don&#x27;t lose your way.

@curseswithin's megumi fushiguro & gojo satoru / unprompted

" dad, i like her. it's different now. "

𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘫𝘰 𝘵𝘰 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵. firstly, he was called dad, & that doesn't happen often ( only when megumi's very vulnerable and very honest, only when he speaks from heart ) 一 secondly, megumi said he liked her. whom? unmei... ?

it takes less than a millisecond to decide whether to turn his usual clown mode on or stay serious ( satoru, obviously, chooses the latter ). sometimes it's simply entertaining & amusing to make fun of megumi, though the matter tackled by his beloved kid is very sensitive, and if there's trust to share this information, he cannot fufck this up ( like he usually does ).

because obviously, gojo noticed the way megumi holds unmei's hand & sometimes hides it in his pocket ; how the kid's dark eyes glance the girl's way wherever she's somewhere in the picture, but not close enough, not within one's grasp.

he remembers scolding megumi about playing with her feelings ( not knowing unmei's feelings weren't hurt the slightest, as she accepted the terms of being around & with fushiguro ) & the parallel between then & now, and he can't keep a straight face as a smile rushes in to take over his features.

❝ i see. ❞

satoru is not the one to offer any advices, as he has none to give nor share 一 everything he knows not applicaple to megumi's current situation, but 一 coming to terms with one's feelings, admitting them out loud? holy shit. is this really his fushiguro?

larger hand lands on the other's shoulder with a pat and firm squeeze.

❝ i'm so proud, ❞ gojo exclaims fighting the urge to pull the kid into an embrace. then, a question pops into his head. ❝ does she know? ❞

the past few years have been tumultuous. after all his anger, all the wrongs he felt personally dealt by the world, there's something on the other side. it's not his sister, like he'd still long hoped. the curtains that sway in the wind, the fragrance of freshly baked cookies, the gentle smile -- they have begun to form the shape of his heart from the rubble of guilt. the sorrow, the anger, the yearning ; they're all part of him, just as the shikigamis that dwell in the darkness of his soul.

when megumi looks at gojo satoru, he sees a person. all the many silhouettes with different roles and names have merged together into something whole and complex, something flawed and brilliant and tragic. he sees all the effort, understands the circumstances, forgives the mistakes -- and that makes gojo sensei as much of a father as the one he killed with his own hands all those years ago.

megumi hasn't become who he is now because of gojo. he hasn't sought freedom to relieve his benefactor of his guilts or to provide him with pride. it's all been for himself, because he's so damn sick of being sad and angry and haunted. spiting gojo with his own suffering never worked, anyway.

there are things that might never change, however. on the cusp of independence and starting his own life, he still stands guarded and suspicious in front of his adopter, like the little boy on his suburban home street over a decade ago. staring at his feet, kicking dust, hands tucked in his pockets.

gojo's hand lands on his shoulder and megumi only glances at him. " ...no. "

it's very definitive answer and disinvites any further probing. yet, just because it might not be enough, he bothers to fixate his gaze onto his father's, firm and warning. " and stay out of it, okay? if something happens-- "

and his eyes avert once more,

" I'll tell you. "

gentle hands slide across the dragon's back, petting it gently, nails making soft, tapping sounds against the soft scales.　一　 @psielapki / chihiro

more than the little growl issuing deep within the dragon's neck, the girl may feel the wind trailing past her fingers, flowing over the pearly scales like a summer brook. the dragon's armor is pale, opalescent enough to mirror some of the sky blue, the shrine's earthy floor and the verdant foliage surrounding them. the spirit bows his long neck, river-green gaze fixating onto the girl, watching her in silence, with keenness.

the wind hums around them, the surrounding trees sigh. the scales beneath chihiro's fingers begin to rattle, to fly loose as if taken by the gust. hundreds, thousands of scales billow into the air in a cloud of silvery petals, and from their midst a palm is offered.

" i knew we'd meet again, chihiro. do you remember me? "

for the pardon of his crimes, he'd vowed to keep chihiro safe, to watch over her. perhaps the very moment her pink shoe splashed into his river wove their paths together, like the glimmering purple threads binding her hair.

he isn't doing this for zeniba, although the witch's words do bind him. he is indebted to the sorceress, to chihiro, but he'd do this regardless, out of something greater than responsibility, something like an eternal summer's day within the confines of his dragon heart. zeniba calls it love. maybe such a thing can exist in the twilight between worlds.

remembering naught of the spirits would be better for the girl, and so he dutifully wishes. little more does he desire than to be the breeze that makes her steps feel light when all else is heavy. yet her words bind him as much as zeniba's -- do you promise we'll meet again?

i'm sure of it, he'd said.

the green of his eyes glimmers like the river floor in daylight. gladness is a tide that swells within him as her pretty dark gaze beholds him as it once did, perceiving his form instead of traveling through it unseeing. for a moment, she is again spirited away, beyond the shrine's barrier. for a moment, they are once more reunited.

satorusms

MOUTH WATERS AN INSTANT THE OTHER WALKS TO THE BEDROOM and the thoughtless tease is swallowed quickly as sapphires open wider, not expecting the view. The word was said as joke; Satoru planned to put Daddy's Home at the arrival but haven't heard the door opening and now he's left with this mess he, frankly, created himself. Doesn't mean he has to be responsible for it, right?

Everything Gojō wants to say gets stuck in his throat. Lips part and close, part and close and still nothing comes out of his mouth -- it's in the way @curseswithin looks at him that makes Satoru nervous in all the good ways; a shiver runs down the older's spine and he swallows hard.

Well, well, well -- if it isn't the consequences of his own actions -- straight up nudes ⅋ messages just short of literotica -- coming back to bite him. Quite literally, if he plays his cards right, or wrong -- Satoru's unsure what's on his lover's mind for tonight but he'll take whatever. It's not like he wasn't suffering too, taking these pictures and writing these texts!

Eyes follow the hand movements -- the way Suguru unclasps his belt -- it would take just a little beckoning sign for him to drop on his knees and CRAWL towards his partner if Getō only wanted.

Satoru must be looking desperate and defeated -- especially when the garment falls to the ground without being used ⅋ pants do not follow. To hell with the mochi, the white haired wants -- no, needs something else in his mouth. THIS. INSTANT.

“Suguru.” No cockiness remains in the older's tone as he rises up from his designer chair and walks up to his lover, ocean eyes on fire, radiating azure glow lighting up Getō's silhouette. Arms embrace the other in a tight hug, face hidden in the crook of the curse eater's neck.

Satoru's breath is hot against Suguru's skin and his plea is desperate. He has missed him so fucking much, mind and body, overall presence. His best friend, his lover, his partner, his soulmate, his EVERYTHING.

“Take me.”

arriving home, the strongest sorcerer's whereabouts and plans were a mystery ; of course, suguru had given his partner the schedule of his bullet train and the connection to the foothills of mount mushiro, but unpredictability came with both their stations. suguru couldn't guess whether all the texts and risqué photos he received over the week were a prank or a genuine expression of his partner's feelings -- and earlier that morning, buttoning up one of his best-fitting dress suits ( the one he knows satoru won't let stay on for long ) he decided he'd be okay being mercilessly teased for getting so affected by the material sent by his lover. it's not like he has nothing to bite back with.

suguru watches the ripples of his actions, his shadow stretching into their bedroom from the frame of the door, discarded belt at his feet. satoru sits in his favorite chair, previously so expectant and now mellowed ; he is like one of his curses, keenly following his each movement, hanging onto each word, eyes reverent, awaiting more. it feels as though he could say anything and it would land like a divine command. something wolfish tinges the curse-eater's features, something driven a little mad by the crimson creeping on pale cheeks and framing a dangerous shade of blue, one about to spill and engulf him instead. his name is spoken out like a plea, and his breath hitches ; it takes so much willpower not to meet satoru halfway as he approaches, to not immediately tend to him and relieve him, but he perseveres, because he wants to drive him mad, too.

as satoru's form presses against his, he can feel their cursed energies mingle and mix with the close proximity. this room and this whole house are their reflection, such a seamless merging of their essences it's difficult to tell where one influence begins and the other ends. there are ages beneath their feet, between the finely polished planks of the floor, in the hidden pillars inside the walls, on satoru's hot breath raising the hairs of his nape, sediments of gold and blue tracing all the way back to round glasses and tied up hair. suguru inhales satoru's scent, and can only think, home.

kyoto had been a small window to times past ; it had been a week of the summer stress' after tremors, a week he would have detested in his final year of jujutsu high. it had been a week of quiet evenings in a perfectly still room, nights laid alone on a firm tatami bed, much like he used to prefer before so many people grew so dear to him. suguru is elated to be home, to embrace satoru, to know he'll sleep well again with his steady breaths lulling him and his comforting weight beside him dipping their ridiculously soft mattress ( which he still thinks satoru should never have bought, because it has ruined all other beds for him. )

satoru's arms feel so desperate and longing around him despite being so strong and firm. they are the arms of the strongest sorcerer, the mediators of impossible feats, but suguru knows they're also delicate, tending to shiver beneath the lightest touches and to seek hands to hold. it's a secret that suguru has all to himself, just like all the curses ghosting his insides.

a chuckle escapes him, low and strained, almost a groan, almost a smile against satoru's shoulder. he replies: " of course, satoru. "

oh, does he want to take him. their bodies are pressed so tightly together, uttering so many wordless things they need not voice. an entire conversation plays in the shuffle of fabrics, pulled taut in longing fists, in breaths that shiver just a little, in the souvenir bag that falls to the floor, in the way they kiss. suguru can feel himself unravel in satoru's arms ; the past week in kyoto, the formalities and the lingering stress of the mission there are a canvas that begins to fray and singe, until all that remains is who he is at home, in satoru's embrace.

just as he reaches the limits of his tolerance, as he decides he'll carry satoru to bed and have his way with him right then and there, satoru shows him that he's still one step ahead, that he's still the one driving suguru a little crazier. the head of white plunges down, and suguru doesn't know whether he prays or curses when he says, " satoru, you're going to drive me mad. "

#satorusms #tw nsfw

@curseswithin's megumi fushiguro & the fate

𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘴𝘢𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘶𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯'𝘵 𝘴𝘦𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴, & 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘶𝘯𝘮𝘦𝘪 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 — but if she thinks of butterflies, it's the butterfly effect. one comment now could lead to cities being destroyed in the future ; this one sentence uttered thoughtlessly triggered something in alternate realities.

the girl's head is now filled with possible outcomes, but those located far away from now. she puts down the eyeliner, but there's no point to turn towards megumi : she doesn't see him, and courtesy or not, she wouldn't be able to look him in the eye anyway. it would make her seem more human — but she doesn't strive for that. she doesn't care to resemble a being filled with easily expressed emotions, built with rules & courtesies & behaviors considered acceptable whilst restricting from those deemed unpleasant or illegal.

❝ it's not a misunderstanding. it's what you appreciate about me. ❞

and so it begins : another thing unmei believes to be discussion and megumi believes to be quarrel.

❝ what has lied behind your words? did you say them to make me feel nice, or was it your observation? by now you should know that looks hold very little significance to me, & if you appreciate my appearance, then you should know i do not care for that the littlest bit. so, was it your egoism that led to voicing your opinion out loud? ❞

❝ and if not, then why say something that makes no difference if said aloud ; why not mention something that aactually matters for me? ❞

this is when she turns around — gets up from her chair and sits next to megumi, claiming the spot on his lap as her personal pillow ; cascades of hair dripping down his legs like black ink, threatening to spill & cover the whole room in darkness — like a domain expansion of his own, he's trapped within her grasp.

❝ i am not upset with you one bit. i just expect more from you, is all ; you're capable of great things, it's just the shying away from them that keeps you from growing. but, if it means you'll stay — as i can see the discomfort, perhaps a will to leave — i can pretend to be sad, so you'll play with my hair. ❞

baking cookies together, sharing a meal, clean sheets smelling of your loved one — none of this is to be achieved around unmei ; the home megumi seeks and wishes for even further away by her side. family? not with her.

❝ try again. say something that holds significance. ❞

her big, grey eyes seek his ; her hand brushes against his cheek.

❝ i believe in you. ❞

unmei's words drive megumi into a corner and beyond, to someplace turbid and dark. many interpretations page through his mind, too quick for him to alleviate the jumbled mess of feelings arising with each sentence unmei utters. false statements, false assumptions, lecturing him like a child -- it's irritating and he doesn't want to listen, but still does, because he cares about her. as much as his fists want to furl in frustration and his brows furrow in disaccord, it feels futile to do so. unmei isn't like anyone he's ever met before. it's not just that they misunderstand each other, their viewpoints differ so fundamentally that the ways they think are simply incompatible in many ways.

the mattress dips beside him, but his gaze is averted, hidden beneath wild black strands. as much as the idea of sitting through more berating repels him, he stays, still tethered by the wish to arrive at some sort of resolution ( and to be soothed by closeness. )

unmei's weight shifts, long hair tarrying behind the head that settles in his lap. it's a warm weight despite her cold voice and cold words, a relief to the agitation he feels. against his own resolve, his gaze seeks unmei's eyes, her face, looking for some hint of expression to let him understand her better. as always, there is none.

it is unsettling, and so are the things she says. perhaps it's that he expects to understand unmei more in relation to the time they've spent together. perhaps out of stubbornness or ignorance, he's always kept expecting to see some gradual change or revelation, chasing some vague image of idyll. instead, his comprehension of how different they are deepens, like an image growing blurrier.

his hand catches unmei's beside his cheek, tender and even gentler than his attempt at a compliment had been. many things vie on his features, but she can't see them anyway ; exhaustion, confusion, affection, hurt. helplessness.

he's always sought sense and reason and hated feeling helpless. gojo, maki, unmei -- he's tired of feeling all kinds of hurt by people who care for him in their own ways. he doesn't know how to get out of the loop yet. say something that holds significance -- and all he can think of is less than a sentence. his voice is fond, despite everything, with unmei so close, the skin of her hand against his cheek.

" no. "

carefully, he guides unmei's hand away from his cheek, back to her side. " i want to think about what you said, by myself. " the wording is a little unfair, because he also wants to think about how he feels and what he wants. he wants to think about everything that has passed between them and what he understands of it.

carefully, his hands shift beneath unmei's head and lift it aside. his fingertips brush against the locks spilling over his thighs, so silky and pleasant to touch, but he can't tell her that. he searches for something he'd understand in her eyes, but she told it to him herself -- she can only pretend.

with his books and pencil case collected, his hand on the door handle, he knows he should say one more thing. it tightens his throat, burns his eyes in a way that he loathes. " let's not talk for a while. "

"daddy~" / satoru to suguru.　一　 @satorusms

back home from kyoto, suguru stands in the doorway of their bedroom, still in his undershirt and dress pants, souvenir bag in tow. he has the rest of the night free, so he's not above some shameless flaunting ; satoru is free to admire how well the business wear fits the curse-eater, the second-strongest sorcerer, just a little tight at all the right places, well-built silhouette backlit by the hallway.

suguru's chuckle is just a little husky. " I missed you too, satoru. "

the words are spoken perhaps needlessly, told abundantly in the dark way he eyes his lover. a very specific hue of red ghosts over his cheekbones, one married with a chest-heaving anticipation in dim lit places shared only by the two of them.

" how was your mission today? "

suguru's genuine delight to be back vies with his desire, neither winning decisively, and what satoru gets is an endearing mixture of both. it's entirely the strongest sorcerer's fault, or perhaps his intent, either for his own ends or to bane his lover -- sending titillating texts and imagery along the week they've spent apart, each piling up in suguru's mind, steering his thoughts and desires all the way until this moment. the chase is over now and his lover may reap what he has sown, may witness the transfiguration of what he has so thoughtlessly ( or cunningly ) sent out.

suguru's hands descend to unbuckle his belt, souvenir bag dangling by his arm, all the while his gaze never strays from satoru. clack and he pulls, slow and deliberate, in no hurry now that nothing else remains on his agenda for the day, his plans for the remainder of it clear. the belt clatters to the floor without ceremony, and his gaze never wavers from what he desires.

" by the way, i got the mochi you asked for, " he informs, and he might be playing satoru's game now too, or getting some tatter of retaliation by pretending not to address the tension building up between them.

his hands remain by the button of his pants, fingers graze over the zipper -- only to retract and slide into his pockets. it might be a special kind of curse that he has the power to inflict, doing something so teasing while smiling so sweetly.

#satorusms

@curseswithin's megumi fushiguro & the fate / unprompted

" you're pretty. "

𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘢𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘫𝘶𝘫𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘶 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴' 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵. yuji has posters on his walls — jennifer lawrence and some girls in bathing suits whilst kugisaki decorates hers in all kinds of souvenirs from all the places she's visited in tokyo.

unmei doesn't have anything.

her room is plain and lacks any personality ; not a knickknack in sight, her possessions limited to a bare minimum ( or less, even ). the only thing standing out is a mirror.

it's the cheapest, simplest one she could find — rectangular in shape, with no frame — attached to a wall right above the little vanity she keeps her make up in. what makes it so special is how the reflective surface is covered in post it notes — colored pieces of paper with information about her appearance. permanent marker outlines her facial features so she knows exactly how to apply her brow pencil and eyeliner, lip gloss and blush.

she likes doing make up, if only for the sake of doing it ; mapping out her visage with various tools as if it'll one day make her remember how she looks like in the eyes of others.

fushiguro is there, on her bed — in japanese culture, that's somewhat intimate, but the only chair is now being used by the vanity, and unmei wouldn't let her friend sit on the floor — it feels like not spending time with each other, but being supervised by the older one.

not that she minds.

eyeliner is a bit tricky, but — as with many things — unmei doesn't care enough for it to be perfect. she likes it messy — or believes she does — as it matches her fashion choices ( looking like a hobo or a whore, nothing in between ).

she feels the weight of fushiguro's gaze.

then, the weight of his words too.

and she offers an exhausted, bored sigh in exchange for the compliment.

❝ heard that countless of times, ❞ unmei says like she's offended, but it's not untrue — she is pretty, with her doll like features. seen for the first time, she knows for a fact, she's being considered stunning but only because she really resembles a lifeless figure ( after the initial admiration fades — quickly, the unsettling kicks in and remains ).

❝ but i am so much more, fushiguro - kun. ❞

chin rests on her palms, and she stares into the mirror with a lifeless, blind gaze. ❝ i am so much more than pretty — so much more than my body and flesh i had little say in shaping. compliment my mind instead — not that i don't know how clever or cunning i am, but, ❞ she pauses for a second. ❝ i expected more from you. ❞

#psielapki #if i had a tag for emo boi

although good mannered and sincere, megumi is no poet. do the wording and contents really outweigh the act and the sentiment they stem from? he thinks not -- and is reminded of his view's defects. he doesn't think he was being inconsiderate. thoughtless, maybe, as unmei puts it, but to him, the tragedy is the sentiment buried beneath the phrasing ; the small, simple words had come from some place vulnerable, carrying the weight of the events transpired between them and his growing comfort around unmei.

" you misunderstand the point, " he grumbles, embarrassed, irked to have the moment's serenity broken by a squabble. why can't unmei let it slide? why can't she take it as the nice gesture it was meant to be? as much as she accuses him of being thoughtless, she is so too, in her own way, squashing the words that had been as delicate as butterflies.

megumi's hands slide over his face. he no longer lays on the bed, languid and relaxed and admiring, but sits stiff and closed off. he faces away, gaze downcast.

" forget it. "

it's all he wants to do now. compliments are mundane, everyday things, but they're difficult for megumi. if they only pile on more difficulty, there's no point anymore. outside of his family, it's like he hits a cold grey wall whenever he tries to land a compliment -- whether with maki, even kugisaki, or now with unmei. all he gets are parries, deflects, teases, misunderstandings. he longs for something simple, like his sister's smile.

he wonders whether he'll ever experience something normal, every detail of his life twisted or tangled in one way or another. curtains swaying in the wind, the smell of home-cooked food, a smile that understands him -- it's a vision that vanished in the very beginning with the zenin blood coursing through him.

he makes a mental note not to take up the topic again.

" i didn't mean to upset you. "

❛ you always know how to cheer me up. ❜ / mimiko & geto　一　 @psielapki

the flowers around them are in full bloom, framing a perfectly still pond. it's thriving, vibrant -- and the words of his daughter make it all pale in comparison. in that moment spoken in her voice, all the color in the world is contained in her small frame beside him. his laughter is soft, but still almost too loud for this serene place.

" ah, that's my line, daughter! "

he smiles, unable to help it. his adoptive daughter's words reach somewhere deep within his dark depths and glow there like fireflies. for a while, that harrowing landscape is one bewitched by a soothing beauty.

" who's taught you to speak so kindly, hm? almost like you know exactly what your dad wants to hear the most. "

they stop at the shore of the pond. it whispers at their feet quietly, welling up and down between pebbles. it's still enough to reflect the golden lines crossing across the green of his robe.

" my mother used to have a garden. going there helped me when i felt sad. i spent all my summers there. "

the garden is still there, in the depths of his heart, unsullied by the memories at the forefront of his mind. he can still hear the screams, smell the burning and crumbling foundations of the house. nothing but dry, crooked little sticks left of the flowerbeds and everything that had grown there. ( was it his parent's fault that he was born able to see the unseen? was it their fault they could not? )

" I thought it might help you, too. "

this garden isn't exactly how he'd like it, an easy second to his mother's garden -- but whether it's better than the small garden patch he remembers from jujutsu high is a more difficult question. gardens are reflections of the spirits that nurture them. this garden was long ago commissioned by a lord who shaped it in the memory of his wife who had been able to see the unseen. she'd been thought insane.

no, this isn't a perfect garden by any means, not for him. the most perfect garden would be one that mirrors the ideal world he envisions. it would contain love that has forgotten what ghosts and monsters look like.

" my dearest, shall we grow our own garden at home? i think it'd be beautiful. "

@curseswithin's geto suguru & gojo satoru

𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘻𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘢 𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮 𝘥𝘢𝘺, scorching sun melting asphalt as if it had something to prove. cold alcohol, now cold energy drink, & satoru isn't sure about the decision, but suguru knows better what's good for him, obviously. the white haired doesn't live with constant nausea, so he doesn't comment on the choice of fizzy drinks over regular ones and ignores the fact that it's literally caffeine - fueled can of sugar.

but he knows exactly why.

ah, geto can be so stubborn.

& shows it, doesn't stop — satoru says something and suguru's lips are on him, cutting him off ; gojo speaks and geto's hands are on him.

❝ wait, ❞ he tries before giving in, ❝ i want to- mmmhm... ❞

enough is enough, and there's trust between them to decide that if that's what the curse eater really wants, and is sure he can handle, then the honored one will happily comply & help with washing away this week's stress overload.

it's sins he has in his mouth all day, protecting the sinners from the consequences of their doings & so satoru prays into suguru's lips with his helpless & muffled moans, sighs ; hands begin to worship the other, a bench in the park their altar.

back in the day, suguru had some decency, would scold the other if he tried to initiate something in public. still does, sometimes! doesn't matter if it's day or night — so if geto really, really, really pushes it, that's gotta mean he doesn't only want it, but needs it.

❝ sure, ❞ the head of the gojo clan says all too eager, and just like in his teenage years, six eyes gleams betraying his emotions : high on kisses and feelings, he thinks he could float in the sky if not for the hands that hold him in place, ground him to this world so he doesn't drift away from his own humanity.

a cocky grin makes its way onto satoru's features.

❝ someone's needy. ❞

the fondness on suguru's lips is one made with time, in persistent patience for all the ways he has demanded it over the years. it's the smile of someone who's received far more love than what ever seemed plausible. even now, reverent touches linger where satoru's hands have trailed over him. little sighs and hums still ghost on the nightly breeze, like a distant prayer his soul yearns to recite.

all the macabre work, all the ingested curses each its own flavor of vile -- all of it is a fair price for this special place beside the one seen only once per four hundred years. suguru thanks the nausea, the nights sitting on the bathroom floor, the smell of carnage and the taste of death. he doesn't know whether he could have found peace in the absence of all the kind words spoken by satoru gojo, without hearing his voice so gentle and eager.

satoru has earned the cocky grin with his infinite patience for all the ways suguru undoubtedly is needy. the curse-eater takes it as the long-due jab at his ridiculous, reckless attempts to twist fate into his liking ( the way curses bend to his every command, unquestioning. )

" let's call the cab, then? " he doesn't outright confirm satoru's teasing accusation to be true, that's for later -- but his tone burns with anticipation, airy and almost lightheaded from their shared kisses.

it has taken him some time to get used to all the things they could gradually afford together, not to speak of the increasingly extravagant gifts he's received from his partner over the years. suguru isn't one for materialism or traveling, he's always been firmly rooted to the earth -- but with satoru, perhaps ever since the trips they started to make in high school, that side of life has grown on him.

after finishing up with the grueling mission that had stretched over the entirety of the week, suguru had told satoru of no other preference for their getaway besides getting a room with a nice view over the city. he was glad to leave everything else up for his partner to decide, with his wild ideas and refined taste in such things.

his thumb draws soothing, absent-minded arcs onto satoru's palm. " and satoru -- it seemed like you wanted to say something earlier. "

he smiles his usual smile, but satoru can surely discern the apology in it. " I got a bit carried away. " it's a phrase he's spoken in many different scenarios, and satoru is always there to hear him utter it. he's always there to watch him reinterpret his own edicts.

" what did you want to say? "

his gaze is steady despite the redness encroaching on his cheeks, and holds nothing but satoru in it.

@curseswithin's megumi fushiguro & gojo satoru

𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦, 𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶 𝘦𝘯𝘨𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘰𝘯𝘦 - 𝘰𝘯 - 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴. with unmei it's different ; they engage in conversations instead, breaking down their own domain expansion and techniques into tiniest pieces, rearranging to form new, powerful attacks. that's where he noticed a mark on the girl's neck 一 purple against white 一 and then some more down her arm. she shrugged it off, oh, that? it's megumi, without shame or embarassment.

they're practically adults. it's not his business.

but also, it is.

perceptive as always, he caught fushiguro staring at maki ; they even had this conversation once, about her 一 moreover, the shikigami user still makes heart eyes the fighter's way.

playing with other persons feelings is not something he taught his kid.

the confrontation is hard for both ends, because satoru knows he failed as a guardian. but what could he do? he was eighteen at the time, full of himself and convinced he can protect two children from the ugliest of fates of being sold to the zen'in clan by adopting them.

𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘫𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘣𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴, but that's not entirely true. he is terrible when it comes to rising children, & right now he's got quite a handful of them. of course other sorcerers of higher grades could help, but... megumi's words are spot - on, it is his pet project of sorts 一 raising jujutsushis strong enough to one day ovethrow ruling of the higher ups, giving voice and power to new generations, discarding the outdated ways.

technically, fushiguro is right.

he wasn't a great dad.

he knew how to dress megumi & tsumiki in designer clothes and take them expensive places. he knew how to invest and make sure to secure their future by creating a trust fund. he earned enough from the jujutsu higher ups & his missions to live comfortably and bougie, too. he thought that it's what matters most back then. he didn't know better. there was no one to teach him better. there was no one he would listen to aymore.

still, it's about playing with someone's feelings, and as much of a father failure satoru is, he sure as hell never taught megumi that.

❝ tsk, ❞ he lets out the sound, getting into the room despite the younger's hostility, closing the door behind him so no one can witness nor hear the conversation. ❝ i worry about all my students and i worry about you, megumi. you are my priority. ❞

he tries to keep it short and simple, without much talking 一 knows himself well enough to be aware that once he starts yapping, there's no ending to it.

❝ oooh, you wound me! ❞ he then whines, unable to stop himself. there always has to be a joke. it's a coping mechanism of hiding how he truly feels : and he feels awful, because he knows that everything megumi says is valid and supported by clear evidence. still, gojo knows a little bit better. ❝ seriously, though. don't play with somebody's feelings like this. imagine how you would feel if maki acted just like you did now. ❞

he wants to cry at the last statement, too. but he can't. not yet.

#psielapki #if i had a tag for emo boi

the unserious, pretend-hurt tone makes the tense, high strung shoulders of megumi sink in defeat. no matter what he says, gojo doesn't listen or take it seriously. it's always like this. he wants to back farther away but the confines of his dorm room have him trapped here, in this conversation that feels as if he's talking to the walls.

the only way to get gojo to go away is to agree with him. it's his innate audacity to subject everyone to his whims, refuse to listen and refuse to change, over and over again. despite wanting to end the conversation swiftly, a part of megumi refuses to. it would feel like giving up, because it would rob his dad of the chance to say something right for once, just as it would rob himself of the hope that he'll hear the right words -- words that his dad alone can say and remove the shackles of the past wearing megumi down.

his palm rises to cover his eyes, fingers dragged over black lashes and the defined nose bridge. " as if you aren't playing with anyone's feelings, even right now. "

an exhale. the chasm between him and his father figure seems more daunting than ever, if not completely uncrossable. gojo could slighten it, and megumi even knows what he'd want to hear from him and how those words would chase away some of the ghosts and shadows gnawing away at the edges of his soul. he even knows what words he'd use to forgive his dad. that conversation plays in his head the way he imagines what his sister would look like now, standing before him, as a cruel reminder of everything that's wrong. his sister is gone. he wants to have a dad that he can respect and lean on, but gojo is not willing or capable of that.

the things he wants most in the world are things he just can't have.

" maki has never liked me, dad, " he snaps. he feels embarrassed, desperate.

he's been in love with maki for many years, ever since he met her at the zen'in clan's house when gojo took him over to discuss things. the resolute dark green gaze, firm but compassionate instructions to how to wield weapons and steel one's body -- he was in the dojo practicing, reciting her words in his head before he knew it. however, he was never more than a fellow jujutsushi to her. to be invisible to her and rejected by her are intrinsic to the inexplainable admiration he feels towards her. why, for once, can't he be the one who's admired and wanted? if anyone, gojo should know of friends with benefits. he should know that one can want the physical intimacy without the emotion. megumi isn't some monk whose life revolves around jujutsu -- he'll take the chance to explore physical pleasure while a dangerous curse is yet to snuff him out.

" it's not like you'd understand. you don't even try to. "

has his dad ever stopped to think about why he shuts himself in his room? did he ever try to understand what it felt like to be him when his sister was cursed, or when his shikigami died? megumi doesn't need the fancy clothes or restaurant visits. he needs a father. he wants the family that was before it shattered into pieces.

#CRYING softie ily 😭😭😭#them.... there they are.......

@curseswithin ; megumi fushiguro

you did what 一 @psielapki

the presence of his adoptive father is like a repellant that pushes megumi to the farthest corner of the room. he sits there, at the furthest end of his bed, as far away from gojo as possible, hands in his pockets, aloof gaze hidden by wild black strands and avoiding the piercing blue eyes he's known since he was seven.

" gojo-sensei, " he starts, voice icy and agitated, making sure to use the honorific instead of dad because it stings more that way, " why are you so upset. don't you have better things to worry about? "

then, feeling the anger rise within himself, he decides to stare straight into his guardian's eyes after all. " let me guess, " he says, voice a steady growl, almost monotone, almost calculated, " your pride is hurt because your pet project isn't as flawless as you'd need it to be. you're here to make yourself feel better by pretending to be a parent for five minutes and then you'll go back to patting your own back for being the strongest. "

megumi's teeth press together and he jerks his gaze away. old wounds open and bleed and he almost tastes iron on his tongue. he almost hears his sister's laugh. he knows why he did what he did. he knows why he entertains unmei's company. it's because she said she loves him.

his voice is strained, tight-throated. " leave already. there's nothing you can do. "

it gives him some tatter of satisfaction to say that to gojo the strongest. strength isn't capability. he knows how flawed his guardian is, and it makes him all the more pissed that nobody besides geto can tell it to him straight because they need him so badly. he couldn't save his sister. he killed his real father. he groomed him into a sorcerer just so he can watch his peers and shikigamis die for the rest of his life. and now he can't mess up a few time because he's sorting out his fucking feelings?

" you're such a hypocrite. i hate you. " he says simply.

cherryys

(in the voice of a guy that will defy fate to save you) i don't care

#if i had a tag for emo boi

@psielapki

@curseswithin's geto suguru & gojo satoru

𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘦𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘭𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵, rarely lingering : sorted into the right shelves and drawers of his brain right away, to be picked up later, or dismissed entirely if they weren't important. everything in his head has a designated space, and the man had spent years automatizing the process ( just like the barried of infinity between him & the world deflecting what's dangerous and letting in all things harmless ).

now though, the mind of the genius is occupied with many things. for example : is his husband's throat numb enough to give head? because, fuck, he gives the best head and literally never gags, but that's also a side effect to uzumaki, and satoru isn't usually into the idea as to not hurt his loved one 一 but oh fuck, oh god, how beautiful would these dark eyes of his look from above, with suguru on his knees?

it happens faster than satoru has anticipated, in the bahtroom stall ; locked behind, his back pressed against the door.

it's because it's so small & they're definitely too tall to fit together, but for the sake of suguru's comfort the door's locked, and for the safety of suguru : satoru is there, rubbing gentle circles on geto's back, with his other hand holding geto's hair.

it's okay. maybe few years ago he'd whine about it, now though? never. suguru's health and wellbeing come first, so he doesn't say a thing about it. instead, he's there, supporting 一 who would've thought this arrogant fuck will grow into someone so compassionate?

❝ better? ❞ gojo asks, quietly, helping his partner up to his feet. they missed a cab : like it's a big deal — geto probably thinks it is — but it takes just few clicks to order another one, safely pack him into the car and drive to the hotel.

they may not end up as they wanted to, but that's okay. satoru is happy just to spend some time with his partner, & also knows it's best to say it out loud — otherwise the intrusive thoughts of geto will eat the curse eater alive. see what i did there?

❝ but i really enjoyed our date, ❞ satoru responds with a carefree smile, hand on the small of his partner's back. ❝ it was and still is a nice night. ❞

streetlights dance in the golden eyes, and it's like satoru's own very private sunset ; he's staring from behind his sunglasses and realizes, he's completely contented with the thought of just sleeping by suguru's side, geto's head on gojo's chest ; he wants to lull the love of his life with his heartbeat.

he's never been good with talking about his feelings ; this one thing hasn't improved throughout the years, but he hopes, deep down, that suguru knows — satoru's heart beats for him.

it's like nightly clouds clearing and letting the starlight through again, the way suguru's worries dissipate with the simple words of his partner. it's true that he has the tendency to lose his head in the storm of his own thoughts, and he doesn't know where he'd be if satoru wasn't there to pull him back to the light -- though both of them certainly have an inkling of what it would be like, with suguru's long and difficult history of seeking reasons to get out of bed and be a sorcerer.

it really isn't a bad night, as satoru says ; they got to go on a date and flirt over nice drinks. the sick spell didn't last very long, and there's night left to be enjoyed. morning, too, if they're spared any sudden emergencies -- and after their little adventure, they'll get to go home to their family. well in time for the monthly family sunday hangout, even though the kids aren't as enthusiastic about it as they used to be.

after his ill fit, suguru brushed his teeth with the set he always keeps with him and tipped the izakaya in apology before going out again. it had been dim when they'd entered the bar, and now the sky has darkened to a pitch black, with the city's glow reaching out to it.

he winds an arm around satoru in a side hug, a small smile returning to his features and tasting like mint. satoru's form is practically drawn by the city lights, the glow sticking to his wild gelled back hair and gleaming on his shades. long ago, his hair had been a little longer, his sunglasses rounder, his cheeks and neck less firm. he's always looked perfect to suguru.

they sit in a park, vending machine drinks in hand. suguru tries not to mull over how much rather he'd be in a room alone with satoru, on the bed with the covers shoved out of the way of everything but sleeping, but he has to monitor his stomach for a little bit to make sure the nausea isn't coming back. his cheeks are still tinted a tipsy red and he laughs a little louder than usual at satoru's jokes. he also keeps interrupting him to make out with him, and it's by goodness' grace that they are precisely in the darkest shade between two lamp posts and it's late at night. no passer-bys should be subjected to witness the radical breach of public decency, but suguru doesn't care. he used to mind the rules and non-sorcerers a lot more, but over the years he's decided it's enough to shield their eyes from the curses crawling all around them. they don't understand what it's like to dance with death everyday, or to die and come back.

" i think i could still go to a hotel and not waste the entire night sleeping. " the words are tinted with the scent of his energy drink, or his desperation to rise above his chronic condition and not let it steal away anything he wants. " but it's late. we can go another time if you're tired. "

sinday satoru, panting heavily, legs spread pretty - fingers entangled in the mess of black strands gripped tightly in desperation.　一　 @psielapki

the moment is like its own domain, containing something lost with the shot that pierced riko's temple and not found outside of it since. both him and satoru died and came back and weren't the same afterwards -- and until tonight, suguru thought that nothing could be the same again.

since that day, satoru's gaze has been fixated on something beyond him and not at him. suguru has learnt what jujutsu high is like without satoru by his side everyday, and it's like air without oxygen. he's wondered whether he'd been foolish or unlucky to believe that the word love isn't enough to describe what they have, or what they are to one another. whether the world is completely unlike he'd imagined, and whether he accepts it as it is.

the word relief doesn't suffice to describe how badly suguru has needed this ; it's ice melted, moonlight unclouded, starvation sated.

words turn into touches, first careful, then longing. they can't keep standing, it's not enough. they have to be alone, just the two of them. suguru presses satoru deep into his mattress and his every touch is an adoration, an act of love. satoru has changed, but suguru still finds all the old beneath that he knows so thoroughly well, and his body knows exactly how to move around him, knows how to draw out all the little sounds and shades of pink that he has missed.

satoru knows him, too. he knows how to drive him crazy and have his name spoken out all contorted by pleasure.

satoru's fingers are tangled in his black mane as he speaks his name out one final time, before descending onto him, exhaling, resting his head in the crook of his neck.

suguru's voice is quiet, spoken through heavy breaths between pillow and pale skin. " stay the night. please. "

" the fucks wrong with you? — no, wait, lemme rephrase. the fuck is not wrong with you? " fate @ megumi　一　 @psielapki

it's a fair question, even though the way she barks it makes him want to drop her right back down and make her taste what it's like to really be left behind to the shadows she likes to hide in. but the good barely outweighs the bad, so megumi doesn't drop the girl to her death. his conscience would condemn it.

still, it's not like he'll just let her run her mouth either. he knows she can't see his face, so she better feel the thin ice beyond the boundary she has overstepped ( many times already, but that's a whole other headache. ) his voice is a warning growl, telling her she's crossed onto dangerous territory. her sheer arrogance is a punch at the merciful wolf, its bite imminent.

" you're the one asking that? get a fucking life. "

she's made this whole situation much more awkward than it needs to be, and it was frigid to begin with, since the day he noted her kinship to gojo-sensei, the kind of kinship his actual child might have. she's like a curse upon megumi, revealing new depths whenever he's finally about to forget her. he thinks he might hate her for it -- if hate is what makes him want to shut himself in his room when he thinks of his father, or sister, or gojo-sensei trying to act like a father.

he didn't want to be told that he's loved. it makes things more complicated than they should be. she can surely feel the growl of each syllable through his back, just as he feels her arms around him and however they'll twitch in response to him, and it's so much more awkward than it needs to be.

nue's wings flap on both of their sides, and the night coursing by feels just a little charged. the feathers of nue's nape seal within a warmth that feels almost alive, almost unlike a god of death, and megumi hates that he thinks, maybe that's how he feels beneath unmei's arms.

they arrive at the cusp of tengen's barrier, and he calls nue back to the void. the way his feet press to the overgrown stone steps is heavy after the flight. the pull of gravity almost unsettles him, because it's like he can't understand it. he can't understand it when he turns back around after having left, wordlessly, and pulls unmei's lithe frame by the arm and presses a peck onto the corner of her lips.

he can't understand it when he immediately jolts away, like a magnet repelled by a like-pole, and sprints right into the forest instead of up the pathway to jujutsu high. not long after, a wolf's howl echoes in the dark mountains.

@curseswithin's geto suguru & gojo satoru

𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘳. smarter, stronger, better than everyone. his birth itself was an event that shook the foundations of the entire world, and he took great pride in being different.

that is until certain someone invaded his space, barged in without notice, having zero background in jujutsu and no clan to back him up and yet 一 he's talented, he's strong, he's well liked. people talk highly of him all the time.

satoru gojo hates him.

satoru gojo also hates himself because he can't really be mean to this new jujutsu high addition ; it's just too easy to acknowledge the other's abilities and it would be foolish to deem geto weak or weaker, when in reality, it's the ocean looking up to the sun, afraid it's never gonna reach this high, to the levels of the gold & warm & light.

it takes very little to be drawn to geto too, it's like he's a magnet. satoru can't really put any distance inbetween them 一 like moth to the flame, one lesson he just sat by the desk right next to the curse eater instead of his usual spot.

one day he just casually wrapped his arm around the other after a particularly rough training session.

one evening he casually called him by his first name 一 it only seemed natural, & satoru paid little mind to all the... what would geto call it... etiquette? sometimes the prodigy thinks that suguru has a stick up his butt, & he made it his goal to pull that thing out.

it's a sunday so there's no class, only boredom caused by nothing really happening. no sudden calls for missions, no teachers talking his ear off about responsibilities, no clan - like duties to fulfill.

satoru gojo is so bored he'd do anything to change that, his first thought 一 causing some chaos. his smile drips in mischief as he sneaks to suguru's room, but to his disappointment, nobody answers the knocks ( geto is too polite to ignore someone banging on the entrance ). what do to, if he cannot even annoy the only person his age in this god forsaken place?

the idea comes to his mind, and he's fast to break the lock ( he was never taught lockpicking ) ; invading personal space is one thing, but now the entirety of geto's room is in his reach, and he can do whatever he pleases until the other one comes back!

at first, satoru hid in the closet, but oh god, for how long can a guy wait in this uncomfortable position of crouching between shelves filled with neatly folded shirts and pants? he did rummage through the drawers, underwear ones included, hoping to find a diary maybe. not that suguru looks like a diary guy ( more like a journal guy, but- anyway! ), but he takes notes during class, right? the invasion continues, until gojo finds a notebook filled with what they're taught in class and decides to go through it on the most comfortable spot in the entire room : the bed.

with little care about how well it's been made, he kicks off his boots and makes himself at home, scanning through pages. he's so invested in all the observations made by geto, he doesn't realize the owner of his lecture walks in.

infinity fails.

an apple hits him on the head.

❝ ouch! ❞ the older sorcerer exclaims, rubbing the hurting spot. ❝ why are you throwing food at me?! ❞

the pain's not that bad ( if bad at all ), and the wince is quickly replaced by a sly smile. satoru sits up, cross - legged, grinning. exactly, satoru.

❝ oooh~ are we oficially on a first name basis then? ❞ he tilts his head, azure glimmering from behind his sunglasses. ❝ and all it took was for me to lay in your bed? and here i thought you're the proper one~ ❞

suguru's face has never been the color of an apple before, but now it is. " pah, what are you-- you're the one who broke into my room to lay on my bed! "

he slides his hands over his burning face and into his damp hair, recollecting himself, then closes the door behind himself ; he doesn't want any teachers hearing the ruckus, lest he lose his good reputation. he enters further into the room, voice a hiss, " you want to be on a first name basis with me so badly, then fine-- satoru. "

then, he notices the notebook in his intruding friend's hands. his head drops in defeat. " and give that back. "

his hand extends out, like to a dog carrying something it shouldn't. " please. "

the notebook isn't the first thing he'd want to show anyone, but he's already so embarrassed that it hardly makes a difference. it's one of those journals with many sections ; notes separated by dividers, a calendar and some space to list things. suguru's notes cover different topics from the curses he has ingested to tracking his nausea symptoms and remedies. the calendar has highlighted dates, such as mother's day and exam dates, but also activities for most days. beneath an upcoming day, there's a scribble reading ask gojo to spar, and in the general notes, under things to do: go to the city. go to the arcade. with gojo?

it's like he's the last one to realize how close he's grown to the shaggy-haired prodigy. it just doesn't make sense in such a short time, and he knows that it somehow still does, as he looks at how satoru's sitting cross-legged on his bed, choosing to be there instead of elsewhere. everyday since he came to jujutsu high, satoru has chosen to be with him.

nobody else has ever chosen him like this. and he thinks, he chooses satoru, too.

he picks up the apple from where it had fallen onto the bed after colliding with the white head, then walks around the bed and flops down to lay there beside satoru. he looks up at him lazily, from the shade of jet black lashes, and then pulls the towel out from beneath his neck and whisks it at the delinquent. he still doesn't approve of what satoru has done.

" so. did you wanna do something else today besides invading my room? "

he props an arm behind his head, while the other brings the apple to his lips. " you could've just asked me to hang out instead of breaking in. "

his anger has turned into something that threatens to widen into a smile. satoru is crazy, but for the first time he hears himself think, in a good way. he's always been friendly with people, but this might be what friendship is ; anger cooling into smiles and each moment made better by the other's presence. now that satoru is there, he doesn't want him to leave.