notes:
1. jujutsu kaisen belongs to gege akutami
2. i hope this fic is enjoyable. i am just trying to get my writing groove back. this is unbeta'd and god knows how tf you guys write porn but ok. sorry if it seems out of character as well
3. the thing is i never thought i'd write sgst but hi arc adaptation is too good. ep 5 is still one of my fav eps out of season 2. and then there are a lot of songs that reminded me of geto so yeah. we're here.
4. title is taken from after the earthquake by alvvays.
pictures hanging diagonally
One shot. That's all it took.
Bang. A thud. A husk of someone who reached out to his hand just a few seconds ago.
Bang. A godly vessel, yet so fragile. Couldn't even handle one bullet to the skull.
Bang. Rivers on her cheeks. A string of dreams out of her lungs. A starry line over her midnight hair.
Bang. We are the strongest, Satoru said. We are the strongest, Suguru repeated with conviction.
Bang. How small their world must be for them to believe this was true.
"Does there need to be a reason?" Satoru asks, clutching onto Riko's corpse tightly.
It's a miracle how Riko made a mess in Satoru and Suguru's thoughts only in three days. The need to protect her exceeded the job requirement. They cared too much, far too much, and this is the price: the cult members' celebrating the star plasma vessel's death. They clap and clap for salvation will come.
"Of course," answers Suguru. Even if he looked down at his shoes. Even if he closed his knuckles in frustration. Even if those claps were so goddamn annoying. Even if Satoru walked past him, cold and distant. "It's important. Especially as jujutsu sorcerers."
You want to protect monkeys like me? Are you sure? Toji Zen'in's voice emerges. As he walks away, Toji cackles. No… you just want to protect yourself. A cowardly monkey.
After handing Riko's body to Yaga-sensei, Satoru kisses him.
It's not pleasant and there is no finesse whatsoever, but Suguru reciprocates anyway. Suguru pushes him against the door. Satoru releases Suguru's hair tie and threads all of his fingers into his scalp. Suguru kisses him from the lips, to his cheeks, to his jaw, to his neck, to his shoulderblade. He bites Satoru's skin, pressing his vexation there, feral and animalistic, but Satoru loves it anyway. He seeks the pain, allows himself to be the victim of it, to put himself at Suguru's mercy.
"Break me, break me—" Satoru moans, fingers scrambling under Suguru's shirt, mapping his skin and bones and a whole universe of curses inside. Suguru obliges, kisses Satoru's recovering wound on his temple, and starts to overwrite every last bit of violence left by Toji Zen'in with his own.
Harder, bloodier, sharper—
Shoko graces them with a pile of condoms and lube after six weeks of fucking in Suguru's room. Suguru presses his lips together and grows conscious of a lot of things. Satoru's Nintendo DS is perched on Suguru's nightshelf with his Walkman. Satoru's shirts, pants, and underwear shoved inside Suguru's closet. Cum-stained tissues at the bottom of his trashcan. Satoru's skin is an open stage filled with hickeys and bite marks shown off to the whole world.
"You should've told me," Shoko grumbles. Fire on the tip of her cigarette is dying. "I wouldn't judge you, you know. Unless you fucked so much you got STDs. Then I'd snitch to Yaga-sensei and drag both of you to the hospital in no time."
"Pretty sure Yaga-senseialready knew about us," says Satoru. "Even Nanami gave me this disgusted look. Haibara, bless his soul, knows how to be silent about it."
"Satoru," Suguru chastises. Satoru replies by sticking out his tongue. Suguru wants to suck it.
"Okay, ew, I know you guys love each other but stop doing the eyefucking thing. Do it when I'm not thirdwheeling."
Suguru's brain shortcircuits at the mention of love. Suguru glances at Satoru. He scratches his nape mindlessly, as if Shoko's remark doesn't bother his heartbeat at all. They never speak about love and they never define whatever relationship they have at the moment. Their bodies are much more verbose than their mouths, singing nonsense and moaning filthy, unfinished sentences.
They are two animals fighting for the strongest title and Suguru knows who the winner is.
"Thank you, Shoko," says Suguru, donning his polite smile. He tries not to comment about the various condom sizes Shoko has provided.
"You're welcome. And congratulations on your matrimony." Shoko claps three times and holds her scalpel menacingly towards them. "Please don't fuck in the morgue."
"We won't," Suguru promises, betrayed by Satoru half a second after when he grins and mocks,
"Don't count on it."
"What are you thinking about?" says Satoru, holding Suguru's cock against his pretty face. There's precum all over his cheek and eyelashes, two shades of white intermingled.
Suguru looks into Satoru's baby blue eyes. They're not sparkling. Infinity is off. Suguru's reflection in them is hazy, a blur rather than a concrete shape.
Don't lose sight of me, Suguru thinks, but his fingers say the opposite. He grabs his cock on top of Satoru's fingers and teases his lips with his length.
"How you would look if I fuck your throat," says Suguru, jet black eyes surveying Satoru's features, a land of treasures waiting to be opened.
Satoru grins, dripping with need. "Yeah? You want that?" He tilts his head, kissing the tip. "You want to fuck this hole?"
There's something satisfying about satoru like this–reducing himself to such derogatory tone, but acting like he owns the world. He plays with both ends of the scales: strong and weak; dominant and submissive; life and death. He has Suguru dancing on his palm as Satoru opens his sinful mouth, licking all over his lips, inviting him to wreck him.
"Yeah I do," Suguru confesses, not masking his hunger anymore. His thumb is rubbing against Satoru's teeth and gum, saliva coating his finger, then he smears it against his cheek. "Make sure you swallow all my cum, yeah?"
Suguru gives no warning when he pushes satoru down on his cock until his nose barely touching the base. Satoru shudders, surprised by Suguru's force. But Suguru knows Satoru holds pride in his ability to adapt during fights. This is no exception.
Satoru closes his eyes, focuses on swallowing and breathing and sucking, pleasuring himself as he tugs at his own cock, driving adrenaline up his spine. Suguru allows him because Satoru is so, so beautiful when he's at the top of the heaven, blissed out in his own selfish satisfaction.
Satoru listens to Suguru's words. He swallows all of Suguru's cum, then shows off his empty mouth to Suguru.
"I'm so fucking good at this," Satoru brags, fingers fluttering around Suguru's balls. "I'm so fucking good at everything."
Heavy-lidded and dimmed blue, he leans on Suguru's thigh. He screws his Satoru wander around his limp cock as he wonders about the taste of his cum, the taste of his kiss–do they taste like cursed spirits he digested or not. He wonders if Satoru ever thinks of taking care of children. He wonders if Satoru has visages of Riko haunting him. He wonders if he argued about salty food is better than sweet food with Satoru, he would finally find some peace.
Love, Suguru ponders. Let's kiss, says a cursed spirit, missing the Q member who wanted to be a farmer. Am i pretty? another cursed spirit asks, craving for Toji Zen'in's cold gaze.
Satoru looks up at him with a set of Neptunes. He does not perceive Suguru, prying into the interior of his ribs—wilted flowers swaying to the tune of the quick beats of his heart. No. Satoru is waiting for him to lift him up, to praise him, to crown him with reverence. Such a fucking insatiable little creature.
Suguru looks at him back. His shape in Satoru's eyes is still indistinguishable. He fixes it by closing the distance, kissing him deeply until Suguru overwhelms his six eyes and solidifies his presence there.
Tangible. Existing. A human, aching and yearning.
"You are," Suguru whispers against Satoru's lips. "You are so good for me."
Suguru and only Suguru in that void.
A circle of doors hands down a death sentence.
"You will never do missions with Satoru Gojo any longer."
"Why?"
"Because, he is the strongest. You're only going to hinder him."
Are you scared? Satoru teased him. The green leaves danced above their heads, celebrating their youth, their stupidity.
We are the strongest.
Satoru and Suguru against the world. Shoko wasn't a part of this. Yaga-sensei, too. Suguru was the only exception.
How the fuck Suguru wasn't supposed to fall in love with him, then? How was he supposed not to be scared of what Satoru had become–eyes brighter than supernova, a blue sun surrounded by those weak, arrogant clapping humans? How was he supposed not to feel lonely afterwards when the higher-ups reconsidered his worth as a jujutsu sorcerer?
A special grade sorcerer, but not good enough to stand by Satoru Gojo's side. After all, there's only one person who could stand at the top.
Weak! his puny heart screams, sounding strangely like Riko's killer. A sadistic grin. A gunshot. Shivers rippling along the faint scars on Suguru's torso. Will you become weak like those monkeys? Will you?
"I heard what happened with the higher-ups," says Yaga-sensei without any preamble whatsoever. Suguru laughs grimly and proceeds to sit in front of his teacher.
Yaga-sensei's desk is filled with fabrics, buttons, and essays. Suguru could see he got 90–not that test scores completely matter in jujutsu high, but his parents tend to be happy if he went home with a good rapport. They can pretend to their neighbors Suguru is a completely normal, diligent student who would pass his university exam just fine. They can forget Suguru's life is always going to be on the brink of death. After all, they are human and Suguru is not.
"It's fine," says Suguru, looking down at his knuckles over his knees. "With the way Satoru grows stronger, I think it's inevitable. I'm also strong enough to do missions alone, right, sensei?"
"Yes. Unbelievably so," replies Yaga-sensei. He rubs his sleeves with his fingers like he doesn't know how to deal with Suguru.
Suguru smiles even wider, tapping his feet. "Do you think i'm becoming weaker after her death?"
"No!" Yaga-sensei yells. He removes his glasses and rubs his face in frustration. It's refreshing. "I just worry because you two are dating and–"
"We're not."
"What?"
"We're not dating, Sensei," says Suguru. "We're just fooling around."
He shouldn't be this fuck this was a bad idea, putting his heart and desire out in the open for his teacher to see. But Suguru is so, so tired and wants to recline in his seat and not think about wanting Satoru before he dies and having to care for strangers' longevity at the same time.
He has imagined a future far removed from his reality: Satoru confessing I love you against his napet; Satoru declaring i'm home when they visited Suguru's house; Satoru asking do you ever think about marriage because they are reckless youths twirling on their deathbed; Satoru moaning Suguru over and over again as he rode Suguru's cock, a prosperous king on his throne, high on pleasure and life.
We are the strongest.
It's all in his imagination now. Satoru has already walked miles ahead of him. Suguru is stuck watching his back as Riko and Toji clung to him. And the worst part is he doesn't know if Satoru is kind enough, human enough to turn around and drag him out of this spiral.
"Suguru," says Yaga-sensei, his tone slick with concern. "You are still a teenager. It's okay to feel helpless."
It's almost endearing to see yaga-sensei like this, flustered and clueless. A parent who can't help but not recognize the ways their child grew into. And it fucks him up to have Yaga-sensei seen his state and called him helpless.
Might as well call you a monkey.
"You're wrong, Sensei." Suguru smiled, all angles sharp and practiced. "I don't have time and opportunity to live out your ideal view of youth. I am a jujutsu sorcerer, after all."
Satoru hogs all the blanket and Suguru's body. He looks content and Suguru wants to watch him for the rest of night. Riko doesn't let him off easy, though.
"You guys are so romantic." Riko grins, full of encouragement. She observes the way Suguru holds Satoru in his arms–heavy, fucked out–and play with his hair. She has a hole in her temple. She also gives him a thumbs-up. Suguru cannot force himself to smile. "I wish I could date someone too, but I knew I always going to be dead one way or another, so I didn't bother trying to get a boyfriend."
"Riko-chan," calls Suguru. The name rolls off strange, tastes vapid. It reminds him of those big orbs he created from the trapped cursed spirits, waiting to be swallowed. "Why are you here?"
"You don't miss me?" she asks, tilting her head.
"I try not to," Suguru admits. He sees her everywhere. In the classroom, dressed in jujutsu high uniform. In the basketball court, cheering for him to do slam dunk. In abandoned places, watching him take in cursed spirits. In the darkness, losing her balance as the bullet pierces through her dreamy head. "You are just persistent."
"But you are the one who cannot let go of me," she says. Suguru's head throbs. "and as long you cannot stop thinking about me, about my death, I will make my home here," Riko says, tucks in Suguru's bangs behind his ear. Then, she mimics a gun with her hands. Her index finger lands at his temple. He has a hole there as well. "Bang!"
Weeks turn into months and summer comes by again. Cicadas' chirps and summer rains envelope Jujutsu High.
in one year, Satoru focused on perfecting so many things because Satoru didn't want to be only good in bed, but good in everything. He could turn on infinity forever. He had mastered reversed curse technique only for himself. He switched between blue and red like flicking a lamp switch. He made home in the library and the training grounds, researching everything regarding domain expansion and teleportation.
In one year, Suguru abandoned his walkman. He sold his television. He made sure to avoid performance stages and birthday parties and festivals. He searched for empty rooms and alleys. He swallowed hundreds of cursed spirits, hundreds of dirty rags and puddles of vomits. He lost ten kilograms. He heard claps when it rained, when he showered, when Riko appeared, smiled, and got shot again. He grew to hate the memories of things that happened, of things that didn't happen.
In one year, Suguru wasn't brave enough to visit Riko's graveyard.
Suguru loves this particular corner. A joint of one long endless hallway leading into the morgue and one short hallway donning the emergency door. The sources of light come from two temptations of humanity: vending machines filled with unhealthy beverages and an exit lamp, signaling the chance to completely quit this madness.
It's a nice spot, even if the music of the rain outside transitioned into a choir of claps.
Like an angel of death, Satoru appears before him, all glorious and beautiful. He can't help but love him. He can't help but hate him.
"Had a rough day?" Satoru asks, looming in front of Suguru.
"Not really. But I do feel better when I see you," says Suguru. He wants to cradle his jaw and pull him for a kiss, but Satoru's technique is in the way. Suguru's heart plummets, just a little bit. He cracks a smile, instead.
"Oops, sorry. It's becoming a habit now," says Satoru, sickeningly sweet. He turns off his technique and meets Suguru halfway. It's alarming how they kiss in public like it's normal, like they're human, like they're two ordinary boys caught up in summer heat, like everything would be alright. But Suguru doesn't care. To kiss Satoru like this, slow and unrushed, it is a fleeting form of heaven. Satoru grins against Suguru's lips, "After those assholes won't stop giving me simple missions, i just turn it on all the time. It's easier that way."
Simple to you, suguru thinks. He's the strongest, his memory supplies. Suguru shouldn't have felt hurt by that. He laughs half-heartedly and gives Satoru another kiss. Anything to interrupt the topsy-turvy flow of his mind.
"So, am I your enemy now?"
"You've always been my enemy." Satoru smirks, securing a spot beside Suguru and laying his head on Suguru's shoulder. "My rival. My adversary. Nemesis." Satoru pauses before he chuckles, obvious to Suguru's growing discomfort. "My best friend."
No one kissed their best friend like the way Suguru did to Satoru. Hidden under the covers of Suguru's bed. Two pairs of lips connecting; two souls colliding haphazardly. All teeth and tongue with devotion inbetween.
"And?"
No one loved their best friend like the way Suguru did to Satoru. A jar of sweet candies and chocolates on his night shelf. Paying the late fees on Studio Ghibli's movies Satoru had wanted to binge watch. Sparing a cursed spirit to watch over Satoru in his missions. Letting Satoru investigate the shape of his soul, a field of thorny black roses growing atop a mountain of corpses.
"And what?"
No one fucked their best friend like the way Suguru did to Satoru. Curious fingers traveled up and down on Satoru's body–his earlobe, his sternum, his thigh, his ankle. A trail of kisses and marks and bites; a lengthy roadmap for Suguru to make Satoru shiver as he sunk into him. He could go slower and left Satoru writhing desperately. He could go rougher and compelled Satoru renderless in need.
He could, he could, he could—as long as Satoru allows him to voyage in his territory. And maybe, just maybe, he could build a home in Satoru.
"And?"
But he should've known that Satoru Gojo is a selfish, selfish being.
No one cursed their best friend like the way Satoru did to Suguru.
"And the bestest boy who knew how to fuck me real good."
Suguru chuckles in resignation as he leans in to kiss Satoru again. Time slows down as he drags Satoru onto his lap. His right hand is taking off Satoru's sunglasess; his left hand is wandering Satoru's waist. Satoru gasps in surprise, hot and feverish. He closes his eyes, pushing his body towards Suguru to be closer and closer, but Suguru pulls away and keeps a small rift between them.
"Open your eyes while you kiss me," orders Suguru as he wipes Satoru's sweat off his forehead. "Wanna see myself in your eyes."
"Narcissistic, aren't you?" purrs Satoru, lust overspilled from his voice.
"No," Suguru bites his upper lip as he peers into Satoru's eyes. He's a hazy black spot inside this brilliant blue shade. So, he kissed him, again and again, until his shape is carved inside Satoru's mind. "You'll remember the way I kiss you, the way I fuck you"—the way I love you, the way I hate you, the way I curse you—"until you cannot think of anyone else, until you die."
Satoru chuckles, his skin blooming red under Suguru's touch. "That sounds a bit like binding vow to me."
"Perhaps," says Suguru as he glances to the left side. The exit lamp flickers bright and green.
"Hopefully my life is long enough to see the results of your decision," says Yuki Tsukumo when Suguru accompanies her to the place where she parked her bike.
Suguru can't help but laugh. A low, raspy laugh, as if oxygen refuses to reside in his flaming lungs. There will be a time where he could be all boisterous and theatrical. He's sure of it. "And if I end up choosing to be a murderer?"
"Then, it will happen. It's your feelings, after all, and it will be the driving force of your actions," says Yuki, nonchalantly. An outsider. An omniscient being wannabe. She will pay the price. "I know you don't like non-sorcerers now, but you are still a human, like it or not. You just happen to be a member of the group who could manifest cursed energy, personifying your negative emotions."
"Might as well say I'm fated to be one," says Suguru, digging in his empty pockets.
"We all are." The ghost of a smile colors her face. "You are not special, Geto-kun."
"Ha," he titters. "Try telling that to Satoru."
Yuki raises her eyebrow. "Do you hate him?"
"No." Suguru screws his eyes shut and the fantasy of Satoru turning his body around to face Suguru, ocean eyes and golden linings of his body, pops up. His face softens into bittersweet acceptance. "I hate myself because despite everything, I still love him."
"Then the two of you must have already cursed each other, huh," Yuki hums as she walks even faster. Suguru watches her back, strong and broad, bearing the weight of her own idyllic goals and worldview. "How romantic."
Suguru watches Nanami leaving the morgue with a towel covering his eyes, rejecting the sight of Haibara's corpse lying on the autopsy bed and carrying his classmate's lost years within his soul. Haibara is minutes away from being dissected by Shoko, hours away from being collected by his family, days away from being turned to ashes.
Nanami would be sitting alone in his classroom until he graduates.
"You look awful," says Shoko, disrupting his thought. Suguru watches the way her big white coat eats her small figure. A pack of cigarettes sitting quietly in the coat's pocket. "How much did you sleep last night?"
"Two hours," Suguru answers. Satoru wasn't in his bed to chase away the ghosts of Riko and Toji parading around his dorm's lamp. They were trying different interpretations of Riko's death—an absurdist drama, a deconstruction of tokusatsu, a romance thriller, et cetera—but they were all bland simulacrum of the longest five seconds in his life.
Bang.
"You shouldn't be here, then," she advises. She studies Suguru's cadaverous face from afar. "Get some sleep. I'm sure Satoru would appreciate your presence in the bed once he comes back to you."
"I'm fine, Shoko. Let me stay here for a little bit."
"Suguru, I am not blind to your state right now. You're thinner. You looked like you have too much thoughts in your head. You look weak as—"
"I fucking saidI'm fine, Shoko," Suguru snaps. His heart pounds violently. "I'm still breathing just fine. I'm not a corpse yet. I'm not weak. What more do you want from me?"
Shoko scowls in disbelief. "I don't know. Talk to me? I'm your friend but I feel like I barely know you these days."
"How could you when all you do is shut yourself in this miserable place," he grits out as he clenches his fists hard.
"Wow, you don't remember who fixed you up all this time, huh," he spits, venom trickling from her throat. "Thanks for confirming my existence don't matter at all to you. Now, fuck off from my morgue."
He obliges. He walks out the door to the dark hallway. He's sure Haibara would join Riko and Toji, waving to him with both of his intact arms. At the corner of his sight, he sees Shoko's shaking fingers reaching for comfort packed in a cigarette.
"Thank you for saving me."
"Thanks to you, I'm alive!"
"Thank you so much for bringing my daughter back to me."
First-year Suguru Geto would be proud hearing all these thank yous. Full of bravery, he fought strong cursed spirits and wicked curse users. A savior of humanity. Realer than superheroes. Suguru felt saccharine injected in his veins when he heard gratitude from the weakly ones. He lived the life he'd dreamed a long time ago—drawn with crayons in his old notebooks: Suguru as a knockoff Kamen Rider Black fighting all sorts of slimy monsters who had been sleeping under his bed.
Nowadays, it echoes the insignificance of their souls. Fragile. Clinging to the protectors. Cannot stand up by themselves. He cannot believe he has to save and preserve these worthless lives at the cost of his friends and colleagues'. Their selfish gratitude feels like poison in his system, trying to purify his supposedly corrupted heart.
Be our hero! Be the humanity's hero! Riko screams.
But the fate favors him. He encounters Mimiko and Nanako cowering in a wooden cage like they're animals, like they're the monkeys. The voice of the woman who locked them up is screechy and monstrous as she preaches to Suguru about the girls' existence threatening the sanctity of the village.
This is it. This is the turning point.
HIs rage, which has been simmering for the past year, erupts in blue flame. He watches one hundred and twelve monkeys flailing for their burning bodies and crying for gods' mercy. He finds it easy to not care about them at all. Riko is crying about moral justice and such, but her voice diminishes as the burning village quietens down. Toji Zen'in also gives his parting words: Congratulations. You've become mad.
Suguru claps at the silence afterwards. He feels clarity as the inferno dwindles. Satoru's back is fading from his mind. He is his own salvation.
Suguru claps and claps. He feels good. He feels right. He feels alive.
Suguru claps and claps and claps.
Good riddance.