#ⲧⲏⲉ ⳽ⲧⲅⲟⲛⳋⲉ⳽ⲧ ғⳕⲅⲉ⳽ ⲃⳙⲅⲛ ⲃⳑⳙⲉ | ic |

[brazenlystrong]

Cont. [x] // @koseigu

The rare opportunity for the snow leopard to catch the tiger with his back turned his way. And maybe just now Satoru discovered he has a thing for back muscles and a fine waist.

He doesn’t pay much attention to what is said to him, his thigh brushing against Sukuna’s hip as he moves to tower perfectly above him. But that doesn’t last long enough for Satoru to indulge.

And the next thing, he is— still on top of Sukuna but facing him now instead. He blinks in confusion at the sudden shift in position.

“ That’ll do too. ” He’ll find another spot to mark. Satoru leans down, parting his lips so his pointy teeth can nibble down on the curve of a pectoral muscle.

[brazenlystrong]

The call ends. His heart pounds in his chest and he inhales softly, deeply, in an attempt to calm its pace. The faintest hope ignites in his chest, fragile yet warm. He had buried Suguru twice: once in his heart, and once with his own hands. To think there is still a piece of him left—it is a cruel miracle.

He didn’t want to think. He has so much to say. With that hope comes the pain, sharp and unrelenting. It claws at him, dragging him back to that fateful day...

This isn’t the right time to get weak, Strongest.

Not when Kenjaku is still hiding in there, likely observing. He caught him unguarded once. It won’t happen again.

With a couple of steps, he gets beside Suguru. His lips part as to say something but what should be let out first?

“ Man… This would’ve made more sense if it was a dream. ” He runs a hand through his white hair, adjusting to the reality of things.

Geto hopes Shoko will be more realistic about this than Satoru is being. Accept that this is a temporary reprieve, not a second chance at living. He's really causing her a lot of trouble again, that should help her see the situation clearly.

But right now, there's something more important.

He closes his eyes. There's a lot of cursed energy everywhere, competing for his attention. The girls are not particularly powerful, but he can pick out even faint residuals from them, knowing them like the back of his hand. Geto takes a step before he opens his eyes. "This way."

Confidence returns to him, certainty of purpose. He has to find his children and when he does, he can't let them see that he's rattled.

[brazenlystrong]

Cont. [x] // @koseigu

This got even worse than the subconscious worry that anyone Satoru lets close could vanish just as unexpectedly as Suguru did. This fear isn’t one he openly acknowledges, but it's been there. When he feels himself getting attached or realizing he cares for someone, that anxiety flares up, leaving him defensive. Satoru isn't good at managing these emotions—mostly because he's never really had to.

He'd often catch himself thinking about Sukuna. Upon recognizing that, it causes a little bit of inner conflict because he dislikes the sense of vulnerability that comes with caring about someone. It makes him feel somewhat out of control. Building a wall around himself and maintaining a distant demeanor is his way of convincing himself that he’s still got it handled—that he’s untouchable, even emotionally.

He might've been colder, more petulant than usual in his speech, using it to deflect from what he's actually feeling. Sukuna picking up on this behavioral pattern and the topic arising caught Gojo unprepared. Satoru is used to bottling everything without addressing it. After Sukuna first came back to Jujutsu High and they began to hang out more often, just the two of them, for Satoru it was like discovering an unspoken language that only the two of them understand. He found someone who sees beyond the surface—beyond appearances, words, and even the little masks he wears to get through the day. Sukuna gets him in a way no one else could. And in this case, he knew when to draw him out of his silence and then give him space. Sukuna naturally has a soothing effect on Satoru, so their fights don’t escalate and they’d settle to give each other time to process everything.

Satoru’s been holding it together—or trying to—but there’s a hollow ache that’s been growing day by day. Being apart from Sukuna felt manageable at first; he told himself he was fine, that he didn’t need anyone. But as time stretched on, Sukuna's absence turned into a quiet, gnawing emptiness that kept him awake at night, a dull, steady pull in his chest reminding him of everything he was trying to ignore. And tonight, it’s too much. He realizes he can’t pretend he doesn’t need him.

Satoru has grown restless, regretful about everything. Instead of keeping Sukuna close, he’s been pushing him away. And in a result, they aren’t together as much which is the exact opposite of what Satoru strives to avoid. So, he finds himself almost hoping to be accepted, let back in, desperately wanting this connection that has been making him happy. His hand is resting against the surface of the door and until he gets a response he doesn’t dare move away.

And when he’s allowed to enter, he pushes the door open before silently walking in and closing it behind himself. Usually, he’d stand by the door and wait until Sukuna said something but already doing that outside was unbearable enough. Instead, Satoru approaches the bed and takes a seat on the edge before leaning over and dropping his head on top of Sukuna’s back, near his shoulder, while his one arm is moved around him. He doesn’t say anything, albeit so much is spoken through his actions.

[brazenlystrong]

Starter for @koseigu

The familiar opening theme of Digimon plays and just that is enough to get Satoru excited. Getting Sukuna to agree to watch it with him after they were done with assignments made him so happy that he was bouncing with utmost glee.

The couple settles into a cozy embrace with Sukuna draped comfortably behind Satoru who is nestled in front. The blankets cover them like a warm cocoon, though Satoru is anything but still.

“ Oh, oh, wait! This is the episode where Agumon first digivolves into Greymon! ” he exclaims, his voice brimming with enthusiasm as he fidgets in place.

When the climactic moment arrives, Gojo points at the screen. “ See?! This is what I was talking about! Look at the detail in the animation there—Awesome ! ” His back arches on impulse, bumping the back of his pelvis into Sukuna. “ It’s so good! ”

[brazenlystrong]

The Cursed Aristocrat's Gala // @koseigu

Gojo and Sukuna are assigned to investigate a luxurious and secretive gala hosted by a special grade cursed spirit that has taken the form of an influential aristocrat. A grand event where various cursed spirits and their human collaborators gather, hidden under the guise of a ‘ charity ball. ’ The event is held at a sprawling mansion filled with cursed energy, and it's rumored that a powerful cursed object is being auctioned off to the highest bidder. Things might get out of hand, considering the non-sorcerers are unaware of the gist of things. And it's likely that the 'prize' won't really be handed over fairly. Surely this is some type of trick the Cursed Aristocrat is pulling.

The twist? It seems some of the areas at the gala only allow entry to the service staff and their employers. To slip in unnoticed, Gojo has to infiltrate as one of the servants—a maid, specifically, due to the stringent staff protocol that only accepts ‘ classically trained ’ maids for the evening. He doesn’t tell Sukuna at first since the idea itself is ridiculous but too hilarious for him to miss the opportunity.

For the gala, Gojo is dressed in a tailored, midnight-blue tuxedo that catches the dim glow of the chandeliers above, creating a subtle sheen with every step. The tux fits him perfectly, hugging his broad shoulders and tapering down to a slim waist. His shoes, polished to a high gloss, reflect the marble floor beneath him.

He’s just declined an offer for a glass of wine from a random lady. It was likely an attempt to strike a conversation with him but just the whiff of alcohol had him scrunching his nose. Once the lady leaves, Satoru leans over to Sukuna with a cheeky little grin and whispers, “ I’m gonna step away to freshen up. Come meet me in the dressing room in the far wing of the mansion. ” He's already come up with an excuse to get in, revolving around a ‘ wardrobe malfunction ’.

[brazenlystrong]

✥ - Popping a button on their shirt, showing their chest / a bit of cleavage ( sukuna. obvi )

Show A Little Skin Meme // @koseigu

It’s a bright, sunny day with just a hint of a breeze that barely tempers the heat. Gojo leans against a low stone wall, casually sipping from a juice box through a thin straw. His eyes squint slightly against the glare, and his free hand absently brushes his hair back from his face. The juice is tart, cool on his tongue—a brief reprieve from the warmth radiating around him.

As he gazes out, his attention shifts. He spots Sukuna nearby, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Gojo watches how his fingers pop open the top few buttons, exposing just a glimpse of toned pectorals glistening faintly under the sun. The casual motion is innocent enough, but it strikes something deep within Satoru.

His cheeks flush a soft pink, and he becomes acutely aware of the subtle ache blooming in his chest. His fingers tighten around the juice box without him realizing, the soft carton giving way with a muted crinkle. A bead of juice trickles down the straw. He feels suddenly restless, heart thudding in a way that has nothing to do with the summer heat. In the process, he accidentally spills some of the juice and it trickles down his wrist. His mind is going haywire with inappropriate thoughts and this is only fueling them.

Without thinking, he pushes himself off the wall, the juice box left abandoned on a nearby ledge. His eyes are fixed on Sukuna as he reaches to instinctively grab at the open shirt and tug it upward a little.

“ You—” His gaze flickers to his exposed chest for the briefest moment before darting back to his face.

Shit. It dawns on him what he's doing.

“ … Never mind. Carry on. ” Satoru’s voice is a little low now, a little breathless. His need is written plainly in his expression yet he releases Sukuna's shirt. What was he going for anyway? Only his brain could conjure ideas at the most unsuitable times.

[brazenlystrong]

Into the Skelly Party for @koseigu

Satoru is sitting amidst the remains of countless skeletons, the air holds a silence that feels eternal. Every so often, he lifts the blindfold away from his eyes just a fraction, revealing a glimmer of those crystalline blue orbs. His gaze falls upon the jagged bones scattered across the dim, featureless void. The hollow eye sockets of the skulls seem to stare at him in frozen curiosity. A light hum elicits the Strongest's lips—a faint curve of his lips that bears no trace of fear or despair.

Gojo's confidence radiates heavily as his boundless energy does, shaking the walls of the prison realm in spite of Kenjaku. He might not be able to come out but at least he’ll cause some trouble. The ominous box containing the Strongest lays on the ground, the weight of its fall had split the earth beneath it into hazy tendrils.

He is sure his students will handle the chaos without him. Megumi has the intellect to lead, Yuji has the heart to persevere, and Nobara will never back down.

“ Guess I get a little vacation, ” he murmurs under his breath, his voice tinged with amusement. Maybe not 'a little' if he will end up staying here forever but he isn't thinking about that. He knows he will be tampering with his own mental stability if he starts. Instead, he stretches his legs outward, cracking a couple of bones in the process, and leans back to relax.

His calm is not born of ignorance but of trust—a steadfast belief in those who continue to fight in his absence.

Some time passes and he grows bored. What can he do here? Aside from making a little tower of bones and then flicking the top with his fingers so it crumbles down. He picks up a random skull and makes a puppet out of it, placing it on his hand and his thumb moves below the jaw to make it look like it’s talking. He chuckles to himself and has a little conversation with it. And after that isn’t interesting anymore, he tosses the skull away.

He doesn’t need to sleep here, as though his needs are static forever. No need to drink, no need to eat. He’d be worried if he had to chew on bones or his own for the matter—but anyway. He places his hand in his pockets and tilts his head back into the uncomfortable bony surface under him. Oh, what’s this—he takes something out of his pocket.

A finger.

He’s forgotten that he had it in there. He flicks the finger between all of his own, fiddling with it. Megumi had managed to retrieve it successfully before handing it over to him. Normally, cursed spirits don’t approach him, so the safest spot the finger to be stored in is—his pocket. He’s tried to blast it against a wall for fun but as he thought it can’t be destroyed. He remembers Tengen growing extremely worried the moment he had joked that it looked tasty. They know he wouldn’t eat it for real-real, right? Maybe he can pretend to feed it to some of these weird skeletons.

He grabs the jaw of one, carefully not to snap it off.

“ Tell me how this tastes like, ” he says in jest as he lowers the jaw for the ‘mouth’ to open before he feeds it to it. He lets go of the finger but suddenly… it disappears into the void, as though it just got sucked in.

“ Huh? Magic trick’s over. Give it back— ” He waves his hand, palm-upward, as though expecting the skeleton to spit it right back out.

[brazenlystrong]

Cont. [x] // @koseigu

Satoru stares into the hallway with his back turned to the chaos behind him. He doesn’t turn to face it. He can’t. The room is a reflection of his mind, but acknowledging it feels like giving in, like admitting that the turmoil inside him is winning.

The bitter taste in his mouth has never quite left since Suguru walked away. A gnawing anger simmers under the surface, burning at his insides, but he holds it together, just barely. Anger is easier to hold onto than anything else—it drowns out the grief, the guilt, the regret. Suguru's defection is a wound that hasn’t healed, one that festers no matter how much Satoru tries to shove it down. All he’s left with is the rage of a broken relationship and the emptiness it left behind.

And then there’s Haibara. The ache of his loss stings in the background of Satoru’s thoughts like a dull throb. Someone who didn’t deserve the fate he got. Nanami had walked away from the same world, the same responsibility, tired of it all. And Satoru let him go. What could he say? There’s no loyalty left in a world that keeps taking from you. Even Shoko is keeping her distance these days. The chasm between them widens with each passing day.

“ Ha? ” He voices, his eyebrows casting downward, scrunching his eyes into a frown.

“ Oh, my bad, ” Satoru’s voice drips with sarcasm, his tone sharp as a blade. “ Didn’t realize I had to roll out the red carpet for Your Majesty ” He emphasizes the exaggeration of his comment by raising his hands up in a dramatic manner.  “ I figured since you’re back, maybe you’d have the sense to notice that things aren’t exactly great around here. ” He pushes himself forward, away from the doorframe. One hand now rests on his hip.

“ Most of the people who should be standing with us are gone. ” And he isn’t sure if he should be trying to save a crumbling house. But it’s good to know Sukuna is still around.

“ Do what you will with that information. It’s pretty much just us left. ” Looks like Yaga and the higher ups are going to have to work hard if they want this school to still be open for new sorcerers. With the recent events, Satoru would be surprised if they even manage to recruit someone else. They lucked out with Sukuna's return.

[brazenlystrong]

He opens his mouth as if to brush it off, but the comments clearly strike a chord with him. A slight pout tugs at his lips.

“ Geez, don’t lay that on me, ” he huffs. “ I’m fine, alright? I don’t need anyone to rely on. I’m the strongest, I’ve got things handled. ” His words come out a little sharper than he intended. Aware of that, he adjusts the tone of his voice for what he would add next and then showcases a little grin.

“ As long as I’m around, everything’s covered. Got it? So don’t sweat it. ” He gives a half-hearted shrug, coating the mild imperceptible crack in the façade he so carefully maintains with an over-the-top, laid-back air. He appreciates the consideration, even if not mentioned outwardly.

❝ I'M NOT BROODING. JUST ... thinking about you lately. everyone relies on you all the time, but you don't have anyone you can fall back on. you can't keep burning the candle at both ends alone, gojo. ❞

chiaki finally turns her gaze away from the city lights ( really, what lies between the city lights ) and studies him for a moment or two. ❝ i want to be there for you, if you'll let me. in whatever way i can be. ❞ finally, the solemn expression on her face melts into something lighter, more amused. ❝ though you seem to be allergic to asking for help. ❞

[brazenlystrong]

@embodiiment

Literally, lifts an ankle in the air and beckons to him.

I dare you.

[brazenlystrong]

Cont. [x] // @koseigu

“ If we get the treat box it’s gonna be all for me then. ”

He shrugs with a cheeky little grin. “ Since you don’t like sweets. ”

Huh.

He watches her go forward without any more convincing needed and rushes forward to walk beside her.

“ Geez, if you act like that our chances of winning will be zero. ”

[brazenlystrong]

Cont. [x] // @rivalsunraveled

“ I’ll make ya eat those words. ” His tone comes off as abrasive, weighing each word. His upper lip is curved to display his annoyance yet his posture is slouched and as laid-back as someone who really doesn't seem to be worrying about the consequences. A mistake on his part, although he appears to be confident in his abilities. The possibility of getting detention ( or worst case scenario expelled ) doesn’t faze him. Neither does the outcome of the fight and any future damages.

“ Pretty eager to get your ass handed to ya , huh ? Let’s go then. ” He wastes no second and bolts off to leave the premises. Frankly, he is curious. What cursed technique does this guy have ? Whatever it is, it’s grabbed Yaga-Sensei’s attention. And since their teacher didn’t disclose anything either, then his excuse would be — exactly that.

[brazenlystrong]

There’s a certain satisfaction in the way she leans back into him, her movements fluid and responsive, as if he is the puppeteer pulling the strings of her desires. Every command he utters is met with a silent eagerness, as if his words are a melody she has learned to gracefully dance to.

His grip on her is firm yet gentle, the warmth of his broad frame enveloping her as he holds her tightly, claiming her in a way that is both tender and assertive. Beneath the surface of his smile lies something more primal—an animalistic gleam in his eyes that hits at deeper instinct. A unique expression of trust. It is a thrilling paradox: in acknowledging his lead, Shoko discovers her own strength, her wants, her limits, and the intoxicating pleasure derived from that realization. And Satoru loves exploiting all of that.

The thrill of dominance laced with implicit understanding solidifies his sense of ownership while igniting a fervent desire. It is a beautiful game of submission and control, and in that second, he knows when she is reaching her climax. Satoru bites on his lower lip, feeling the pulsating tightness around his girth as she calls out his name.

His hips slow down just enough but don’t come to a full stop, rather he buries himself deep inside of her, grinding into her while teasing that same spot over and over even through her orgasm. His one hand travels down to brush his fingers low to where she is the most sensitive, the pad of his fingers pressing against her slit, drawing over the edge where she connects with him. The moment simultaneously brings him to finish, filling every inch of her with deliberate intent. The essence of their love drips, tracing a path down thighs, leaving behind a faint trail that glistens.

“ That’s it—… good. ” His voice conveys a rich and soothing quality, creating an almost hypnotic effect.  He carefully brings her upward before letting her rest against him. He would hoist her in his embrace for as long as needed, her body is as light as a feather to him. His other arm is positioned around her chest, his hand once again has its fingers sinking into her breasts, the plushness conforming to the contours of his digits. His expression has dulled into a peaceful smile— a sign of fulfillment. His thumb strokes her skin in delicate arcs as he takes the time to plant a tender kiss to her temple.

theirs is a story that can be traced like phases of the moon, the transformative power of circumstances both controlled and uncontrolled has led them to this very moment.

shoko had to learn how to love him. it wasn't exactly easy. satoru's teaching abilities were oft-debated, but in this particular area, he was uniquely difficult to crack. payback, perhaps, for being unable to teach him rct before he was forced to figure it out for himself.

less of a jaunt and more of an odyssey, the trek she embarked on was marked with certain inescapable landmarks: here is where we had our first fight, and here is where we had the first fight that actually made us question the value of fighting at all. here is our first kiss, bumped noses and teeth colliding. here is your favorite food, and mind, and all of the moments we've shared them with each other. here is the time i almost slipped in the shower while you kept me upright with a focused passion that made me cry. here is where i watched you die, here is where you fought your way back.

here, this bed, our bed, is where i...i...

fully relinquishing control to him is her greatest expression of that love she's learned. him, satoru, not the strongest or the six eyes but the man that lives and breathes and exists separate from the ideal weapon he has always been seen as. the only threat he offers her is damaged vocal cords, bite-bruised skin, sore legs that wobble when she tries to limp off to the restroom once he's satisfied enough with the fact that what he's spilled won't be wasted.

shoko has always known cages, has always made them as much of a home as she could. she seeks the comfort of cages that she opens for herself, like the cage of gojo's arms. she seeks the inside of his infinity, seeks his heart and to be as close to it as possible. so when he gives her these little commands, let me hear you and don't hide your face and cum for me, they're hardly commands. permission, maybe, to let him take her as she is. the way that she takes him.

she throws her head backwards, feels the impact of her skull against his shoulder and the way he takes advantage of the more dramatic stretch in her neck to continue to lay his claim to pale skin with deep purple watercolor flowers. it's the kind of orgasm you don't even know is possible to have until you have it, and then keep having it over and over and over again because gojo is relentless as a friend and a lover and a fighter and whatever else he chooses to be.

"—toru, fuck, satoru—"

boneless, keening, shoko tightens around him like a vice—warm and wet and his his his. never could deny him anything, not when he demands so sweetly.

[brazenlystrong]

Cont. [x] // @cadavors

He’s used to shut out everything that could have a negative impact on his mind. His coping strategy might not be the healthiest but it’s effective, for him. He’d rather not think back on how many people died, his comrades included. Or he’d feel a lingering guilt in his chest about the fact that he'd managed to slip and fail at a task he could’ve single-handedly resolved.

His head tilts to the side, unsure how the other could read him like an open book when they’ve only just begun to know each other. But maybe it doesn’t take a scientist to know that whatever happened back then was terrific. Even to the Strongest.

He recalls their fight, rather brief, but vivid. If he were to be honest, he doesn’t feel anything. Through Yuji he learned that Choso means well and he’s been of aid. Of course, he would trust his student’s words. Sometimes misunderstandings happen. Satoru would know of this very well. He doesn’t hold a grudge.

A hand is motioned to the back of his neck as his chin is raised, thinking of what to say next. Gojo is never one to outwardly speak about his feelings.

“ Can’t undo what’s done. But we can do what’s in our power to improve our future. ” That’s what he would’ve told his students.

He turns to fixate on Choso.

“ Thanks for sticking by Yuji’s side. ”

[brazenlystrong]

Cont. [x] // @koseigu

He’s latched onto her like a large golden retriever, hunched over due to their height difference, his arms cradling her as though she’s a teddy bear.

“ Never too early! ”

[brazenlystrong]

[wall slam] - Your muse pushes mine roughly into a wall, their faces only inches apart - or, if your muse pushes mine chest-first, my muse can feel yours’ breath on the back of their neck. ( sukuna )

Some sexual tension / attraction prompts // @koseigu

The push comes suddenly, sending him backward against a wall with a light startling force. Satoru’s breath is cut as he encounters the cool surface, but the heat from Sukuna presses in even more and he can feel it etching itself on every fiber of his being. The sensation is strange, new—everything happens too quickly, yet it feels somehow inevitable, like a force they’ve both been waiting for. There’s a weight to the silence, the proximity is unnervingly intimate.

Satoru curls his fingers instinctively against the wall, as though needing to hold onto something—anything—to steady himself. His lips hover barely an inch from Sukuna’s, their breaths mingling in the charged air between them. A vivid blush spreads across his face; his heart racing not just with anticipation but with the rush of being so close, so caught in this moment where neither can move without the fragile atmosphere between them snapping.

Bright cerulean locks with deep crimson. He can’t immediately tell what he’s seeing exactly but—Sukuna’s gaze seems deeper, darker, swirling with an intensity that cuts through the space between them. As though he’s never truly seen the depths of his desire, the hunger in this blood-red hue. And it pulls at something inside Satoru.

“ Suku—… Sukuna… ” His name slips from his lips, delicate, in a hushed whisper.

His hand twitches with the urge to find leverage but he holds himself back, knowing well he would touch Sukuna by reflex.