excited him.
Suguru Geto was already a foot into his trap the second he laid eyes on Satoru, breathing out a chuckle and staring at him.
To fully embrace this beginning, Satoru had to lock in on the entrapment.
Satoru giggled to himself, holding a pen gently on his lips. He grinned slightly, eager and focused eyes raged with anticipation, enough to crack the icy frost frozen in his Neptune eyes.
Time to lay his cards.
Whether they retain any other information about the other, humans unconsciously develop facial recognition for them.
Satoru would place his bet on science. All he needed to do was make sure Geto knew him, and felt with his heart that the man with white hair was, in fact, Satoru Gojo.
He enhanced his hearing with the six-eyes, zooming past the several floors that separated him from Geto. Satoru could hear a rapid heartbeat, though it blurred off quickly, his senses were intercepted by the huddled up mess of strong cursed-energy. Satoru changed his focus onto Naoya, the one with the least amount of cursed energy.
A muffled scream could be heard, one of a tormented woman. He could see that Naoya kept a strong hold on her hair, black and silky. Unfortunately, it was getting ruined in the hands of someone who simply could not appreciate its beauty.
“Let go, p-please!” she cried, flailing her hands with the desire to escape from Naoya's stern grip.
“Who do you think you are to reject me?” he snarled. “This would've never happened if you just did as I said. It's called karma.”
If you just did as I said.
Satoru could bet on his life the man either demanded she suck him off, or suck another special grade off.
None of the choices were reasonable.
Naoya thrashed her into a wall, sprinting towards her body to torture her further. He continued to bruise her skin with fast punches, tear her clothes, and insult her.
Of course, no one came to her rescue. When the woman from before spoke of the rules, including “Follow their commands”, she actually meant to say that the special grades practically owned you. Your body, your brain, your soul, your everything. To the corporate, Naoya was right. She didn't follow his command, so naturally, she got punished. There would be no damage compensation, no medical billing, nothing.
It's like the saying “customer is always right”. In jujutsu sorcery, it becomes, “the stronger grade is never at fault”.
If anyone interfered, they'd also be punished. Lose their position, their technique, their life. Chances are, Naoya would kill anybody who came to save the woman.
The only way he'd stop is if any other special grade found the woman interesting enough to save her. Maybe they’d ask for a blowjob too.
Morally, it was wrong. The administration had failed each poor soul that endured this suffering, but under this corrupt management? Nothing could be done. Each person in this tower had their own story, including Satoru. A top secret mission that he couldn't risk losing. A life that already drifted away from his physical state. Fragmented pieces of his psyche that shattered at his inability to do anything.
Satoru knew what was happening to that woman, yet he was still. Alone in his brand-new office, almost excited to be in this hell-hole of a system.
No one deserved to get the vitality of their life ripped straight off its stream.
Yet it still happened.
He could still hear and see it. The continuing of each aggressive hit, the rush of Naoya's blood, the satisfaction he got from hurting her, and the desperation to disappear swarming in the woman's beaten head. Each gash he forced onto her, each slowing heartbeat she pumped, and every tear she wept.
Satoru had let it happen. Everyone let it happen.
She trembled with the knowledge that it was the only thing her body could amount to.
She could no longer scream with no mouth to open, only capable of attempting to brace the entrance of her lips for a speck of sound to escape. Her vocals buzzed in her own throat, the vibrations yearned for the vicious tear that would be the cold air outside her lifeless body.
Satoru’s six eyes smacked back at his own head. His vision blurred off, he felt nauseous.
Naoya Zenin had presumably beaten a woman to death.
His laughter echoed off into the bloodstained halls of the Jujutsu Tower. Sinister, vile.
Satoru's sweat dripped from his hair to neck, his eyes shaken with what he'd consider a foreign emotion. His room now felt different, like the decaying flesh of her body was dripping down from the damp corner of his ceiling.
He swallowed hard, standing up stiffly from his chair.
A smoke-break would definitely work.
With a Marlboro Red pack pulled straight out of his pocket, he rushed towards the rooftop with urgency. The stairs were long and tiring, they left his legs sore for a while. The air atop was refreshing, it picked up his white hair with bliss. Until then, he hadn't realized his whole body was tense. He did not notice the rapid beating of his own heart. Each step he took towards the other-side felt extra draining.
Above, the sun shined onto each reflective surface above, the large sign writing “Jujutsu Tower” tried to compete brightness with the impossible star.
Satoru leaned against the green railing, looking out into the distance surrounding his workplace. He closed his eyes in tandem with the wind, wishing it could wash away all of himself. The orange sun gave a gentle shade of yellow onto his hair, it resembled a halo.
He reached into the pack to pull a clean cigarette out, holding it gently in between his glossed lips. Then he searched for the lighter in his pocket. He found himself grabbing at fabric and air.
Fuck.
It was stupid of him to forget a lighter, he sighed with dissatisfaction. Satoru pulled the cigarette away from his lips, holding it with his index and middle finger. It was put to his side.
He could sense someone else coming near, approaching slowly towards him. Satoru didn't bother to look at who it was, their cursed energy was too low to be someone he should care about. They stood next to him, still and silent.
He heard the click of a lighter, followed by the cackling from his own cigarette. The man lit Satoru’s cigarette for him. Satoru panned his head sideways, it was the man from the elevator.
The man looked straight ahead, a deadpan expression rested on his face.
He appreciated little gestures like that. It warmed his heart slightly, easing the energetic dizziness in his soul.
Satoru smiled lightly, “Thanks.”
The man with glasses retained his silence, lighting his own cigarette as he did.
They both inhaled the double edged smoke, exhaling it all into the air.
“No problem,” the man replied quietly.
Satoru’s eyebrows raised, looking towards the man's direction again.
“Ijichi, right?”
“Yes.”
The rest of their time on the roof was silent, a gentle intimacy between strangers.
Ijichi left after a while, leaving Satoru alone with himself. He drifted off into the endless winds alone, it cooled his sweat down only just a bit. It was about time he went back to his mission.
The flight of stairs downwards was equally exhausting; Satoru was parched from both the physical exercise and smoking. His neck was irritated with gentle red hues and patches around, it was either because of the sweat or stress. Maybe both.
As Satoru neared the special grade headquarters, he could sense Geto's presence easily. In fact, Satoru could feel him getting closer, his heart felt heavier and throat felt dry.
It would be his second time appearing in front of Geto.
In Suguru’s defense, anyone with rationality would do the exact same thing he did. A beautiful face with bright blue eyes, it was like crushed chucks of ice swimming in a clear pool from Triton. Those thick eyelashes that fluttered with grace, pink glistening lips, and poreless skin dripping with sweat like droplets of water on shiny white tiles.
The man was gorgeous. His clothes fit him in all the right ways, so breathtaking, so pretty, so right.
He was the perfect image of jujutsu sorcery, a god amongst men.
The way his pale skin flushed with the mere presence of Suguru's cursed energy, the way his shy gaze avoided him, the patter of his pulse thumping against his skin, so magnificent.
Suguru couldn't bear to part his eyes from the man, not when his gentle face looked so pure.
The celestial superiority he held against these regular monkeys, it was electrifying. Suguru couldn't hold back his joy at all.
That boy was the dignity and raw representation of jujutsu sorcerers, and Suguru needed him.
If Suguru could worship anyone as a monk, it would be him. Humans have the tendency to follow religions, to believe in their so called gods. This belief had always seemed pathetic to him — but if Suguru had even the slightest flaw in him, it would be his growing urge to make that man his god. His universe.
He stood out from the start, other-worldly white hair that made him look like an angel. It would be foolish of the man to think he'd stay unnoticed, even if he were standing in the crowded middle.
Alone in the home provided by the Jujutsu Administration, Suguru really needed to release his "pent-up excitement".
Desperately.
In his bedroom, he unrobed himself quickly, pulling out his aching cock. It's difficult holding back against such a pretty baby, especially when he can really just do whatever he wants. His urges told him to bend the man over right then and there, but that would intimidate him too fast. Suguru wanted to take it slow, ease the boy into his hold. Then, he wouldn't let go.
Much like how he can't let go of his hardened dick.
Suguru smeared the come dripping out from his tip to his whole length, using it as lubricant for a better glide. He was lucky to be dressed under several layers of robes, otherwise it would be as obvious as day that he was practically one shift of movement against his crotch to a boner.
Matter of fact, it riled him up more. The mere thought of people knowing that the new pretty boy was his. Better yet, how cute would it be to tease him in front of everybody?
Suguru pumped his thick cock faster to his own perverted imagination. The sight of his pink skin littered with redness from Suguru's touch, the wet squelching his tight ass would make, the ruin that he'd face under Suguru's cock. Maybe he'd be a sensitive little cock-blocker, crying those gorgeous eyes out as he'd plead for Suguru to give him a break.
He groaned as his girth grew bigger, the hardest he's ever been. What's worse, was that Suguru was getting off of pure imagination.
It wasn't his fault, the man was simply too much.
It drove Suguru crazy that he couldn't find words to explain the mystery of him. His breathing grew stronger and more rapid as he continued to fist at his cock, humping in the air and wishing he were fucking into the man's warmth.
Because it would ease him.
Humanity's greatest creation was right there, shining as if dawn itself were embracing him with care. He was the perfect symbolism for Jujutsu sorcery, living proof of Suguru’s dead cause. Suguru wanted to caress the man’s skin to lay a touch of heaven onto his divine construct, to showcase him and pin him onto a glass board for the world to see. Then Suguru would proudly say that Jujutsu is God; he was the Universe’s evidence.
The sticky and rough sound of his hand pumping his cock filled the entire place, yet all Suguru could hear was the illusionary blessing of the man's muffled moans. Suguru's body shivered with his blood rushing to his tip, his orgasm swept through his body like a massacre. He came in strings, hot and thick. Suguru fell onto his bed.
He reminisced of the man despite only having met a while ago, his cock slowly settled.
Suguru asked for his name, it was as poetic as the person.
Satoru Gojo.
Looking at Gojo and being around him felt like a dream within a dream. A breath of pure oxygen as he drowned in his own naive goals. Suguru smiled to himself, satisfied.
But the small glimpse from earlier wasn't enough. He needed more.
Suguru switched his clothes in a rush and headed out of his place. It was dead silent in the halls.
He stumbled around playfully as he stepped through the corridor, additionally brushing his hands against the reflective railing on the sides. He moved slowly, contradictory to his urgency in private. Suguru quietly surveyed his surroundings with boredom written all over his face. There was nothing exactly exciting there. The fun was on the lower floors.
Or so he thought.
Far away, Suguru could hear the tapping of footsteps approaching with haste. It certainly didn't belong to a special grade, too still. It was like enhanced rest energy he couldn't quite wrap around his head, intense yet lucid.
He sighed in annoyance. The only person he wanted to see was Gojo.
A short moment between two souls; those who were no longer strangers to each other's racing minds. An imaginary carousel they rode together that wouldn't halt anytime soon.
The magnetic force that bounced from body to body vigorously through the short distance between them.
The theory of irrefutable connection between white holes and black holes, all rules of physics break down as they jump further down the wormhole.
Their eyes meet, they exchange bows.
The second time Suguru and Satoru met.