Chapter Text
A quiet trill of a bullfinch echoes distantly somewhere past the opening of the Honden, the inner sanctum of the shrine that rests in the center of their small village. Its song is so soft and pleasant that it almost breaks the tense atmosphere in the building. Icy winds that billow inside pierce Yuji’s already trembling frame as he knelt delicately onto the tatami mat below, urged quietly by the head priest to silence his sniffling while the clergymen clamber in one by one.
Their mouths rattle on, demanding to know why they’ve been roused from their slumber before the sun has even peeked from the horizon, but Yuji doesn’t listen. That same delicate trill calling to him from outside. Begging him to be calm and honest.
An impossible task. A false promise of tranquility scrapes against his ears. He can't seem to calm down his pounding heart, not after what he just had torn himself awake from, and definitely not when he knows that bullfinches are only active during the daytime.
“Go ahead,” the head priest murmurs after having settled the circle of his vassals. For Yuji, the room seems to shrink around him, the cold air clogging his nose and freezing his throat. Unprepared to spill his woes to the clergymen that wait with bated breaths, all expectant of something more than what Yuji seems to be able to offer. As if today will be the day his tales break the seal that's been keeping their excitement at bay.
Something inside tells him it just might be.
*~*
Yuji had always been an overactive kid. A child with an imagination that rivaled the best storytellers that came through the village, for his dreams of night and day dictated the words that flew from his mouth.
From magical flying fire-breathing beasts that he’d seen carved into the carriage of passing merchants, to cities the size of ant hills going to war over lands big enough to share; Yuji had stories to tell no matter the occasion.
His father, being the first victim of his imagination every morning, would shuffle around the house as little feet bounded after him. It was around the age of 6 when the voice of a young boy rang loud and clear as Yuji spilled his dreams into the open air. The lands he crossed with his friends were vast and full of people in strange clothes. Structures that touched the sky would fall onto him with a single punch, though outside of a few cuts and bruises, Yuji proudly boasted to his father’s half-opened ears about how he had a really pretty lady friend who would happily heal him as long as he smiles wide like this.
His father had always nodded along when he prepared for the day. As he cooked them breakfast, the boy had recounted a treacherous tale of fighting off monsters in what Yuji claimed was a gigantic school house. Preposterous and overzealous, but his father never spoke the words aloud.
He would be tying his waraji to the soles of his feet before leading his energetic son toward the dry fields for the day, listening half heartedly as Yuji relived fun outings and his opinion of places that he didn’t find out were missions until he got there. All Yuji’s father could think about as the boy rambled on was how he needed to withhold his father’s old war scrolls until Yuji was ready to put all of this to rest.
It was only after his auspicious son had uttered a simple word moments before they were to set off for the day. A simply all too powerful four letter word that struck fear in the hearts of all who heard it.
A name that had started and won wars for centuries, even if there were only one person left on the battlefield to claim said ‘victory’.
Gojo.
“Gojo-sensei taught me—”
“Gojo-sensei showed me—”
“Gojo-sensei—Gojo-sensei—Gojo-sensei—”
His father didn’t take him to the field that day. Instead, he made him sit and listened with rapt attention to the stories Yuji told. Even going so far as to ask questions, something he had never done because the tangents most days weren’t worth it. But as his young son smiles brightly about his amazing ‘Gojo-sensei' that helps him and his friends fight evil in his dreams, the man’s heart plummets at a dangerous realization.
The Shamusho, a smaller pavilion closer to the front that houses the head priest during the working hours of the day, came into view and Yuji grew excited. Jumping from his fathers arms, he barreled his rowdy body through the tapestry-covered opening and into the stunned chest of the priest, forcing the man to quietly apologize to the young woman with hands full of prayer beads.
Before he could move to speak, his father had joined them, rushing into the pavilion and clamping a damp hand over his mouth. Words fly from his lips in a hushed whisper as Yuji stared up at the men in confusion. The fear and shame that tinted his fathers harsh whispers didn’t register as much as the wide-eyed leer he received from the head priest, his eyes were as bright as his own after his father got him a sweet treat after a long day of work.
Together, the three found themselves in a prayer room. The priest had his arms in a vice, demanding the boy to spill the tales he had told his father that morning. So he did.
He recounted his dreams.
Dreams of a man who riveled the sun with his bright moods and headstrong personality yet, in the same breath, could freeze oceans at the slightest annoyance. With hair as white as snow and dressed in silks no man has ever imagined, this man had made a friend of dear Yuji as he slept the night away. His words lit up the room as he spoke tales of the man named Gojo. Reliving the foggy memories of a world so mystical, with metal carriages of all sizes that fly like birds low to the ground, of towers that reached the sky unlike any other, and of beasts so grotesque that had fallen at the hands of himself, Gojo, and others.
He didn’t know it would change his life’s trajectory completely.
He didn’t know that it meant from that day forward he would be promised to the guardian spirit of the Gojo-clan.
His father was given no choice but to release him into the care of the shrine to fall under the high priest's tutelage until ‘the time was right’ as they said, but he never saw a classroom like the other understudies of the shrine. Instead, Yuji was to fill his days as an aid of the ground servants and any who needed an extra pair of hands. If he was to spend his days weeding then he’d do so. If he was to help with laundry, he was able and ready. If the young miko’s needed aid polishing their instruments, then he’s to gather all the tools they needed to help scrub until his elbows grew sore.
Though the moment the sun touched the tree lines he was called to the inner sanctum of the shrine to prepare for his true role. Every night since that fateful day, he was set for hours under the heavy gaze of the priest and the clergymen as they chanted over his body and mind. Sat as stiff as a board on the scratchy decorative pillows at the base of the altar, bathing him in oils and spices before they clothed him in ceremonial robes. The ceremony meant to draw in vitality by gracious guardians as they prepared him and his mind to make it easier to recount his dreams.
Though he never really had trouble before, if they think it’s important he wouldn’t fight it.
~*~
What he’s realized as he grew older, is that the life he lives as he sleeps isn't linear. While the people and places he sees through his are the same, the dreams are like an intricate puzzle that he can't seem to understand.
It's not as if the moment he closes his eyes the guardian of the night whisks him back to the end of the last dream like an incomplete chapter in a book set aside on a shelf at the end of the day. It’s more like, he wades through shards of glass, fractured stories meant to be collected and spliced together to create a mosaic window of the past— or future, Yuji doesn't really know.
Sometimes the dream is a day not lived in the waking world, where Yuji feels as free and safe as he does in his small village, yet the lands he travels part for him and his comrades like butter. An oyster forever able to be cracked and revealed before the sun dawns the sky. Some nights, beaches, and rivers greet him repetitively. The same dream, that repeating fragment of a life not lived, reminds him of a happy time he wishes he could truly understand. Onsens and pallets filled with laughter and jokes he can't seem to remember when he cracks his eyes open, with a boy and a girl who look to be his peers.
Other times the dreams are less favorable. So terrifyingly real that when he wakes up he raises his trembling limbs to his face just to make sure they're still there. His hands. His arms. His heart. He can’t remember when it first revealed itself to him, but there had been a dream that forced him to relive a death he didn’t believe he deserved. The he who was him in the dream had pleaded and screamed for mercy to live, yet no matter what, the next time he’d open his eyes the world he saw was cast in a sea of blood and bones. Towering high in the sky in the shape of a carnivorous throne, eyes just like rubies glaring down at him from above. Utterly terrifying and daunting in a way that even struck fear in the hearts of the clergymen who were meant to listen to it several mornings in a row. So much so, it caused them to raise the intensity of which they prayed over his sleep each night.
Now in his 14th year, Yuji’s dreams have become a lot more favorable. More for himself, than any one else. The transition was as subtle as an ox in a teahouse. From barely being able to remember the dream’s inhabitants if Gojo-Sensei wasn’t there to it being only about himself and Gojo for days straight. Though only sometimes would a dream repeat itself, the rest were all new and fresh and so… warm… in ways he refused to admit to anyone else.
Well.. he would grow warm thinking about it at least.
Like today.
He clears his throat, face flushing once again at the insistence of one of the clergyman's demands for him to spit out his thoughts.
“There was a glowing box with paintings that moved…” Yuji began, choosing his words lightly while never lifting his gaze from the tatami floor. This time, he was swimming in a sea of darkness before the world had formed slowly around him. This glowing ball of light flitting color across his shadowed skin until shapes were able to take form and create the beginning of this tale. He noticed the way the orb too began to take shape, its corners sharpening only to round out again into the shape of a rectangle. Around it was a big box set across the room he had settled in, flashing shapeless paintings at him as he waited for the moment to unfold.
Yuji feels the air pop and crackle causing his head to move unprompted, his gaze redirected to the dark room around him, and there he was. Gojo, clad in his usual blackened silk with the usual unfamiliar box-like pouches that he’s vaguely aware holds sweets hanging low at his hip, mingles with the darkness. Aside from his bluish tinted hair, and his wide gleaming smile, Yuji can't seem to see anything else. Doesn’t usually.
He knows that Gojo draws closer even when his sights are placed back onto the glowing box of moving paintings. He can feel his mouth moving like it always does when he's finding himself growing more into the role he’s thrust in for the night, joining late in a conversation that has started without him.
“ —Can’t I use something else instead of this oversized beanie baby?” The words sound like he’s talking underwater, slowly rising to the surface with each syllable until it was crystal clear.
It’s not easy finding something that won't hurt you while you're learning to use your cursed energy,” Gojo sings playfully, the sound of those pouches dropping close by puncturing the still air.
“This thing punches me in the face sensei,” Yuji whines, "can't I have something a little less violent? Why can’t I use you?”
He doesn't understand the meaning of what he’s saying, the context genuinely lost on him, but , on cue, Yuji lifts the thing to his face, and what stares back is a crude amalgamation of fabric and beads that form an animal with oversized mismatched paws.
Just like before, the air seems to electrify the moment those words leave his mouth. The shadow that veils the man's eyes swallow Yuji whole, littering his arms and legs in goosepimples as the figure creeps closer.
“You already know you can, Yuji-kun,” Gojo murmurs into the air between them. The words feel more charged, and Yuji has an inkling pooling in his semi-conscious mind about the direction this dream may be headed. His words are sharper and clearer than he’s heard the man speak in the 14 years he’s had him, yet he doesn't know what to make of it. Too distracted by the tingling in his lower spine as tufts of white tickle his cheeks.
“All you have to do is take it and you’ll have a part of me in you forever.”
He feels his body grow warm, neck and cheeks prickling with an embarrassment filled itch. Silk clad arms leverage against Yuji's shoulders, his head hanging back to keep his eyes locked on Gojo as he dips closer. A new type of emotion floods his mind as he settles deeper in his role.
He, dream Yuji, relaxes heavily against the cushioned pew on instinct to let Gojo consume his mouth, their teeth clacking softly and tongues swiping soothingly along each other, tying together playfully at first, until Yuji grows impatient.
Twisting his body, the stuffed animal between his legs falls to the floor with a quiet thud. Smaller arms hook around broad shoulders, and soon their lips meet once more.
“I’ll let you use me as much as you want my dear Yuji,” Gojo whispers into his damp skin, “I vowed to protect you for as long as you’ll have me, longer even.” Warm, pale hands streaking flames of lust along Yuji’s ribs. His own rising to tangle themselves in unnaturally soft white hair, their mouths parting only to suck in wet breaths before pressing together once more.
“—Gojo-sensei had sat beside me and,” Yuji lied, clearing his throat once more and silently praying that his face didn’t reveal his inner turmoil, “we had only talked for a while before he said something unusual.”
The high priest gestured for him to continue, sunspotted fingers curing into a dry palm in silent command. While they've all heard about the cursed object from previous dreams, the conversations he’d reveal had always been light-hearted and educational before Gojo teased his way into a different type of tutoring. At this moment, Yuji’s more concerned about the promise Gojo so honestly murmured into the waning air between them before Yuji took hold of the mantle and gave in to their desires.
“While we were ki—sitting together,” he hurriedly corrected, “I had asked him to be what replaced the ‘cursed object’ in my arms, and he said all I had to do was take it—him. Even being sure to remind me he had vowed to protect me for as long as I would have him. I'm starting to wonder—” Yuji cuts himself off, looking cautiously at the elders that surround him. Each one had a hardened shell at the mention of a vow, of all things, their bodies stiffening just enough that Yuji could feel the tension between them and him grow. “Im starting to wonder if these current dreams have anything to do with the ones that I had before, remember, when I kept dying—”
“It seems you’re trying to interpret something much greater than you,” one of the vassals interrupts. Her closed fan smacked against the floor like a whip with order, the scowl on her face demanding silence as she rudely waved her hand between them.
“As you grow, we see more and more proof of the Itako’s words coming to fruition ,” she spouts, keeping her eyes locked with Yuji, “and her omens must not be taken lightly, even by the betrothed himself, just because you had the intuitive assumption that there is more meaning—aside from the warnings that they are—behind those dreams of yours. Complete nonsense will not be tolerated here, young Itadori.”
Yuji stares at her, flustered; his mouth threatening to spout off even more nonsense as this farce of a woman begs to claim, before the priest raises his hands once more. At him this time, more than her.
While rude, there is some truth to what the clergywoman, and everyone in the room knows it. Even Yuji knows bits and pieces.
The Itako that the vassal spoke of was a woman held in high regard to all who knew and heard her. Blind since birth with a powerful connection to the spirits on high, as well as those that have lived and walked the land until their time. At the time of her arrival, Yuji had not yet been born, but the priest had told tales of her to him to prepare him for his future.
She had clambered her way down from the north mere weeks before Yuji was born. Countenance of her arrival had brought fear to the town's heart until her staff of warding bells that guided her to this small village smacked one final time on the shrine’s foundation. In front of all the village, her voice rang shrill and desperate for the people's ear to hear and heed the spirits' warnings—warnings of great evil that threatens to consume the bride of the Six Eyes.
As tales told, the priest had cowered under the mighty words of the blind shaman, falling to his knees while urging the others to do the same. Together they pleaded for ways to spare humanity the pain and destruction of this great evil that threatened their lives.
“A babe shall harbor the soul of great empathy. Just as in lives passed, he will not rest until he has protected you. For he is the reclaimed vessel of the Honored One.” the Itako had cried out, her words hanging heavy in the air.
The town had gasped at her revelation, looking at each other with twisted minds. Babes are born almost as often as cattle. How will they know which one is the vessel? They shouted back, terror tainting their voices. Men looked to their wives, women looked to their children, and the children looked unto her.
“In this life, his soul has yet to be tainted by the King of Curses, so you must stay vigilant and accost yourself to the tales of children. To listen and understand the woes of their words for that is how you find the bride of the Honored One.”
The townspeople rabble listlessly. Why them? Why now? What is to be done if they do not find the babe before it's too late? All questions left unanswered as the Itako waved her staff to the servants behind her, attention focused on the priest who still cowered at her feet.
“I have traveled far to bring you these.” Her assistant brought out a small chest and another assistant unhooks the buggy off the horse where a larger box tied with pristine white fabric marked with strange sigils rests.
“They are necessary for the ritual if you wish to spare your town, lest the entire world succumb to the King of Curses once more.”
Before the high priest could utter a word, the Itako reached forward. Her hand stayed frozen before him until he pulled himself together enough to reach out and grasp it tightly between his fingers.
“Before the winter of the 15th year the day will come,” she began, her voice hushed for his ears only, “when the babe will cry out at his lover's death. On that day you must call forth the spirit of the Six Eyes so that they may have their reunion, or else all will be lost.”
After her warnings were spoken and the chests both big and small were handed over to the shrine's servants, the Itako had left with haste. The town quaked at the revelation, rage and fear consumed them as their impending doom fated too soon to wait.
At the behest of the village elders, those not only bound by the shrine, every child that could talk was made to spout the tales of their dreams in front of everyone. Mothers begged for peace when their child shied from the horde, while fathers accused one another of coaching children to lie for the sake of selfishness. It took many months to be certain that every child ever to speak had not uttered the name of the Honored One.
Unbeknownst to many, even the priest himself, the one who finally spoke up and demanded every man woman and child to cast their worries to the earth before his unexpected passing was none other than Yuji’s own grandfather. He had grown tired of the fear-mongering and infighting, and had made it a point to remind everyone that the child, whoever it may be, is prophesied not to die but to be wed for goodness sake.
Enough was enough.
Unfortunate as it was, that his own son was forced to bear the weight of delivering his child to the hands of the shrine.
The tension Is slow to ebb away. Yuji struggles to keep his breathing level, pushes out a harsh sigh and steels his gaze onto the smooth cypress wood below. Half expecting another lecture, the boy starts to feel a little disheartened. He’s not actually upset about the vassals’s words, nor about the fact that yet another attempt to truly understand the inner workings of his dream has been cut down with lighting speed. As the one who is actively experiencing the dreams and having his waking emotions affected, of course he’s going to be curious, but they will never try to understand him.
When he was younger, the power exuded in his dreams captivated him so much that when he was sent to the town to help groundskeepers bring back supplies for the shrine, he had snuck off a time or two towards the nearest woods. Never too far to cause a scare, but enough to be alone.
While in those woods, he had found himself taking in the weak or brittle shrubs and trees, resting his fist at its core and focusing. Letting the tingling energy vibrate his palms until it borders on painful, before punching into its elderly flesh. The trees had shuddered, some breaking, cracking under the strain of his dedication but never like those structures and beasts he’d seen shatter to pieces. He never saw the blueish black fire that seemed to flow from his hands and feet no matter how much he tried to call it forth.
Never did he see the monsters and demons hiding in plain sight like he had so many times fearlessly while he slept. When Yuji had a free day, he had checked corners, dark and dingy spots, and homes left unattended for ages just to make sure he really didn't have those powers Gojo-Sensei seemed to believe came to him paranaturally.
But he let himself pretend.
Fantasy ruled his childhood as he roused monsters from their corners— toys and dolls he had begged the older teens to stitch for him—and battled them until he was called forth; wrestling with them throughout the day in secret so as not to worry the servants or the clergymen lest his fantasies come crashing down and the toys are ripped from his hands. If that were to happen he was certain that a cleansing ritual awaited for him before the nightly one.
All this to say, he does understand why they’re expectant of him. He understands the need for a certain chance at life is greater than any opinion a mere boy could have about dreams. His reason for still being here and wasting their time with half-told stories—even if they are unaware— and outlandish assumptions, is not because they care for him as a child bearing a spiritual gift, but because his life had already been stamped and sealed like a package to be delivered safely and unharmed lest their world come crashing down around them by his hands.
“We are here gathered to relive the stories of Yuji’s mind,” the priest says finally, slicing through the remaining tension with a gruff sigh, “There shall not be any more interruptions or any other fragmented ideas that weren’t shown to you directly by the spirits.” He cuts, looking between the two slowly.
“We, the blessed servants, shall listen to your woes as demanded of the Itako, but Yuji, you must understand we are not here to dissect your dreams with you,” he utters sternly, though there’s more exhaustion lacing his voice than irritation.
“I understand—”
“It seems you don’t!” the clergywoman erupts again, shrill and full of rage he had not seen in her ever before. “Do you not understand that we've already reached your 14th winter Itadori? There’s not much time to waste on the mere meaning of dreams when the threat of destruction hangs over our heads!” her voice peaks, her eyes wide and strained with age and something akin to fear.
“That is out of his control, and I've already said there will be no more interruptions—,” the high priest tries again, only to be spoken over once more.
“Your tales have only gotten shorter compared to the days where you’ve had us wasting precious hours of our lives with your deranged stories, by the gods, the sun hasn’t even fully crested the sky and we’re finished? Already?” She spoke louder before gesturing around them. The rest of clergymen were more uncomfortable with her outburst than anything but he had caught a few of the older ones nodding in agreement which seemed to fuel her more. Yuji shoots a wary glance toward the priest and sees how tense the man has become across from him. His heart thumps heavy in his chest
“Dont think we haven’t had discussions about what to do with the conniving liar you’ve shown yourself to be,” she seethes, her lips drawn tight around her teeth and a finger points like a dagger straight towards his chest, “There’re things you’re not telling us and we see right through your facade. Just know, young Itadori,” she says, her words dripping with poisonous rage, “if the world succumbs to curses it will be your throat sliced open for all to see.”
“That is enough!” the high priest roars, his voice booming deeply in the room. Yuji flinches, his mind whirling like a top at how intense this whole situation has become.
While the clergywoman was screaming in his face, his blood had heated with shame and his own defensive rage that he knew would have only made this all worse. Having been told in an act of sheer panic that they believe him to be corrupted of all things —a conniving liar— all because he didn’t want them to know of all the scandalous positions Gojo folds him into nightly, was utterly preposterous. His whole world revolved around Gojo and had always revolved around him since he could remember.
“Yuji,” the priest calls. His voice, harsh and demanding respect, urges Yuji to meet his eye.
“Is there anything else you wish to tell us? Did this Gojo-Sensei say anything else to you?” he finishes, short and to the point, and the boy has a hunch that he wants to send him away to scold the rest of his vassals so he shakes his head no, his throat too full of anger to utter a word.
With a sharp nod the high priest sends Yuji on his way, ending the morning meeting with a quiet reminder for him to be back at the honden at nightfall.
Like he could ever forget.
He releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding and rises delicately to his feet before dipping at the waist into a deep bow, only raising it when they’ve returned it with their halfhearted own and turns back towards the entrance.
After that day, Yuji never heard a peep from a vassal's lips unless they were chanting their incantations over him or in prayers for other villagers.
And for many, many nights after, Yuji still dreamt of Gojo and himself only.
In that same damask storage room, with that strange box illuminating their sweat glistening skin as they writhe on top of different furnishings and each other. Gojo created a loving home between Yuji’s thighs, and the boy is all too willing to allow it. Even more so now after those ugly accusations, he wants to make sure his figmented lover knows how much he enjoys their brief time together.
As told before, words spoken between them before they got down to business were none important nor did they hold any weight other than to ignite a blazing flame of lust. And just like before, Yuji chooses to knowingly lie when it comes time to kneel with the vassals. Masking the red on his cheeks with excuses of ill health, never speaking a word about their escapades.
With each passing night his infatuation grows more and more. To such a degree that the phantom embrace of the man lingers throughout his waking days. What started out as a curious hand lingering atop the chub between his legs gradually melted into Yuji chasing that lightning high before a servant calls for him in the mornings. Needy for that unnaturally familiar ache he felt when Gojo’s member dragged itself along his inner walls, he imitates the motions with the tips of his fingers pressed far into his virgin hole.
Unlike when he was a child chasing ‘curses’ all around the village, Yuji craves to defeat the carnal beast that he had allowed to swallow him whole.
When the sun is in the sky and he is back to menial labor, he shivers as he feels the scalding phantom touch between his legs lighting up with every step, having to take a slight pause when the feelings grow to be too much for him to bear.
He aches, his heart and his body, for something he has no logical explanation since he’s never truly experienced what he yearns for. His body was as virginal as any side-eyed eunuch at the demand of the temple, yet because of the dreams, he’s left craving actions so debauched, one must be stricken for even having the power to imagine it.
Yuji’s caught daydreaming often now.
When he’s supposed to be working, his mind’s eye will unintentionally tangle themselves together at the thought of Gojo. Revisiting those moments like they were memories until one of the servants of the shrine breaks him out of his trances with a look of worry painted across their face.
And they should. Be worried, that is.
The sacrificial lamb delicately raised and molded into the perfect vessel for the strongest guardian spirit known across the lands, acting unlike himself should definitely raise some eyebrows, but he is quick to dispel them with a wide smile and an offer to use his strength for one of their chores.
A secret romance blooming under the twinkling stars, and under the nose of the high priest and his clergymen, meant for Yuji and his mind alone.