𓂃 CHAPTER SYNOPSIS ☆ Satoru’s not here to play nice. He lays his cards on the table: sorcerer or not, he wants her to reclaim her seat as clan leader. To sit next to the cruel men who shaped her childhood. Sera bites back with an ugly truth: he’s one of them now.
But he spent years, gruesome, happy, traumatic years trying to forget her, waiting to see her again. So he’s gonna do everything to get to her and keep her close. She can hate him for it, want to kill him, try to drown him again.
He can’t say goodnight. Now or ever. And if he has to bind her with threads of his own, then that’s exactly what he’ll do.
𓂃 GENRE ☆ angst and fluff
𓂃 WORD COUNT ☆ 11k
𓂃 TAGS ☆ childhood friends, mutual pining, unresolved tension, gojo being down bad, bittersweet, yearning, canon divergence, jujutsu politics, flashbacks, possessive and jealous gojo, nightmares, brief toji cameo, megumi and tsumiki being sweethearts, geto mention bc i can't stop thinking about him
𓂃 A/N ☆ i hope you enjoy reading this one as much as i enjoyed writing it <3
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Spring 2010
There’s only so much she can do to anticipate his next move when he keeps bulldozing past the scope of her imagination, finding new ways to sprinkle inconveniences on top of her already messy life, exploiting channels she previously tagged as safe.
Channels like Principal Yaga calling her on a random morning to remorsefully ask her if she’s available for a last minute meeting.
Other than the spring outstripping the snowy landscape, not much has changed around Jujutsu High since her first visit all those months ago. The meeting room looks the same, the hojicha tea has that same rich, earthy taste Gakuganji bragged about, and she still has a hard time looking away from his Rapunzel eyebrows.
He meant it when he said she’d be going to him next. So here she is, talking with the principals about the weather, about the economy, about her studies.
“I imagine that’s to do with… cars?”
Sera wonders if they pay Yaga enough for him to work this hard on stretching the small talk, but she’s more curious about how he manages to press the tiny buttons on his Casio watch with those thick fingers of his.
“Sometimes. It’s mostly robotics and energy systems.”
Even Gakuganji’s feeling chatty. “Robots. Hmph. That’s how the downfall starts.”
Sera’s only pretending to be roughly fooled by the unexpected involved uncles questioning their niece at the family function dynamic.
“They’re nothing scarier than curses,” she assures, charm amped up to the max. “Not yet. We’re working on it. Give me a couple of years.”
The wrinkles around his nose and the shift of his piercings hint at an amused smile, but before Sera can feel weirdly accomplished, a whistle creeps down the corridor. It’s a melody she’s heard somewhere before, and it’s getting increasingly loud. The lack of reaction from the men makes her curious about how this will go down.
The door slides open with a sharp gust of wind, it carries a scent that can only be defined as the interior of a wholesale candy store.
“Oh, great! You’re all here. Love the timely spirit.”
Black glasses indoors, same deep blue uniform, hair bouncing as he drops his weight on the head seat, right between her and the principals.
“Can you believe the heat out there? Feels like summer’s coming early this year.”
He shakes the bubble tea in his hand like a rattle, slurping loudly. Sera watches the pearls fly up the straw one after the other into his mouth like they’re being abducted. Yaga and Gakuganji, so synchronized you’d think they shared a womb, turn to gauge her reaction. And with that, the situation clears up before her eyes.
The principals are the responsible adults in charge. Gojo is the overgrown kid who they worry is about to nerf months of hard work. Sera’s the guest who, as long as she holds the key to the vault, must leave with a nice impression of the household.
Unfortunately for them, Gojo’s too big and loud to get swept under the rug. And unfortunately for Gojo, Sera came prepared.
Her hands are folded politely over her lap. Today’s outfit is as preppy as she can get, pleated grey skirt and Miyu’s soft emerald vest over a white button up. A dainty pearl necklace —also Miyu’s— is wrapped around her neck, she even took the time to put her hair into a half updo.
No smudged eyeliner, no Cloister particles clinging to her skin, no stench of sacrilegious smoke. She looks exactly like a bright young woman that can be trusted, posture sharp and shoulders squared enough to send the message that she’s not to be messed with.
This stuff comes easy after tutoring rich kids, she knows what details to mask and exploit to appease the grown ups.
“We appreciate your presence, Gojo. This is Kaneko Sera, she’s joining us in representation of the Kaneko fami—"
“Oh, I know who she is,” Gojo chirps up, chewing the tapioca balls at full volume. “If anything, I should probably be the one warning you about her.”
Yaga turns to her, there’s already a vein pulsing on his temple “This Gojo Satoru, leader of—”
“She knows who I am. No need for all that.”
Gakuganji sighs. Sera smiles, polite and reassuring. He might not be her biggest fan, but in proximity to Gojo, she’s the teacher’s pet.
“Shall we begin? I was under the impression that all terms were settled, so I’m curious about what prompted this meeting.”
“We’re in the same position you are,” Gakuganji says, not masking his dismay. “It’s Gojo who’ll have to answer that. He’s the one who asked for this meeting on such short notice.”
“Ah. I see, well… I’m more than happy to address any details if needed,” she exhales in fabricated relief. “I thought for a second that Tengen-sama had concerns again.”
Gojo’s teeth release the tortured straw with a loud pop. His amused little smile cracks, his nose lifts in the air like he’s assessing her play. Didn’t see that coming, did you? Seems like the two principals didn’t fill him in on that tiny massive detail, and as bureaucratic as they are, it can only mean they had no reason or protocol forcing them to do so.
So much for the self proclaimed judge, jury and executioner. She’s calling bullshit on any move he tries to make, right away.
“I’m certainly not Tengen but I,” he pauses dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest, “—too, have concerns. And I’ve been really into history lately. Kaneko-san, do you know why your ancestors created the vault?”
“I would hope so, but I’d love to hear what you’ve learned. I can tell you’re very enthusiastic about the subject.”
“Thank you for the validation. I don’t often feel seen around here, hard to believe, I know—”
He rolls his eyes dramatically.
“But I digress, you see, cursed artifacts are fragile little things. Priceless pieces of Jujutsu history, meticulously created by generations of skilled engineers and craftsmen. Most people think the vault was built to protect them from the outside world, but it was quite the opposite. It exists to shield the outside world from them.”
Never trust a Gojo, her father told her once; they’ll twist your words around and point them back at you. Too bad he was only wise once in a blue moon, and Sera discarded everything he said as useless once she turned thirteen. Now she has to sit here, with the back of her legs sticking to the leather seat, and listen to him recite her exact words back to her.
“So no, it’s not meant to be a museum or a didactic resource. It’s full of dangerous, powerful trinkets that people outside of the Kaneko clan can barely begin to understand, thanks to centuries of gatekeeping by your people.”
A calm, amicable smile lifts the corner of her lips as he talks.
“And that is precisely why it feels correct to put an end to that era and bring these objects to light, so that they can be studied and put to use by capable sorcerers such as yourself.”
Gojo leans over, planting his elbows on the table, hands splayed.
“But is that wise? Imagine if special grade devices were to be mishandled, misplaced, or god forbid, lost. Especially around students. Kids these days don’t take anything seriously.”
The principals stare like they’re regretting every decision that led them to sharing a workplace with him, but Sera thinks they can simmer in their rage for a while longer. Get them nice and ready. She trusts Gojo can do it all by himself, but in the spirit of teamwork, she does the classic pondering pout.
“I’m not sure what to say to that. It was my understanding when I approached this institution that there were no hands more capable for the task.”
When Yaga takes a deep breath, it pulls at Gakuganji’s long facial hair.
“Are you suggesting we’re incompetent, Gojo? Should I remind you that you’re a member of the faculty?”
“Nooo. Not at all. Never. But, you know, human error. If shit can happen, it will totally happen, that sorta stuff. We saw how the last goodwill event went down, right, Gakuganji?”
It should be impossible, but the old man’s pasty skin flushes.
“If I may be so bold,” Sera interrupts, hand stretched out in conciliation. Gojo lifts an amused eyebrow at the gesture. “Like you said earlier, I know who you are. You’re the strongest sorcerer of this generation.”
He tilts his head down deliberately: go on, make your move.
“I have been called that here and there, yes. Some would say the strongest in history, but… semantics.”
She nods, pretending that the confirmation was wanted or needed: shut your mouth and let me finish.
"Are you saying that the vault might be beyond your capacity to manage? Because if so, that is important for me to know.”
Most people have no idea how much dealing with drunk people on the regular does for the muscles of negotiation. Endless nights of convincing intoxicated, heartbroken fools that blowing their livers and lurking after the chairs have been placed upside down will not cure their misery have prepared her for this.
“I’d hate to place it in a position that even the strongest sorcerer finds… uncertain. If the terms aren’t as sound as I hoped, maybe we should reconsider the handover entirely."
And scene.
Yaga and Gakuganji can handle the rest. They don’t let Gojo open his mouth wide enough for a bleep to come out before going at him again. All that’s left for her to do is find the perfect moment of silence to speak again.
“This is obviously something for you to discuss in private, I don’t want to intrude, so—”
“Aht aht. Not so fast. Unless you’re in a rush, Kaneko-san.”
Yaga rubs his entire face with an open palm.
Sera leans back down on the chair, forcing her cheeks to perk up. “Not at all.”
“You’re misunderstanding me. I’m not trying to be a party pooper here and just point out all the ways this can go wrong, I’m saying that there are ways to work around them. Impenetrable procedures and counterplans, things of that nature.”
“All things that we have been devising for months—"
“Give me a sec here, Yaga, I promise I’m getting somewhere. For any of those super strong bulletproof safeguards to work, it’s essential that we make sure that the vault is handed over in optimal condition. We need the supervision of someone who’s been inside the vault premises to confirm this.”
“That’s unreasonable, not to mention cruel, Gojo. You are aware of the situation the Kaneko clan is in.”
“I’m talking about me, of course.”
A moment of silence. Sera feels the heat in her body dissipate.
“You have been inside the Kaneko vault. Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“It was nearly… what?” He turns to her, head tilted. “A decade ago? Yeah, I’m the only outsider who’s set foot inside. Our lovely Kaneko-san here has always been enthusiastic about sharing her family’s legacy, so she let me take a peek.”
What can she do but smother her mortification and let him finish?
“Frankly, if a couple of kids were able to get in, how can we be sure that others didn’t tamper with it? And no offense, but we can’t ignore that the Kaneko clan has tragically degraded since then.”
She hates that she has to stare at her reflection in his glasses while he speaks, as if it pains him to mention that.
“The good news here is, I have a superb memory. And I’m willing to head down there and inspect the situation. Save us any pesky surprises.”
The two men in front of her turn to look at her, hopefully waiting for her to deny everything.
“It’s true.”
Their shoulders drop.
“My grandfather granted me access. I was eager and naïve and wanted to share something cool with a friend. But I don’t think it’d be wise, in my current position, to let an outside party, let alone the leader of the Gojo—"
“You know there was an alliance between our clans, right?”
She tries not to look down at the lazy finger he has pointed in her direction. God knows not even the pearls and the wispy hairs framing her face will cover up the rush of violence that will provoke.
“Your grandfather and my uncle made a pact in blood. If we abide by it, the fact that you approached the school without seeking counsel from the leader of the Gojo clan goes against that alliance.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t figure out your position here. Are you for or against the transfer? Is it the condition of the vault, or the fact that I didn’t ask you first that troubles you?”
“Doesn’t matter, does it? It still binds our clans. You walk away, you break it.”
She chuckles, the sound like cyanide. “I think we both know that if we lived by the rules and deals dead men made in the past—”
Gojo exhales, looking away with a knowing smile of his own, stretching his neck.
“—I wouldn’t be allowed in this room, or to speak in your presence at all.”
“No need to go to extremes. The deal I’m talking about was made after the birth of the Odd Eye and the Six Eyes, and it’s not like we’re ancient. At least I don’t feel like it, my knees are working just fine. No offense, gramps.”
“Do you see the Odd Eye in this room right now?”
He seemed ready to shoot her down the second she opened her mouth, but he trips over the question, the hesitation clear even when he hides behind his glasses.
Latching onto that single thought, Sera leans over, using both hands to grip the thin temples of his sunglasses and uncover his most remarkable and see through feature. The motion brushes the short hairs at the top of his ears, and it reveals a pair of bruised indents on the sides of his nose.
Sera stares back at him, folding his glasses and putting them down with careful hands.
“Do you, Gojo-san?”
If he wants to play it like that and talk about tragedies, she won’t shy away from it.
Satoru huffs through his teeth, looking away from her with a heavy roll of his eyes. It’s a small victory.
“I don’t care what a couple of dead men promised each other. and I don’t know about you, but I’m not their pawn. That alliance can rot with them for all I care.”
His jaw clenches. “That’s a crude choice of words.”
Yaga tries to cut in, “I think—”
“You seem evasive. Is there something you’re hoping to hide, Kaneko-san?”
In the heat of the moment, she almost forgot that if she had any balls, Gojo would have her by them. She sees a brief vision of the way he dragged the professor’s cold and limp associates by a bunch after wiping their blood off her face, the hours it took to clean the rest of it from the walls and floors after the cops left the scene.
“Is this an interrogation now?”
“You wouldn’t be sitting here so comfortably if that were the case.” He gives her a full grin. “For someone so eager to give up the vault, you seem too against letting me take a quick look first.”
“Tomorrow, nine a.m. How’s that sound?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Great.”
“Great!” he turns to the couple of men who just had to witness an interaction that felt too much like a tennis match, with a grenade instead of a ball.
“See that? If all our meetings ended like this, I’d start considering showing up on time.”
Sera’s building doesn’t usually see visitors with all four hubcaps, let alone black imports worth more than three years of her rent. Gojo’s leaning over the hood like he’s on the cover of a magazine she’d take her time hatefully hiding behind layers and layers of the latest ViVi spread, heralding a long, exhausting day.
He zeroes in on the flowers peeking from her tote bag, gasping dramatically and digging the point of his shoes into the asphalt.
“Aw, for me? You didn’t have to.”
Sera storms past him, yanks the back door open, slides in, and only then realizes she’s not alone. A couple of tiny humans are already sitting there: a brown haired girl with a scruffy stuffed bunny sitting on her lap, snug between her and the seat belt. Next to her, by the window seat, a boy with spiky hair that has no business glaring at her like that.
“Okay,” Sera breathes out, settling back against the seat with stiff movements. “Sure, why not?”
“Good morning, Kaneko-san.”
The sight of familiar, serene eyes in the rearview feels like a lifeline. She can’t help sounding so relieved to see him.
“Ijichi-san, good morning.”
Gojo, who’s fitting his legs into the passenger seat, freezes to look between them. Sera realizes she has to sit behind him, and that he has the seat pulled all the way back.
“You two know each other?”
As well as a couple of drives to and from Jujutsu High allow. Sera took an immediate liking to the assistant manager and their long, uninterrupted road conversations.
She doesn’t notice the menacing hum Gojo throws at Ijichi, or the way the man’s hands get sweaty on the steering wheel. The kids are pining her to the door with curious, shiny eyes, and it’s freaking her out. The boy has the decency to look away when she meets his stare head on, the girl does not. She taps her little hands over the bunny’s belly, making Sera notice the chipped glittery nail polish while Gojo introduces them.
“… Sera, meet Fushiguro Tsumiki and Fushiguro Megumi.”
“Hi.” The girl —Tsumiki— waves again. Sera waves back this time. “Forgive him, he’s shy.”
“I’m not,” the boy mutters. “Hi.”
“Hi,” Sera replies, fighting back the urge to smile at the way he turns to look out the window before she can reply. He looks like he knows how to hold a grudge, and she’s limiting the number of enemies she wants in a moving vehicle to one.
“I like your earrings,” Tsumiki says. “You’re really pretty.”
Before Sera can say thank you, Gojo claps loudly, twisting in his seat to push his head through the gap between the front seats.
“Lesson number two of the day. Remember what we saw on TV about sketchy folks who try to lure innocent kids into buying drugs? They don’t always look mean or scary. Sometimes they look as pretty as Sera. Which is why you never…?”
“Trust someone just because they seem nice,” they chant back. The girl’s enthusiastic, the boy only mumbles the last part.
God fucking lord. Is he starting a cult of tiny collagen cows, or assembling a Jujutsu toddler branch? She really can’t afford to get on a watchlist. Noticing the concerned furrow of her brow, the boy is back to looking through her soul with green eyes too stern for… what? Nine years of walking the earth? His sister takes her time introducing Mr. Bun to her and explaining why his elbow has a patch of a different fabric.
For the next two hours it takes to reach their destination, Gojo’s too entertained singing along to Namie Amuro with the girl to let her ask Ijichi how his pregnant sister is doing. All she can do is look out the window as the scenery morphs from city, outskirts, to fields and mountains.
Following her instructions, Ijichi pulls over by the entrance gate and waits for her to step out of the car. Her arm reaches between the metal posts, finding the semi-hidden bat with muscle memory, and using that single arm to strike the plastic motor box. Just once does the trick, and the system comes to life as soon as she gets her arm out, the gate door slides open with a struggling hum.
The passenger window rolls down as Ijichi drives past her, it’s the slow reveal of a shitty little smirk.
“Is that what they teach you at mechanic school?” He’s scandalized by the middle finger she throws his way. “Seriously, in front of the kids?”
If the kids are regularly hanging out in proximity to Gojo, they are probably exposed to more damaging experiences than a single, harmless finger, but Sera tries to hide it anyway, hoping they’re not looking in her direction as the pitch black tinted windows pass by.
Ijichi tries his best to find a parking spot with decent shade between the main house and the storehouses. While they settle and stretch from the long drive, Sera makes her routine round of filling the bird feeder stations and the bowls for the feral cats that are watching the new visitors from the shrubs.
“Whoa… It’s like a haunted palace.”
The kids waste no time to start exploring, careful as they are to quietly follow her, the creaking floorboards and the hushed whispers give them away. The sound of glass breaking makes her turn around in panic and watch as Megumi yanks his hand back from the now empty window panel, eyes wide open and cheeks turning red.
“You ok?”
He extends his hand, letting Tsumiki and Sera check for any wounds. Ijichi rushes over, alarmed by the noise.
“Did he cut himself?”
Thankfully, he’s alright. It was the entire piece of glass that got detached and fell into the room, breaking only when it hit the ground.
“I’m sorry.”
Sera shakes her head. “It’s alright, just be careful.”
Tsumiki tries to peer inside through the hole. “Is this where you lived? Are you gonna do a before and after renovation?”
“Don’t think so, but maybe someone else will.”
She hates to agree with Gojo, but decaying was an accurate way to describe the estate, topped only by Tsumiki’s haunted palace.
With no one living in the property or tending to it, the buildings have been slowly but surely merging into the forest. The tiled roofs are missing pieces, leaving water stains on ceilings, and the exposure to the humidity and rain has caused some of the sliding doors to swell, making it hard to open them. Mold is slowly creeping onto the shoji paper inside, though it’s not as effective a takeover as the moss on the floorboards.
If the kids asked to see the interior, or were daring enough to sneak in, they’d find faded, peeling fusuma murals, dust-heavy air, a colony of spiders whose population has only been held back by skinks, that are simultaneously controlled by the feral cats, and so on.
But there’s purpose in the silence, the scurrying creatures, and the stubborn native plants clinging to wood and stone and covering pathways. To humans, it looks like the estate is doomed to collapse, but as far as the moss, the kudzu, and the silvergrass are concerned, they’re only starting to reclaim what always belonged to them. Four years against one hundred since the place was built.
Ijichi’s lifting a baby blue picnic blanket in the air, letting it drape over the grass by the main courtyard, and smoothing out the creases.
“But you said there was a lake and a flower field,” Tsumiki says to a Gojo that’s kneeling in front of her and digging through a glossy Hello Kitty backpack, making so much noise Sera can only imagine what the girl has in there.
“There’s been a change of plans.”
Tsumiki sniffs, chin tucked into her chest. “But why do plans always have to change?”
Megumi picks up a stick from the ground and feels its weight.
“That’s because… the plans we make are too boring, you know? And life likes to make things more fun.”
“But the flower field sounds fun too.”
“I know,” he pouts, and Sera’s almost convinced that it breaks his heart just as much. “But I forgot about how big and ugly the mosquitoes are around these woods, and that they love munching on little kids.”
That gets the kids’ attention.
“Mosquitoes don’t have teeth,” Megumi says, too focused on tracing shapes on the murky, green-black swamp that used to be a beautiful koi pond.
“These do. Right, Sera?”
She wakes up from the strange experience of seeing him interact with the kids, it’s even more off-putting than hearing the girl at the library call him sensei.
“Yeah, they’re the worst.”
Still, they’re not convinced, but Sera’s a person they just met, and they don’t feel comfortable enough around her to call her out. Gojo finds what he’s looking for, finally, and hands Tsumiki a small bottle that looks a lot like kids’ meds for allergies.
“So you guys are gonna stay here with Ijichi while Sera and I get some boring work done, have a nice picnic, and save some rice krispies for us, alright Megumi?”
Tsumiki’s disappointment gets washed away when Sera asks her to keep her bag safe until she returns. Her face lights right up, asking her if she wants her to get some water in a cup for the flowers. She turns to look at Gojo, pleasantly surprised by how easy it was to cheer the little girl up, but his attention is set in the distance, past the edge of the courtyard, over the roof of the guesthouse.
The walk to the vault is quiet except for the drumming of a stubborn woodpecker looking for a mate and the sound of the soft, tall grass brushing their legs. Her strides are no match for the pace he’s walking at, leaving her no choice but to jog to catch up to him. Asshole.
“Do I wanna know what that’s about?”
He looks down, very obviously having forgotten about her presence. He slows down, noticing her legs moving at a too-fast pace for a conversational type of walk.
“What do you mean?”
It’s strange to see him distracted. For some reason, he’s been looking up at the sky like there’s something in the cloudless blue calling out to him.
“The kids.”
“Oh, just a little something I do on the side.”
The orange grove, untrimmed and wild, has a rich, almost overwhelming citrus smell. In a few months, when the sun gets more aggressive, the ripe oranges will drop to the ground and ferment, and then the bees will get drunk on them.
Sera pushes a heavy branch with her forearm before the thorns scratch her face, trying to make sense of how nonchalant he sounds about the two kids who listen to him like he’s some sort of figure of authority.
“You’re babysitting… as a hobby?”
He shrugs. “So what if I was? You have your Walter White side thing, I’m nurturing the future generation.”
If he’s trying to shut her up, that does it. He laughs at the look on her face, but it’s tense, like he can barely push the sound out of his chest.
The same worn stone path that led them through the grove led them to a low rise of wooded terrain, straight into a sheer rock face with a recessed archway, framing a massive, iron black door with rusty engraved wards. No handle, no little window, unadorned and hidden in plain sight.
The vault recognizes the energy signature of the head of the clan, and in a strange, messed up twist of fate, that happens to technically be Sera. So when she stands in front of it, the bloodline activates it, and the door pops open with an elongated, decompressed sound, similar to a pressurized jar opening.
A thunderous rumble follows.
Gojo lifts an arm, signaling for her to lead the way. Sera takes a deep breath, hoping she won’t regret this, even though a part of her already does.
Long extinguished torches fire up the second she crosses the threshold, illuminating the entire stone hall at once, like a cursed motion sensor. Her legs crystallize right at that spot, until the door closing behind them pushes in a gust of wind, and she feels him standing behind her, too near for comfort. It’s only the chill up her spine that makes her walk further inside.
If the time has passed without apologies, corroding every nook and cranny of the property, the vault is exactly as it was years, maybe even decades ago. Sealed and self contained, timeless. So untouched anyone would think the Kaneko clan went out only yesterday.
It’s a good thing, it means that Gojo’s fake concerns have no grounds, but she’s not thinking about anything other than the massive, choking pressure and the central, warding seal glowing in the center of the vaulted ceiling, looking down at her like an all-seeing, cursed eye.
“It looks a lot smaller than I remembered,” Gojo says, unsurprised, sunglasses tucked into the neckline of his shirt, scanning their surroundings.
With an open space and symmetrical stone staircases leading up to the mezzanine gallery at the second level, Sera has no idea what he’s talking about, but chooses to let him look through the displayed artifacts in silence. Blades, masks, scrolls, bone relics, jars of unknown substances, all of them humming with faint cursed energy that she knows is there, but can’t feel or see, no matter how hard she tries.
There’s a sound of water dripping somewhere, and there’s a smell of earth, old metal, wax, and incense that would take too much time to get used to. Only a thin, barely noticeable layer of dust has collected on certain surfaces, barely leaving a grey cast on her fingertips. It’s nothing considering the stale weight of centuries.
The second level is one massive balcony full of alcoves, sealed niches, and lockboxes that open dramatically for her. Gojo only spares a quick look before moving on to the next part.
“Oh, shit. Talk about nightmare fuel.”
The framed portrait of Sera and her grandfather rests on the floor, tucked behind a cabinet, but he takes the liberty to pull it to see it full, huffing out in instant regret.
“This is the type of shit people see in horror movies before they die.”
The portrait is massive, stretching taller than Gojo himself, with a gold, ornate frame that she could probably sell for a decent amount of money. It looks purposefully muted, with heavy shadows. The girl is dressed in a black dress, a crisp Peter Pan collar with white lace and long sleeves that end in tightly buttoned cuffs. Prim and doll-like.
A giant, blood red bow sits on the back of her head, the long, thick ribbon going down her shoulders, way past her shoulder blades. Sera remembers exactly how heavy the entire outfit was, and how excited she was to wear it. Especially the bow, even though Satoru spent an entire afternoon grilling her about it.
The look on her face is soft, guileless by the choice of the artist, because Sera knows in her heart she never looked that innocent past thirteen. She’s not meeting the gaze of the onlooker. Her eyes are slightly away, tilted for someone just outside the frame. Her grandfather stands behind her, hand heavy on her shoulder, his solemn face turned proudly to the viewer.
“Nothing says healthy family dynamics like wrapping up your grandkid like a sacrificial offering, huh?”
Sera laughs loudly despite herself, wincing at the loud echo, avoiding his eyes when he turns to her, smug as hell for getting that reaction.
“Never liked that old geezer,” he mumbles, putting the frame away and moving on.
If there’s one thing Gojo was right about, it was her grandfather. A man who released her into the void the second she lost her shine, and turned his back on her falling form as her hands reached out. But she’s here, and he’s rotting underground, and she’s not gonna give Gojo the satisfaction of admitting that.
Her heart caves in when Gojo makes his way down the stairs, to the door, stretching his arms over his head and saying…
“Yep. Everything looks alright to me.”
The door doesn’t open until she steps closer, but this time, he walks out unceremoniously, whistling, content. With one last peek over her shoulder, Sera follows him out, only to find that he’s not following the pathway back to the main buildings. He’s headed to the edge of the property, straight into the woods.
“Where are you going?”
“Just wanna take a quick walk, give the kids some time to chill with Ijichi.”
“So, does it mean the deal is a go?”
He laughs airily, shoulders bouncing, putting his glasses back on. “Where’d you get that from? I never said that.”
She stops, mouth dropping in response, watching him walk away. She knew it was too good, too easy to be it, after he told her straight up that she’d made it his business. Hypothetical balls still in his hold, she has no choice but to follow him.
He’s walking with purpose, like he has a destination in mind, and she doesn’t need to think too much to figure it out.
He's headed to the lake.
The feeling that seeing the vault was only an excuse to scout the property lights a fire under her, but it’s still not enough fuel to make her reach him fast enough.
“Are you fucking kidding me? Slow down.”
But he makes his way through the woods like he knows them by heart, because she taught him the fastest route and led him through it several times, and the crashing roar of the waterfall makes it easier to find when you get close.
She stomps over the flower field, fists closed on her sides. He stops near the lakeside, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans, acting like he can’t feel her close up on him like a ballistic missile.
“What the hell is your problem? You think I have the time to go on a road trip with you and your minions just because you feel like it?”
The lake looks like a hazy mirror, a thin layer of mist rolling off the endless waterfall. The air is cool on the skin, the bushes and trees rustle as the birds build their nests, and it’s the perfect image of early spring. A pair of whooper swans floats in the distance.
His voice cuts through it like class when he finally faces her, passive and untouched by her rage, like she’s a tiny bug going over his face, asking to get trapped between his open palms.
“Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?”
She pauses, catching her breath and trying to come up with a response quickly. Time can’t be wasted when it comes to him, he’s too damn sharp for any pauses.
“Nah, don’t answer that. You think I’m gonna let you?”
“Stop talking in riddles,” she hisses through tight teeth.
“Selling the property, giving up the vault to a bunch of double faced pigs, squeezing every last yen out of this—” he waves to the flower field, “and begging for a target on your back. Are you that desperate to run away that you’re willing to deal with the scummiest scum you can find?”
“I’m not running away.”
“Yes, you are. You’re trying to pull the plug on the Kaneko clan and leave everything behind.”
He’s right.
That is precisely what her ultimate goal has been, ever since she landed in Tokyo again. The first step in a new life only measured by her standards. But it’s not like she’s been trying to do it quietly, in the shadows, for no one to suspect, so what does she do when he states the obvious? Clap for him?
She doesn’t need to deny or explain why to him of all people. He knows more than anyone else, and as far as she’s concerned, he has no reason to sound so irritated about it. To point it at her like an accusation.
“The plug got pulled ages ago. I’m only cleaning up what’s left of it.”
His laughter cracks at her patience, sharp and humorless, walking away from her in circles, hands propped on his waist.
“God, you’re so fucking dense it’s baffling. What happened to you?”
Sera chokes on her scoff, blood boiling. “Excuse me?”
“I thought I was talking to the smartest person I’ve met, but the way you’re moving, I’m not so sure about that anymore. That’s why I’m asking. You seriously think the higher-ups are gonna guard the vault? Give it any valuable use?"
He shakes his head.
"They’re gonna gut it, use it to get their way until it bleeds dry, then they’re gonna toast over how moronic the Kaneko girl was, and how easy it was to get rid of her.”
He steps closer, the ground under his shoes crunching.
“They’re still them. Same sadistic fucks that got a kick out of watching you get beaten to a pulp. Same circus, new kids. Because trust me, they never stop coming. The show goes on, and it’s not gonna stop even if you manage to erase the Kaneko clan.”
The words overspill out of him like molten lava, threatening to scorch anything that gets in their way, so her face twists away from him. She focuses on the dewdrops dotting the petals and the grass, an army of ants carrying the carcass of a cricket.
“What about you?”
His shoulders sag, and he pulls away, the growing space between bringing the release she needs to fill up her lungs and steady her voice.
“You’re one of them now, aren’t you?”
It makes him flinch and swallow hard, but as much as he hates to hear it, it’s true. And just like she didn’t see the need to justify her actions, she doesn’t expect him to defend himself. It’s just the way things are.
“You’re inside. So take it. You guard it. If it’s such a burden, then who better than you? I—”
She hesitates, blinking up to meet his gaze, hoping it reaches him despite the permanent divide.
“I trust you.”
His smile thins, cutting sideways as he shakes his head.
“That’s heartwarming, but no.”
“Why?”
The sound of her voice makes her feel small, naïve, like the girl with the red bow, innocence like a noose around her neck.
“It’s not mine to deal with. It’s your burden to carry. Your name, your family’s mess, your responsibilities. Why would I let you dump them at my feet? I’ve got enough going on as it is.”
Sera blinks. “You don’t want me to give it up, to them or you. You… you want me to keep it.”
It clicks as she speaks, realization pushing all other thoughts out and leaving her mind vacant. He doesn’t make her wait for confirmation.
“Yes, and I want you at the table. Inside, as you so nicely put it. Stop slacking and do your part as clan leader.”
The wind picks up, pushing her back and away from him, but her center of gravity tilts forward. Her laughter, unhinged and loud, echoes through the lake, sending ripples across the surface of the water. It disturbs the swans, sending them flying away into the sky.
She wants to rest her hand on her knees, let her body fold until it settles. A strand of her hair escapes her bun, part of the shorter layers, and it falls over her forehead, tickling the apple of her cheek.
“I’m not a sorcerer, Gojo! Why can’t you believe it?”
It’s hard to read his face behind his glasses, all she can tell is that his eyes are directed at the space over her head. The breeze collects like dew on the tinted lenses, glazing his skin with a thin layer of moisture, giving him a porcelain effect that is nearly enough to distract her from the rage and disbelief running through her veins.
“Even if it was possible or had the time to, what the hell would I do at the table? Smile and nod when you give me the signal?”
“No signals,” he shrugs casually, still looking ahead, focused and impossible to decipher. “Just sit there and be you, or look pretty. Either works.”
“Is this a grudge?”
That’s what gets him to meet her stare, tilting his head. Eyebrows drawn together.
“Now what could possibly make you think that?”
“It’s been years, but you’re here being cruel for no reason, so I can’t help but pick up on some vindictive vibes.”
He breathes out, deep and long. “If you think I’m being cruel right now… don’t make me get mean. Please.”
“Don’t make you?”
“Do you forget where you’re standing?”
The switch up is unexpected, proof that she hit the nail on the head earlier.
The way he’s circling her, enclosing like a predator, is only meant to divert her attention from the binds he’s dropping around her, waiting for the moment he pulls and traps her. This is his role; he’s fulfilling his duty as a member of the high table. He’s doing what they’ve always done, to try and drag her back to a path she just barely escaped from. By any means necessary.
But she’s not gonna let him.
She’d rather be hoarse and broke from an uncertain future, as long as it’s hers.
“Selling family secrets in spray bottles for a small fortune? Do you know what they’d make me do to you if I handed you over? A death sentence would be kind in comparison if I played by the rules. Not even the vault wrapped in a bow would save you from the consequences.”
She retreats, stumbling, water sparkling in her peripheral vision, but a strong hand shoots out and clamps around her forearm, steadying her before the fall.
“I wouldn’t let them get their hands or waste a trial on you. I’d do it myself, for old times’ sake, you know?”
It’s his duty, but it feels like he’s enjoying it, that he’d do anything right now for the thrill of it, pupils dilating for the promise of ecstasy.
“And if it’s not me, you think the Professor is gonna just let you walk away after you made him look like a fool? He’s only started to raise the price on your head. Wants you alive, but didn’t set any ground rules against mishandling. You really did a number on him.”
Once she regains her footing, he crouches at her feet, dragging a silent gasp from her dry lips.
Fingers steady despite the thick tension his words are leaving behind, he tucks the laces through the metal eyelets, each pull measured and deliberate. He threads the cord with the precision that only fragile things are worthy of, tightening it notch by notch, knuckles brushing against the exposed skin peeking under the elastic cuff of her pants.
“Isn’t it funny? I’m the only thing keeping you from being dragged under on both sides. Don’t make me change my mind.”
He ties the knot tight enough to cut some blood flow. Behind her, rays of sun slip through like liquid memories of past summers and a couple of kids playing hide and seek. They’ll never be them again. It’s bittersweet, but it steadies her pulsating heart.
“You brought us here to threaten me? We could’ve done this without the two hour drive.”
“Two weeks, think about it,” he says, coming to full height, standing so close to her she can feel his warmth, and touch him if she leans just a little closer. Right now, in this moment, she can’t tell if he has his infinity on or not. “I can be the best ally you could ask for, or we could repeat history. I’ll leave it up to you.”
She tilts her head up at him, refusing to step to the side, seeking safety. From here, she can peek just enough under his glasses, see his waterline, those long and abundant lower eyelashes of his.
“I can answer you right here, right now.”
“Cute, but fast answers are always the wrong ones. Take the time. Who knows, you might skip the noose by the end of the month.”
With nothing left to add, he turns around and walks away.
There’s a sour taste in her mouth and a dull weight over her shoulders that makes the walk up to the cemetery feel like climbing the Everest itself. Her mother’s grave is the cleanest, prettiest one, now decorated with fresh hydrangeas, her favorites.
Easy or hard days, she misses her all the same, all the time. The way she made the most complicated feelings and struggles feel easy. But today, especially today, Sera feels like not even her mother would have the right answer. She’d probably leave it up to her, telling her she still has a lot of growing to do, and that this is just another trial.
And Sera, because she’s no longer a kid that needs reassuring, offers her a wobbly smile and silently asks her not to worry. She’s lost a lot, she’ll lose some more, but never herself.
Ijichi and the kids are almost done putting everything back in the trunk of the car when she returns, no sight of Gojo, just a phone that Ijichi hands her with a sorry look on her face.
“Hi?”
“Hey, listen, a mission came up— not gonna bore you with the details but I’m gonna need you to do me a solid one and look over the kids.”
“What?!” A flock of birds flies away, wings battling like a symphony. “No, where’d you—”
“I would’ve asked you myself, but I couldn’t miss the flight. It’s just a couple of days, they’re low maintenance, easier than fish, promise. They clean and dress themselves, they even know how to load the dishwasher.”
“I have things to do, Gojo, I’m not your fu—” she pauses, turning around, cupping her hand around the phone. Ijichi gets the message and gets the kids inside the car to give her some privacy. “I have a job—”
“C’mon, sunshine, I’ll talk to Kenzo for you. Do this for me and I’ll owe you big time.”
Sera can’t believe she’s listening to the same man who threatened her just an hour ago. Right now, he sounds sweet enough to make her fear diabetes, spilling through the phone and straight into her ear, buttering her up.
“I’ll be back in two, three days max. Ijichi’s gonna drive you to your nook so you can grab any stuff that you need and—”
“This is gonna cost you.”
“You know, many people would love to be in a position where I owe—”
“I hope your plane crashes.”
She hangs up, handing Ijichi back his phone with a sigh of defeat.
“They’re good kids,” he says, sheepish, as a consolation.
They are good kids.
Instead of thinking about the lake confrontation, Sera takes the role of a responsible adult and spends the afternoon snooping through Gojo’s house, every room, every closet, every bathroom, the terrace, the kitchen, the pantry, the storage and laundry room, the garage, and the gardens.
She doesn’t have to dig much to find evidence everywhere that they live here, with him, permanently.
He's their guardian, has been for the last three years, legally for two, Tsumiki’s words. She’s happy to give her the timeline and even happier to explain what the board in the kitchen is all about.
They have a system for the chores around the house, scoring points as they get small tasks done. Things like making the bed, watering the plants, separating the laundry by color and folding, and of course, loading and unloading the dishwasher.
The fixed prize is choosing the next outing, but he adds new ones from time to time. Tsumiki’s on a winning streak lately, but Megumi’s closing up on her, so she’s working extra hard.
The fridge is packed with prepped meals, snacks, a wide variety of drinks, fruits, and vegetables. There’s a small plastic step stool tucked against the counter that they push around to reach the counter, cabinets, and the microwave.
Sera sits by the kitchen island watching them work and argue over paper plates and whether or not it’s proper to use them when there’s a guest.
Megumi doesn’t think Sera’s worth doing dishes, but he hands her a ceramic plate with a plastic tray on top nonetheless. Rice and curry, steamy and ready to eat. Tsumiki pours a can of cola into a tall glass, bit by bit, carefully so the foam doesn’t spill, and places it in front of her with a pink straw.
How and why did they end up under the care of Gojo Satoru of all people? And worse, why does she suspect that he’s doing a decent job?
Same circus, new kids. Because trust me, they never stop coming.
The last thing she wants to think is that he was referring to them, but she can’t bring herself to ask them if they can see the unseen.
She wakes up in the middle of the night with a loud, thick gasp that bruises her parched throat. Desperate, red rimmed eyes glance around the strange room, trying to make sense out of the walls, the strange furniture, and the breeze coming through the window that is too big and faces the wrong direction. The blanket over her body is too thin, too fresh and soft over her bare legs.
The confusion lingers like the taste of bile, despite realizing that she’s in one of Gojo’s guest rooms, in a neighborhood she’d never been to before, where houses have massive front yards, close to an international embassy.
The house feels even bigger in the dark of the night. The kids are sleeping soundly in their rooms. The extra house slippers they were sweet enough to give her slide softly over the wood floors as she walks through the hallway, using her mental map of the house layout to find the kitchen.
It’s been ages since she lived in a place big enough to take some time to get from room to room, or had such vivid nightmares. The type that stays on her body, collected on her limbs and chest, giving her the shakes.
Water, that’s the main goal, but she notices her phone clutched in her hand, and against her senses, presses the contact Ijichi kindly shared before leaving.
It’s not too late where he is right now, or at least she thinks so.
“Miss me already?”
He sounds relaxed, not surprised or facing a gruesome death. It’s enough to make her want to hang up, crawl back to bed, and count her breaths until exhaustion drags her back to sleep.
“Sera?”
No sound comes out of her throat. It’s strange, wanting to spill everything but not knowing where to start.
“Is everything ok?”
“Yeah,” she says, finally, voice catching in her throat. “Yes.”
“Why do you sound like that, then?”
She ignores his question. “Where’s the medicine cabinet?”
Regret follows right after the question leaves her lips, clammy hand coming to rest on her forehead, cursing silently to herself.
“Why? What’s wrong with you?”
“Why do you assume it’s me?”
“Because the kids know where it is, they would’ve told you. And it must be bad if you decided to call me.”
“No, no, it’s just a small headache. Actually, never mind, I probably brought some.”
It’s his time to fall quiet. His breathing is the only thing coming through the line, steady, uninterrupted. It’s him. There’s nothing that could happen to him.
“Well, that’s disappointing.”
Sera blinks, frowning at the empty stove, confused.
“I was hoping you’d made your choice. The right one.”
So stupid, why’d she even worry at all?
“Of course you were, I’m hanging up,” she says, because fuck him, and fuck wasting the shakes on him. “Don’t get killed out there, I’m not taking care of your gremlins for the rest of my life.”
“First you want my plane to crash, now it’s please come back home to me safe and sound?”
“You know damn well that’s not what I said—”
“Who’s being cruel now, huh, sunshine? Playing with my frail heart like—”
She hangs up, resting her weight on the counter.
Something moves on her peripheral, a small shadow, flanked by two smaller ones that look too much like beasts.
“Oh my god—”
It’s Megumi, entering the kitchen, rubbing his eyes with his small fist. Just him, no dogs in sight.
“Fuck, kid, you just scared the hell out of me.”
“Sorry.” He says, quietly, yawning and turning the lights on, blinding her for a moment. “Did you have a nightmare?”
She just called Gojo at three am out of panic, so being honest with the boy can’t hurt. He’s as quiet as his sister’s extroverted, she doubts he’ll go around telling on her.
“Yeah. A really bad one.”
He nods, walking past. She hears the sound he makes and figures he’s opening the fridge, getting something from the cabinets, and putting it inside the microwave, pressing the buttons, and letting it do its thing.
A couple of minutes later, he sets a cup next to her, startling her again —he looks unimpressed, judging her for being skittish— and slides it in her direction with a drawn out, soft scrape of the smooth surface.
It’s milk, warm milk.
“It helps,” he says.
The first sip is sweet, way too sweet for it to be just milk. She looks over her shoulder and sees a jar of honey next to the sink, and figures the spoon was for mixing it.
“Tsumiki’s birthday is tomorrow.”
Sera wipes a bit of milk from the corner of her lips, putting the cup back down and lifting her eyebrows.
“Oh, you guys have anything planned?”
“Gojo said he did, but I don’t think he’ll be back by then.”
Right, they’re minors, kids, it’s not like they can go out by themselves.
“She’s gonna be upset if we don’t do anything.”
That was probably why she kept asking her what she liked to do for her birthday while she braided her hair before bed, she was waiting for her to ask her about hers, but Sera never caught on, too focused on not messing up the fish tail braid.
“I see,” Sera says. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure something out, but I’m gonna need your help.”
“Okay. I’ll help you.” He nods, face lighting up. “Do you want me to stay up until you fall asleep?”
Sera laughs, a warm feeling filling her chest, a bit ashamed that the little boy is asking her such a question. She lifts the half empty cup.
“No, I’m gonna be ok. It’s working, thank you.”
He nods, says goodnight.
But as he turns around, right before he can pad out of the kitchen, Sera drops the cup. It doesn’t crack or spill, but it makes a noise like a bomb in the quiet kitchen, startling him.
The shocked look on his face, the hair falling over his forehead, the green shade and shape of his eyes, it’s all shockingly familiar. A carbon copy. It takes the heat out of her body.
Something in her urges her to walk over, grab his face, and look at him up close, move his face in different angles just to make sure she’s hallucinating and it’s just a funny coincidence.
“Oops,” she laughs, throat bobbing. “It slipped. Sorry. Goodnight.”
The boy nods, turning away and disappearing into the dark.
It was him. There’s no doubt.
A couple of decades older, with twenty times his current body mass, and a scar cutting through his mouth. He had the same face as the feral beast she saw in her nightmare, wielding a spearhead that could cut through infinity, marked with the Kaneko sigil. Two blades, one missing. He carried the unavoidable promise of death, even the air bent around him.
He plunged it into his throat, dragging it down with brutal strength, down his chest, and into his side. Blood sprayed all around, spilling through his lips as the last coughing breaths left his chest. It was the kind of view that gets engraved in your mind. Gojo Satoru’s limp body in the middle of the rubble, fly heads buzzing over his body like bees rushing to a fermented blood orange.
How can it be? He’s a good kid, just like his sister. Caring enough to prepare warm milk for her to wash down her nightmare. And it doesn’t matter if he learned that kindness from Gojo or the people who took care of him before, Sera knows in her flesh that no soul is pure enough to be exempt from growing a taller shadow.
Once it’s gone, innocence doesn’t come back.
Sleep evades her for the rest of the night, or maybe it’s the other way.
He told Sera it would take three days just to give her nagging fuel. Ever since he met her, he’s been addicted to the creases that appear between her eyebrows and the way she pushes her lips forward when she’s complaining about something. Even through the phone, walking through the noisy airport, he could hear the pout. It was a nice send off gift.
In reality, he expected the mission to take two days. But it ended up being less than one. He spent more time flying than wiping off the stubborn special grade curses.
Maybe he had pent up frustrations to let out, or felt more motivated than usual, maybe he went extra hard because he had to, needed to return as soon as possible. Not home, not to the city, but to an oasis in the middle of nowhere.
And that’s how he finds himself back at the lake.
All to see her again.
From a distance, to the ignorant eye, it looks like an optical illusion courtesy of the sun coming through the clouds and the tall trees enclosing upon the lake.
But if you pay attention, there’s movement that feels alive. The rays of sun take the shape of golden fabric draping over the lake, moving in ways it shouldn’t. Slow, like tidal, rising and rippling like it breathes. And if you look even more closely, it’s endless fine, hair like tendrils flexing beneath it.
Satoru stops by the lakeside, letting the water soak the tips of his shoes, taking off his sunglasses, because something like this deserves to be gazed upon with bare eyes.
A thousand eyes blink back at him, asynchronously. Some slow, some too fast, some never blinking at all. Different colors and shapes. Some pupils are like vertical slits, feline and reptile. Some are uneven and horizontal, like a goat’s. Others are beady, with a single black dot surrounded by vivid colors, bird eyes.
They watch and follow him, Satoru gets the sensation again that it’s looking through his technique, straight into him.
Never before has he witnessed a curse so sentient, so aware. And never before has he been more convinced that she didn’t lie, not those haunted nights he came looking for her at the Kaneko house, and not yesterday. She’s no longer sensitive to cursed energy. Not a sorcerer.
She stumbled back, holding her breath, ready to hit the water, but he held on to her arm, easily steadying her. He put some heart into the grip, nearing the edge of hurting, fingertips digging into her skin with the sole purpose of pulling a wince and leaving indents behind.
“I wouldn’t let them get their hands or waste a trial on you. I’d do it myself, for old times’ sake, you know?”
A thousand eyes inverted, pupils turning to gold, every sclera to black, like miniature eclipses. No sound came out, it vibrated instead, making the wind pick up and the lake ripple in the opposite direction.
And Sera had no idea, didn’t even notice the special grade curse morphing from gold to tar behind her. Towering over both of their figures, toward Gojo, like an animal locking on, prepared to pounce.
It was protecting her. And if Gojo turned his infinity off and let it get his way, he was sure he’d be scattered to pieces across the flower field. A gruesome image, beauty and horror combined into one.
“Mayomi?”
Right now, undisturbed, the curse was back to the original golden form, taking him in, curious. It’d make sense for it to be connected to Sera’s mother, protective as it is, and considering the location.
It doesn’t respond. The gold layers keep moving in waves, like long strands of hair moving underwater, vivid and saturated, casting shadows in all sorts of directions, all wrong.
Between the movement, through a slit, his blue eyes latch onto something. There’s something suspended under the folds, the twisted suggestion of a humanoid figure wrapped inside, at the very core.
The world narrows to a ringing silence, everything but the curse turns distant and unreal. Satoru feels both impossibly heavy and untethered, as if the ground has vanished under him, crumpled under the weight of the sudden revelation.
“What did you do…”
A thousand eyes, watching him curiously. In recognition. A raven, a fox, a Honshu wolf, and so on.
“… Sera?”
He’s too damn young and beautiful for a heart attack.
The alarm shrieks before he gets past the gates, a piercing, pitchy wail. It claws his nerves, ricochets off the walls inside. He’s thinking it’s the same retired neighbor who just moved in and is still figuring out how the security system works.
But it’s his alarm. His house. With them inside. The fear hits him like a blow, all raw instinct, and in the space of a heartbeat the world narrows and drags him forward, heart hammering, every nerve screaming to get inside.
Past the entrance door, the hallway, straight into the kitchen, where it’s currently… raining?
Just a couple of hours ago, he checked the security cameras, saw them right here in the kitchen. Sera showing off her pancake flipping tricks, dropping one to the floor and pulling a rare, full belly Megumi laugh —Gojo didn’t know how to feel about that, considering the kid had only just met her but it took him a full year to score one of those— Tsumiki had a plastic crown on, meaning that her birthday wasn’t forgotten. Sera was laughing too, claiming that it was fine, because who wants to eat the first pancake anyway?
So how did this mess happen?
The sprinklers are hissing relentlessly, soaking everything, the chairs, the floor, the surface of every single piece of furniture. The kids are running in circles like they’re performing some ritual around her. There’s a cake on the island counter, light green with baby pink petals, and a firecracker stuck in the middle where a candle should be.
And Sera’s standing on the same counter, careful not to step on the melting cake, trying to poke at the smoke sensor with a spatula, like her arms will grow longer if she stretches hard enough. She’s wearing Tsumiki’s wings, the ones she got for Halloween. No bouncy halo. Just her hair down.
Tsumiki crashes into Gojo’s legs, and then Megumi slams against Tsumiki. They step back, stiff and surprised by his sudden arrival.
“I don’t think this is working—”
She freezes the second she spots him, eyes comically wide, cheeks flooded with a ripe shade of red.
“You’re early,” she stammers, dropping her arm, scrambling to jump down. Too fast, too clumsy. Her bare foot slides against the slick counter.
But Gojo’s already there, instinct making him cross the kitchen before his brain catches on. One hand grabs hers, the other circles around her waist before gravity does its thing.
He would do it for anyone else, to save them from breaking their spine or cracking their skull open, but it’s different. He knows so in the way her hand reached for him too, but her body tensed in his grip. Her skin perked with a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold spray.
Caught and held by him, he puts her down, but she stays anchored even when her feet touch the ground.
She looks up at him, breathless, something flickering in her eyes that makes his pulse trip like an eager fawn learning to walk. Wet strands of hair are stuck to her neck, and the cotton of her shirt is plastered to her skin, sheer in some spots. A lazy drop of water traces a path down her neck, right into the swell of her collarbone. Even her lashes are soaked, and Satoru realizes that he barely had a sip of water during the entire day.
It's a sight that would knock the breath out of anyone, and yet, nothing enrages him more than the thought of someone else seeing her like this.
Her lips part like she has something to say, words drowned under the pounding in his ears. The warmth slipping through the cold drench.
It’s absurd how he spent years, gruesome, happy, traumatic years trying to forget her and simultaneously waiting to see her again. And despite their situation, it still feels right to be near. He’s gonna have to do it, without doubt, everything and anything to get to her and keep her close. She might hate him for it, want to kill him, try to drown him again. She might unleash her loyal golden curse upon him.
She pulls back, talking about drying up, walking out of the kitchen with the soaked wings flapping behind her, right into his home. But it’s too late, she signed their fate that rainy afternoon, at the cemetery, when she made him shut up and took his Tamagotchi hostage. He never got it back, so she had to pay.
Not a grudge, like she accused him of: justice.
She might’ve cursed the lake with a thousand eyes, but that sparkle —all hers— is still on. So he can’t, won’t say goodnight. Now or ever.
In a dim, narrow bar, Yaga sits across from Gakuganji with nothing but a half-empty bottle of shochu between them. The TV murmurs from the corner, going mostly ignored. The place smells like wood and tobacco.
Gakuganji makes sure to come by every time he visits Tokyo, with or without Yaga, though he prefers the company. He never says why, there’s nothing remarkable about the place, the drinks, or the service, but Yaga knows that it has something to do with one of the women who works here, that may or may not look too much like someone from Gakuganji’s past.
An old flame, someone that got away, a memory to haunt him until the day he goes out.
Yaga breaks the silence, voice rough.
“Is it true, then? Was she the Odd Eye?”
“That’s what the rumors say,” Gakuganji replies, but the way he sips slowly and his eyes dip is a more direct confirmation.
If what Gojo said was true, and the clans came up with a way to solve their differences after they were born, it has to be true.
It makes Yaga fall quiet. There’s nothing remarkable about her, but she has a face that’s hard to forget. Gakuganji told him, after the first meeting they had with her, that she looked frighteningly similar to her mother.
“So what happened?”
Gakuganji lets the question hang, shadowed eyes turning to him.
“The clan got impatient, tried to push her, and when she broke, they sent her off and pretended she’d never been born."
A handful of questions popped up in Yaga’s head, but he had a feeling the answers would do nothing to lighten up his already sour mood.
“They say the sight broke the mother’s heart right through.”
“Makes sense, then, that she wants to get rid of it.”
Kaneko Sera is not a fool, she sees through the poorly balanced deal, just doesn’t care enough to ask for anything in return. And how could anyone judge her for that?
“Gojo’s gonna be a problem.”
Gakuganji snorts, not amused. “Isn’t he always?”
There’s a lot they could say after that disastrous meeting, but they’re still waiting to hear back from them after Gojo visited the vault.
“There’s something going on there,” Yaga says.
No need to get specific. They both are thinking of the same thing. Kaneko, taking off Gojo’s sunglasses so casually, and his reaction to her burning question.
“Like a pebble in his shoe, isn’t she?”
“I’ve never seen anyone get under his skin like that, not since…”
Neither speaks, their eyes drop to the table. The silence carries a weight in the shape of an amethyst eyed boy, one of Yaga’s heaviest regrets. His name goes unsaid, but is understood.
They finish the rest of the bottle in silence.
say hi to the golden curse!!!! she's a big deal idk if you can tell. and gojo is kinda sorta into her.
𓂃 CHAPTER SUMMARY ☆ A compromising picture goes viral, Satoru demands an explanation, and Toji starts playing his cards. You finally talk about what happened between you two that night at Haibara's, just not with him.
𓂃 GENRE ☆ fluff
𓂃 WORD COUNT ☆ 6.2k
𓂃 TAGS ☆ 18+, techbro!toji, enemies to lovers, reader is gojo's stepsister, age gap, sexual tension, violence, freak4freak, cheating, family time with the gojos, toji being a menace, reader gets toji high to stop herself from fucking him, and regrets it, toji being messy and shady and plotting on people's downfall, no smut yet these freaks are edging each other, satoru telling toji to kill himself. suguru connecting dots and noticing patterns.
𓂃 A/N ☆ this one was so! much! fun! to write. i love the gojo family give them a reality show. as usual don't be shy i don't bite feedback is appreciated.
previous chapter masterlist next chapter
“Idiot. I’m too young to get murder charges,” you told him.
“You’re too young to get married to that piece of shit,” Toji replied, startling you by bringing a hand up to caress your cheek. You slapped it away, and he sighed, shaking his head.
“Too damn pretty, too.”
You frowned, grateful that he was finally behaving, quietly muttering, “Thank you, I guess.”
“It’s a good thing you won’t.”
It’s a fine line between relief and panic, seeing your brother and your father sitting at the same table for breakfast, tuned out and too focused on their screens to touch the variety of dishes presented or notice you pause at the entryway.
You recognize a minefield when you see one.
Their rifts are a tradition as old as your memories. It’s a tired loop; they fight, say the most out of line shit to each other, cut communications for days or weeks, and try to airdrop jabs at the other through you, until the day comes when you walk into a room and see them ignoring the other like nothing happened.
For the most part, you do everything you can to stay out of it. Unless there’s something to gain, like getting permission to go on a trip with your friends while your father’s freshly reminded of how much of a well-behaved daughter you are in comparison to your brother, or recruiting hot-headed Satoru in a long awaited revenge plan against the old man.
The anniversary party was different. You’ve seen a few pieces of furniture or decoration get thrown, sometimes over your head, but never fists. Not even during Satoru’s volatile twenties. And their fights have never reached a ceasefire in less than 48 hours before. So it’s safe to say you don’t trust this sudden family breakfast thing.
Sitting on the chair next to your father is Nanami, who offers a polite, detached smile and nothing else, pretending he doesn’t read the what’s up? you mouth.
“Looking beautiful and unharmed, father,” you say, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. He taps your hand on his shoulder in response, eyes never straying from his big ass tablet with a font size big enough for people on the moon to read the article. You pity the assistant who has to carry that monstrosity for him.
“Thank you, dear. It’s good to know I only need to get shot at to be appreciated.”
“Satoru—”
“Sit down.”
The hawk eyes your brother gives you over the flower vase startles you.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” you laugh at his gruffy tone, but sit nonetheless.
“Eat, we need to talk.”
Weird. He’s throwing daggers at you, crossing his arms so firmly you’d think it was you who your father named successor. You make a face at him and pick a piece of uni scrambled eggs. It barely touches your tongue when his voice hammers your ears again.
“Great. You ate. Explain yourself.”
You drop the fork, appetite ruined. “Can I at least drink some orange juice?”
“No.” he leans over and grabs the glass. “What were you thinking?”
“What in the living fuck—”
“Language.”
“—are you talking about?”
“You. Frolicking around Shinjuku with a Zenin Reject hours after your father got shot at.”
Your father swipes away. Satoru spits the Zenin Reject part with so much disgust that you need a good couple of seconds to catch up and realize he’s talking about the same man you’ve been waiting to text you.
“Are you keeping tabs on me!?”
“I don’t need to. There’s pictures all over the internet.”
Your face collapses as dread starts to seep in. The bar was too tiny for any suspicious movement to go unnoticed, and it’s not like you drank enough to not notice someone aiming a camera at you. And when it comes to Toji, you know for a fact that he has eyes on his back and reptilian senses. If you didn’t leave your phone in your purse, you’d be checking to make sure he’s not bullshitting you.
Satoru takes your hesitation and runs.
“That’s it? You’re not gonna say anything? Am I the only sane person left in this family? He gets off easy because not shitting himself at his age is a feat, but I don’t remember you ever hitting your head hard enough for this kind of behavior.”
“He offered to take me home,” you blurt out. “Nanami was there. Right, Nanami?”
The man in question pauses and looks between you, clearly reluctant to take part in the conversation.
“Yes. He did.” You nod at Satoru in triumph. “But the agreement was to take her home. There was no mention of a bar stop.”
The betrayal leaves you speechless. And to think you pitied the man. He has the sense not to look you in the eye after that before going back to his thing.
“And I’m guessing you thought you might as well have your In The Mood For Love moment while dad was still coughing up gunpowder.”
Without seeing those stupid pictures, you’re out of ammo for this conversation. There’s only one move to make: deflect.
“Don’t take it out of me. It’s not my fault Kamo stole your spot. And don’t act like you weren’t about to punch the dentures off of him”
“We’re not talking about me or that fucking rookie right now, we’re talking about your adulterous ways.”
Your mouth opens and closes in disbelief. “You can’t even stand Hiroki!”
He’s been trying to convince you to cheat with Nanami for years, but you’re not gonna bring this up with said man in the room. Satoru extends his hands on the table, like he’d grab yours if not for the distance.
“Newsflash, sis. No one can stand Hiroki because you have shit taste in men. But this— this is a new low. This is going from worse to worser.”
“Satoru, this is a table, not a debate stage. Pipe down or take this noise outside,” your father says, sipping his freshly poured coffee. A viral, annoying song plays out before he taps the screen again. That man is on TikTok.
“Forgive me for being against Alcatraz Ken not only putting his fingers on the company but also in my baby sister, father.”
You slam your hand against the table, running out of insults that go unheard.
Your brother carries on, “This is your fault. We wouldn’t be dealing with this if you’d just told her she was good enough once or twice before she hit puberty.”
“No, no. Hold on, I’m not that impressed with him either.”
And because that’s the worst thing that’s been said so far, your father pins you with a glare right then that makes you sink in your seat. The man can be terrifying when he wants to.
“The company’s going to shit, and now this? There’s not enough botox in this world to help me deal with this.” He rubs the non-existent lines between his forehead.
“Why is it going to shit? And why is Fushiguro putting his fingers on the company?”
“I told you he’s been meeting with him, genius. And what’s up with that, huh? First you backstab me, now you’re pimping out your own daughter?”
“Satoru, what the fuck?”
“Enough. I will not tolerate this level of disrespect. Your sister is a grown woman perfectly capable of making her own decisions, and that includes choosing her partners.”
The birds in the untouched garden stop singing. Someone in the kitchen drops a pile of pots. The vertebrae of your neck grind like rusted metal as you turn to stare at your father. Nanami’s eyes flicker upwards and squint, like he’s trying to discern if he heard that right.
Your father nods once, firmly, wrapping the conversation up.
Somewhere in the room, you hear your brother chuckle intermittently. He’s suddenly leaning behind you, throwing a grape inside his mouth, ruffling your hair.
“Enjoy getting pimped out, bug.”
Shoko’s bed can and will swallow you if you just stay here, without moving, for long enough. There’s a spider making rounds on the ceiling, but you don’t rat her out. Utahime will freak out, and you can’t deal with that right now.
“No, yeah, it is very Wong Kar-wai,” Shoko says, zooming in and out of the picture. “You look great, though. Look at that side profile.”
Satoru’s fit had your expectations all tangled up. You looked up your name and Toji the second you set foot outside of your father’s entrance door. For a good five minutes, you sat there on the bike, staring at your phone, trying not to freak out.
Two pictures, framing you from the side. In the first one, he has his forearms resting on the table, leaning over and meeting your unimpressed stare head-on with one of his own. You have your chin on the palm of your hand, opposite hand barely grazing your drink. The position puts you directly under the shitty, warm light beam, casting shadows in ways that wildly exaggerate the sultry mood, making your eyelashes shine and his features even more masculine. You’re looking away in the second shot, and Toji? He’s leaning back, resting against the tiny chair, arms hanging at his side. The pose puts a strain on the buttons of his shirt, pulling a few lines at the chest that you have memorized.
“That’s an impregnating grin right there.”
He’s also grinning at you. Before, you thought that he looked like a wolf, a shark, or the devil when he smiles with his teeth, but the one in the picture looks different. It makes him look younger. You have no recollection of said smile. It’s a shame that the picture was taken from the side without the scar.
Utahime has her head resting on Shoko’s shoulder, suspiciously quiet as she spares you a little glance.
“He’s handsome.”
“He really is.” Shoko hums, wrinkling her nose. “Is he this meaty in real life?”
Utahime nods, standing up at the sound of her doorbell ringing, and Shoko purses her lips in appreciation, raising her brows at you suggestively.
The pictures have hit corners of the internet you didn’t even lurk around as a teenager, and you widely underestimated the number of people who follow him to obsessive extremes. The first handful of articles focused on him and the mystery woman, before someone on Twitter made a disturbingly thorough thread not only identifying you from your outfit at the company event, but also compiling the times you both interacted in the past. Short videos from the magazine shooting, pictures of each of you not interacting, but at Haibara’s party.
And then there’s Hiroki’s side of the internet, tearing you apart like a feeble dog toy.
It’s a relief that only people you follow on Instagram can comment on your posts and that you’re locked out of your Twitter account, because with the amount of new followers adding up, and random accounts that got to tag you before you disabled that, you’re sure it’d be a shitshow in there.
Yuki strides inside the room with a carton of beer and snacks, eyes hungry for gossip. “Alright. Let’s hear it from the beginning. Spare us no details.”
You sit up on your elbows, watching them crack the beers open and letting the one they throw at you land on the bed.
“We want to hear all about the ritualistic sex you guys had.”
You shake your head, if your own friends are making up their theories, what can you expect from the clinically insane online?
“We had a couple of drinks, went home, and talked until 3 am. That’s it.”
Sounds of disgust and disbelief fill the room.
“That is such bullshit.”
“Haibara’s birthday party,” Yuki says, pointing a finger at you. “Choso saw you dragging him back into the room. Said he was shirtless.”
“What!?”
You’re putting Choso in your notes app list of people who have wronged you.
Shoko’s delighted. “You little whore. So that’s why you went MIA?”
“That’s not even realistic, do I look like I could drag a man his size?”
“We were in the room next to yours, girly. Choso can’t lie for shit. Now spit it out.”
You sigh in defeat, and they take it as a sign to jump on the bed with hungry eyes. You scoot back until your back presses against the bedframe.
The door closed with a soft click behind you.
The bedroom was dim and dreamlike, cast in low golden lights. Outside, the ocean shimmered under the moon, framed by sheer white curtains that pooled onto the floor like waterfalls. You let yourself take a moment to breathe, letting the view still your sprinting heart before stepping fully inside.
He might not look like it, but Toji could follow orders. Especially if he saw something in it for himself.
Go to the last door and wait for me, you’d told him before disappearing into the crowd. So there he was, sprawled on the California king bed, facing the window. You tried to locate an ick, seeing him lying there in a receiving position like an escort or like a sacrificial offering, knees hanging over the edge, propped on his elbows.
“Thought you’d chickened out for a second there,” he said, eyes dropping like he could see your pulse on your neck. There was a salty scent mixing with the taekwood and neroli, it was hard to tell if you two brought it in or if it was slipping through straight from the source.
“Sit.”
He straightened, planting his palms into the linen, fingers spread wide as he waited for your next move. There was a glint in his green eyes, like he knew exactly where this was going.
He deserved a treat for obeying so nicely. For looking so damn pretty while doing it. Built like a general, and still obedient like a puppy.
Your hesitation and nerves flipped.
The pills in your fist were a little damp and rubbed smooth. You popped two into your mouth, watching him watch you. One blue, one pink, like candy.
He understood your intentions quite quickly, leaning back as soon as your knee came up to graze the outside of his thigh. You anchored yourself on his shoulders, steadying your breath against the sight of his face looking up at you, expectant and soft lidded. Only then did you lean down and press your mouth to his.
His mouth was warm. Slick and pliant, like molten honey. The kiss turned messier fast. He didn’t flinch at the taste of the pills on your tongue; just exhaled heavily and slid his hand along your jaw, letting you press them past his tongue. They faded like cotton candy.
But when another hand sneaked up your spine, trying to curl around the base of your neck, you pushed him down.
He bounced slightly, looking up at you with greedy eyes, but he didn’t protest.
You leaned back, grabbed the bottle on the nightstand, and took a quick swig, washing down his taste, taking a peek at the time on his phone.
“Knew you’d look good from here,” he murmured.
It was a good thing he got the message about keeping his hands to himself, because your resolve was hanging by a thread. The way he touched you, the way he looked at you... It was more compelling than you were prepared for.
Still sitting on him, thighs spread over his lap, it was hard not to notice how comfortable the position was. Abundant and strong as he was under you, you could get hooked quite quickly.
The party was a world away, muffled behind layers and layers of thick walls. Your phone buzzed in your back pocket, slipping down your hip. You kept your expression neutral as you looked at the name on the screen, but he saw right through you, his mouth curving into a mocking grin. Daring you.
Out of spite more than anything else, you answered. On the other side, Hiroki called your name.
“I’m still here, yeah.”
You were going to hell, no doubt. It was all you could think about, awareness split between the call and Toji’s wandering hands creeping up your legs slowly, thumbs briefly slipping through the hem of your skirt. They kept going on their way up, lazily tracing your shape, calloused skin scratching your waist, and frustratingly skipping your chest altogether.
“I know,” you said, and it came out breathy. But the conversation allowed it to pass without raising any suspicions.
“I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” Hiroki said, somewhere miles above, crossing the sea. “I–I just love you too much.”
“Ok,” you replied, diving deeper into the pits of hell.
One of his hands reached your face, thumb brushing your jaw. The other toyed with your earlobe like he was coaxing something out of you. Some shame, maybe. But all you could feel was heat.
“I promise, love, it won’t happen again.”
It didn’t occur until he let out a low, hollow chuckle that he could hear Hiroki. The sound scraped from deep within his chest, no shift in his eyes but a brief drop of his brows.
You slapped a hand over his mouth.
He blinked at you, no regrets.
The call ended. You didn’t remember what you said. You didn’t care. When he licked your palm, you jerked back with a gasp, though that didn’t exactly line up with everything you’d already let happen. His grin was drowsy and wide. The first waves of the molly were hitting him.
If it was good, he’d be feeling warm, light, dizzy, euphoric, with senses heightened through the roof, except for a foggy vision. If it was bad… you’d have to talk a tank of a man through a meltdown or something worse.
Trying to steer him to the safer side, you began running your fingers through his hair.
His jaw slackened immediately. He let out a groan, leaning into the touch.
“Feels good?”
He purred underneath you, and you felt the tension in your spine loosen.
You became acquainted with a very different side of Toji Fushiguro, one that you were sure would make the stock market shift if presented to the world. He protested immediately when you pulled back from him, moving to sit on the bed, grabby hands pulling at you and pressing your body to his. He might’ve been high off his senses, but the man was still stronger than a bull. For a split second, you freaked out.
“No. No touching, Fushiguro,” you ordered, peeling his hands away from you as one was slipping under your top, fingertips brushing the underside of your breast. Blocking his lips from sucking on the skin of your neck, but he started licking your fingers instead. “We’re not doing this.”
That made him pause. He met your eyes with blown-out ones, slowing down the sucking but pressing his teeth down, not enough to hurt, but just enough to stop you from taking them back. Asking a sputtering why. He had his fingers so deep inside his mouth, you were honestly impressed that he didn’t gag.
“Because you’re high.”
You might be morally bankrupt, but you weren’t going to fuck someone in such a state, not even if you knew how willing he was while sober.
He finally released your fingers, and as you wiped your spit on his chest, he cutely asked,
“Am I?”
For some reason, he still talked like he had something inside his mouth. You jumped when you caught something metallic between his teeth. He laughed as your hand squeezed his cheeks, trying to force his jaw open and look inside his mouth.
“What’s that? Spit it. C’mon. It’s not fucking funny, spit that shit, Fushiguro.”
Your finger hooked into something slim as the chances of him dying on you grew, you didn’t even know if Norway had an extradition treaty with Japan. The headlines flashed through your head.
Tragedy Strikes During Lavish Beach Bash for Hellbound Tech Mogul — He Choked on a…
Diamond!?
The fucker had sucked your ring out of your finger, and you didn’t even notice. He found the look on your face hilarious, much like a baby watching an adult get fake shot. You put the ring back on, setting a mental reminder to sanitize it as soon as possible.
“Idiot. I’m too young to get murder charges,” you told him.
“You’re too young to get married to that piece of shit,” he replied, startling you by bringing a hand up to caress your cheek. You slapped it away, and he sighed, shaking his head.
“Too damn pretty, too.”
You frowned, grateful that he was finally behaving, quietly muttering, “Thank you, I guess.”
“It’s a good thing you won’t.”
Out of fucking nowhere, he decided that he needed to go for a swim or life as you knew it would end, and bolted. Sliding past the crystal doors to the private terrace. You had to leap from the bed to chase after him.
“C’mon,” he said, pushing against you as you blocked his way. Resorting to picking you up instead. “Water’s nice and warm.”
“No! It’s not. It’s fucking freezing.”
You kicked —no screaming, you weren’t trying to get caught by someone who strayed far away from the party— and attempted to reason with him desperately as he took you past the private terrace and into the sand.
“It’s gonna wash it all away,” he said, over and over again, words just a bit slurred. “You’ll feel better, angel, you’ll see.”
You were starting to think someone dropped him into radioactive waste as a child, with the way he was able to walk, talk, and carry you at the same time while high off the double dose. The angry breeze slapped your hair into your face, and you sputtered as you saw the waves get closer and closer. His grip around your thighs never softened.
You grabbed a handful of his hair and tried to get him to look up at you.
“Please, let’s go back inside. Please, Toji.”
It was almost like you’d pressed a pause button. He stopped in his tracks and hesitated enough to let you squirm out of his grip.
“Will you let me touch you?”
You bit your lip, scanning your surroundings. It was pitch dark, nothing but a few lamps illuminating the perimeter of the property. The sand was ice cold under your bare feet, bringing you back to reality. What the hell were you doing?
“No.” You grabbed his wrist with yours before he could go back to Terminator mode. “But we can cuddle.”
The toothy smile he gave you could only be compared to that of a kid who just got told he can play GameBoy all night. He brushed the sand off his eyes with a fist, and you tried not to let your heart melt too much.
He let you lead him back inside the bedroom.
That’s how you ended under the covers, staring up at the crystal ceiling. The night sky stretched with stars blinking in and out of focus, like they were winking at you, or about to fall.
And Toji, he had his arm under your head, playing with your hair, slipping in and out of focus. He’d made a fuss about drinking with you until you caved in and fed him tiny shots poured on the metallic cap.
“You’re like a baby,” you mumbled to yourself, watching him throw back the half teaspoon of wine and ask for the next right away.
“Mm. Yeah, we’d have cute babies,” he agreed.
“No— that’s not even what I…”
You gave up mid sentence.
“God, you’re really rolling in it.”
He made a circular motion over his ear, making the weirdest expression, “right?”
You laughed, hand clapping over your mouth. The man just put you through the world’s most grueling babysitting session, but you couldn’t help but think that you’d miss seeing him like this. Silly. No inhibitions. Borderline whimsical.
Until you were falling asleep, trying not to get crushed under the weight of his torso, and he talked with his mouth pressed to your belly.
“Your skin’s so soft.”
“Thanks.”
“Can I–”
“No, Toji.”
You discovered it was easier to get him to listen if you called him by his name. It didn’t stop him from sighing like a stomped puppy. He dug his chin into your stomach as he moved to look at you with heavy, glassy eyes.
“Go to sleep.”
“I like looking at you.”
“I’m not gonna let you touch me.”
“ ‘m touching you right now,” he replied, pointedly tightening his arms around your middle, making you squirm. He gave up once you closed your eyes, returning to his position.
“When you let me touch you, we should repo… rep—fuck.”
You frowned, feeling his eyelashes brushing your skin as he tried to make his head connect with his mouth.
“Repopulate the earth,” he finally managed to say, “You and me, fix the birth rate. Show that Abe motherfucker a real baby renaissance.”
“Abe!? As in Shinzo Abe!?”
Utahime gives Shoko the most lovesick eyes for focusing on that tiny, final detail, brushing her fingers through her hair like she’d marry her right there and then, with potato chip crumbs clinging to her lips.
Aside from cutting in occasionally, the girls are pretty much left speechless. Yuki wastes no time in demanding to hear about the morning after, and then the anniversary party and the damned night after. Their eyes get increasingly crazier as you go through the elevator part.
“Good kisser?”
Yuki laughs. “Of course he is, look at the way she’s squirming. And now she’s turning red.” She turns serious then, lifting her chin at you. “What do you think he’s planning?”
Strategic decision.
I meant it when I said I changed my mind.
Not scared, not you anyway.
His words are way too present and clear in your usually shitty long-term memory. Your thumb rubs against your ring finger, a habit that usually helps you settle your thoughts and makes your eyes flinch in a way that the girls notice right away.
“He’s too cunning. I don’t like it,” you say, half-heartedly. “I think he was buttering me up to harvest my organs.”
“You let the man inside your house. Got shitfaced drunk while he iced your ankle, and then he put you to bed. He could’ve ended you right there if he wanted to. Knowing how you get in the mornings he could’ve stabbed you while you fed the cat.”
“You don’t like it because you’re not used to not having the upper hand, that’s why,” Shoko says, kicking you. “We’ll wait for his move, and if he does anything out of pocket, my cousin’s always a call away.”
“I don’t think he will,” Utahime says with full conviction, taking you all by surprise.
“My dad doesn’t hate him for some reason. It’s suspicious.” And you’re starting to think Utahime likes him more than she’s letting on.
“Well, can’t blame him, if you put Fushiguro next to Hiroki—”
“Hey,” you say defensively, but the girls give you tired eyes. “Don’t be rude.”
You search for Utahime’s eyes, since she’s usually the most prudent and neutral of the bunch. But she sighs and lifts her shoulders.
“You already know what I think.”
You hear the ping of your phone and step out to the balcony to read the email. Your eyes skim over the contents.
…reaching out on behalf of Diablo to discuss a potential creative collaboration of mutual interest.
...confidential project that would benefit from your vision and industry background.
…brief meeting at your convenience. Nothing formal at this stage, just a conversation to explore if there’s mutual interest.
The restaurant is hidden on the top floor of a glass building, accessible only by a private elevator that opened directly into the lobby. Everything inside is quiet by design.
The table sits in a semi-private area at the far end, framed by smoked glass and a wall of living moss. No music, just the the clinking of flatware and the low murmur of the staff.
“You’re late,” Gojo says
Toji glances at his wristwatch. “No, I’m not.”
He’s five minutes early, but perhaps he’s setting his expectations too high if he’s looking to reason with the eldest Gojo sibling.
“Let’s skip the pleasantries, shall we?” he says, unbuttoning his jacket. “I’ve given it some thought and, lucky you, I’ve decided I’m willing to assist.”
The more he talks, the more the questions stack up. For starters, he’s utterly confused that he’s taking charge of the conversation, considering it was Toji who set up the meeting. He should’ve known that there was a catch with him agreeing so easily.
“Assist me,” Toji repeats.
“I know you don’t deserve it. God knows I should let you rot in whatever alley you crawl home to. But what can I say—” he exhales, smiling without warmth, “I inherited a generous heart. From my mother’s side, obviously.”
He gestures to the wooden box placed between them, elegantly engraved and lacquered, next to the untouched bottle of chilled sake.
Toji lifts the lid, surprised to see it has hinges, similar to a casket. The insides are lined with red velvet, and nestled inside there’s a gun that catches the light like it was polished for the occasion. Sleek, elegant, a beauty.
“It’s the only way, Fushiguro.” His voice drops. “No more ego, no more midlife crisis. The voices don’t lie, you’ve seen enough. Be a good man for once and go with some grace. With dignity.”
He pours the sake with ceremonial grace.
“I’ll see to it that your offspring get a solid education. You can go knowing you contributed something to the next generation.”
A waiter walks past, and Toji lets the box close, hiding the gun from sight. Gojo’s looking out to the street, arms spread, tapping his fingers against the leather leisurely.
His face drops when Toji starts chuckling.
It’s hard not to look for small details that remind him of you when he’s in the presence of your family members, even harder not to find any. The way your brother stares at him like he just ate a newborn in front of him for the mere display of amusement is all you, just a little more disturbing with the blue eyes involved. They’re too bright, too saturated. Your father’s, on the other hand, are muted with age and much less insulting to see.
“You done? Alright.” Toji says, digging inside his jacket, pulling out a flat, metallic flash drive, and setting it on the table with a small click.
Gojo stares down at him with disinterest and no intention to touch it.
“This is for you.”
“If this is about the Osaka theatre, you can try to blackmail me all you want, but I’ll never think you’re worthy of breathing near my sister.”
Toji rolls his eyes and holds back the need to ask him if he has any of this smoke for a certain Unstable Puppy that he let put a finger on his sister. He wonders if said puppy has contacted you after your fight, if you picked up and listened to his shitty excuses.
He needed to get this done before reaching out. The company’s already contacted you, and he has received no confirmation yet that you’ve replied. He could’ve handled it himself, sure. Would’ve been easier, would’ve given him an excuse to ask about your ankle. But he doesn’t want you thinking the proposal isn’t serious.
He wonders how you’ve been handling the whole picture thing. Knowing you, chances are you’ve brushed it off. You clearly have a bulletproof backbone when it comes to this kind of shit. Growing up in your family, you had to. And it’s not like you ever gave him the impression that public opinion means much to you.
Still. You’re catching the worst of it, as women often do. Hiroki’s rabid little fanbase, especially the ones who already had it out for you, have been foaming at the mouth. And there’s also the usual flood of bored, unloved freaks online with too much time and a grudge against anyone who looks like they’re surviving, pushing for discourse on every possible platform.
That bullshit aside, Toji has to admit the pictures don’t look half bad. Something about the way you looked next to each other. Like you belonged there, beside him, in that sweaty, stale corner of the city. The photos have a pull, the kind people spend PR money trying and failing to achieve.
Still, he’s got his people figuring out who took them, and plans to remind them that they should ask for permission before turning him and a woman like you into tabloid fodder.
“I only have one request.”
“No. She’s too good for you.”
He pretends not to hear him, just keeps going. “When you deal with it,” he taps the flash drive, “I want to be there to see it.”
And that, only that, gets his attention. His ears almost perk up like a cat who just found his next source of entertainment, eyes darkening just a little bit.
Of course. It’s a family thing. That sharp, feral streak runs in both the brother and the sister. Different manifestations, same storm. He’s seen it when he pushed you too close to the edge. In the elevator, kissing him like you were daring him to ruin you, and then pulling back like you beat him to it.
After spending time with the two of you, and god help him, even your old man, Toji knows better than to expect anything normal. You people are too far gone in your own ways. Maybe he should back off when he has the chance. Rein himself in. But you just so happen to be too hard to look away from, too doe eyed when you don’t want him to leave, and too damn mouthy even when he’s trying to kiss the thoughts out of your head.
You also have your issues with control, and an obsessive need to have the upper hand in all situations. It’s definitely not healthy, but he’s hooked.
He stands up before he gets caught getting hard in front of your brother, who, judging by the look on his face, might blow a hole through his skull just for blushing. Calm. Unbothered. Not remembering how your weight felt against him, not at all. He grabs the small casket before walking away.
Gojo stops him before he can, dead serious this time.
“What’s your deal with her?”
Toji pauses, head tilting slightly, like he’s actually considering how much to say. But the answer’s already formed. He just wants to really savor the delivery.
“If I answer that,” he says slowly, “we’ll have to step outside and fight. And unfortunately, I’m meeting someone in thirty minutes.”
He smiles, sharp and crooked, just to make sure Gojo knows he means it.
That’s when he sees it. That same expression you pull when you’re furious but trying not to let it crack, half a smile twitching at one corner, the other side fighting to bare your fangs. Irreconcilable.
He’s about to walk away for good this time, but Gojo starts talking again.
“There was this one night, when she was nine,”
Toji fights the urge to sit back down, knowing this should be good.
“I caught her inside my father’s bedroom. She’d shoved a sock down his throat while he was sleeping. You know how old people are, snoring like tanks. His lips were turning purple, and she was giggling, saying he looked like Barney.”
“Is there a reason why you’re telling me this?”
“So you know she’s inclined to eldercide.”
It takes everything in Toji not to burst out laughing. He nods, taps the table with his knuckle, and walks away.
“Geto,” he says as he walks past the table next to theirs, nodding at the long-haired man.
He nods back, putting an empty tea cup down. “Fushiguro.”
Satoru turns around on his seat, jaw askew, looking at the back of Suguru’s head.
“We gotta kill this guy, babe, stat,” he says. “You see how he noticed you were there? What demon type of shit is that?”
“No,” Suguru replies, quietly, almost to himself. “I think we should wait.”
Satoru blinks, thrown by his tone. Measured, thoughtful, it means Suguru’s working through something he doesn’t fully want to say out loud yet.
He grabs the flash drive and moves to sit next to him, dropping down hard with the careless weight of someone expecting to be agreed with. But Suguru doesn’t look at him. His gaze is fixed on Toji’s retreating figure, eyes narrowed.
𓂃 CHAPTER SYNOPSIS ☆
“Close your eyes,” she ordered.
Satoru mirrored her stance and shut his eyes without question, taking a slow breath. She smelled like milk and honey. Finally, finally, finally.
“Take down your infinity.”
He hesitated. He’d faced curses, assassins, cursed assassins. But nothing ever made his heart race like this. Still, he dropped it. She didn’t need to touch him, he knew that. He’d seen her use the technique before, joked once that it was infrared-based. But if she did reach out, he wouldn’t mind. A part of him hoped she would.
𓂃 GENRE ☆ angst and fluff
𓂃 WORD COUNT ☆ 4k
𓂃 TAGS ☆ childhood friends, mutual pining, unresolved tension, gojo being down bad, bittersweet, mutual pining, yearning, angst with a happy ending, canon divergence, jujutsu politics, loss of innocence, flashbacks, possesive and jealous gojo, gojo tells sera they should get married so they can hang out all the time
𓂃 A/N ☆ i wrote this listening to ditto by (free) newjeans on repeat so expect it to be nostalgic and haunting. just satoru and sera transitioning from childhood to their early teens. inshallah nothing traumatic happens to them.
previous chapter masterlist next chapter
Summer 2001
The inside of the cabinet smelled like dust and lacquer and old pine. Satoru’s knees were starting to cramp, and Sera’s pointy elbow had already jabbed him in the ribs at least five times. But he didn’t complain. Her arm was pressed close, and her breath stirred the fine hairs on the side of his neck every time she pressed her ear to the door. She smelled like milk and honey. It was weird and nice.
Outside, the elders were in the middle of another meeting. Important adults saying important things. Something about alliances, about them. Because it was always about them. It was Sera’s idea to hide here and listen. He felt her shift beside him. He didn’t need to look to know she was frowning, paying attention.
“…if the Kaneko girl stabilizes, it might be prudent to consider a potential marriage.”
His stomach dropped. She went stiff.
“Agreed. There may be merit to binding them.”
Marriage? Binding them?
He turned his head just slightly, meeting Sera’s wide eyes. Tiny dots of light fell on her face in the pattern of the door rattan, and she looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“Marriage between the heirs would not only unify the clans,” someone added, “it could possibly restore the accelerated evolution we saw during the Heian era. Imagine the offspring.”
His entire body cringed at the last word. Sera mouthed it in horror, her eyebrows nearly vanishing into her hairline.
“I wouldn’t say she’d be a right fit for the role. The hair incident was quite disturbing. What kind of girl cuts her hair like a delinquent?”
“There’s plenty of time to correct her habits. The last Kaneko matriarch was rebellious, too. And she was tamed just fine.”
“And they’re already close, aren’t they? Always together. Childhood bonds make for obedient alliances.”
“But sentimentality can be dangerous,” someone countered. “Emotion clouds judgement. Attachment makes people predictable, vulnerable.”
“Besides, the boy is a case in his own. Will he even tolerate a bride?”
They laughed. Satoru didn’t notice his fists ready to push the door open, not until Sera stopped him from blowing their hiding spot.
“He’ll have no choice. It’s his duty, after all.”
They discussed some other useless topics before leaving the room, clicking the door shut behind them. Satoru was trying to make sense out of the things they just had to hear when Sera shoved him with all her might. He stumbled, knocking against the wall of the cabinet.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“I will never, ever marry you,” she said, her voice sharp, pointing a finger at his face. “Or anyone else.”
He slapped her finger away and pushed her back by the shoulders.
“I don’t wanna marry you either, dumbass. You look like a boy now, anyway.”
She gasped. “I don’t look like a boy!”
“You cut your hair!” he accused, he’d been hoarding the feeling of betrayal all day. “And you didn’t even tell me!”
“It’s my hair, what do you care?”
“It was long, like your mom’s,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. “I liked it better.”
They glared at each other in the dark, unwilling to make amends, but the cabinet made that decision for them. With a groan and a snap, the back panel slipped loose. They tumbled into the room, landing in a heap, groaning loudly. Satoru tried to disentangle his sleeve from her stupid hair, but— no, wait, she had no hair anymore. It was short, almost as short as his. It was actually her arm.
He pushed her off and sat up, disoriented, just in time to see the sharp click of heels.
Sera’s mother stood above them, amusement written all over her face. She looked like a garden statue, with waves and waves of caramel hair covering her shoulders, going past her elbows. She always made Satoru’s breath stutter.
“Oh dear,” she said, covering her mouth with a manicured hand, eyes smiling. “Is this how the great clans forge alliances these days?”
The kids turned red, glancing at each other. They shouted at the same time.
“What?!”
“Mom?!”
Her mother laughed, a sound like porcelain chimes. She was beautiful in a haunting way. Long dark lashes, kind lips, and eyes like Sera’s, but way warmer. Softer.
“If you’re going to go around spying on the elders, you’ll need more stealth training. Come,” she said, waving them over. “There’s raw yatsuhashi in the kitchen. And milk tea.”
Satoru scrambled to his feet, brushing dust off his clothes. Sera was slower. She stood up, shoulders tense, lips pressed into a line, before her mother gave her a look and ran her hand through her short hair. Only then she relaxed.
She turned to him, nose scrunched and mean eyes.
“Sucker.”
Her mother gasped. “Sera! What’s this behavior?”
Satoru watched as she ran ahead.
She’d been different since she cut her hair. He hadn’t realized how much it bothered him until it was gone. She looked… sharper. Acted bolder, sometimes more than him, often getting them into trouble.
Her mother caught him staring. Her smile had started to slip, like she couldn’t hold it in place any longer.
“Forgive her, Gojo-san,” she said. “She doesn’t always know how to be kind to the people she cares about. But she tries, in her own way.”
Walking next to her mother down the long corridor, Satoru couldn’t stop thinking about the things the elders talked about, and the look on Sera’s face when she heard them. About the way her mother looked at her, like something sweet could cancel out something bitter. And how she always smelled like sweet powdery perfume mixed with something sharp and pungent, similar to his uncle’s breath when he’d fall asleep in the drawing room.
He didn’t understand the full weight of it yet. But even at eleven, some part of him wanted to reach out, pull them both away from the things that made her think she needed to butcher her hair. Away from her jerk of a father. Away from the stupid oldheads that sat in dark rooms and came up with stupid plans.
He didn’t have a plan for it. But he would, one day. And once he became head of his clean, he’d deal with them. Every single one of them.
Fall 2002
The Kaneko library was big enough to get lost in, but Satoru knew his way around. He didn’t care about scrolls or treaties or what some dead guy wrote upside down five hundred years ago. What he did care about was that Sera was somewhere in here.
He could hear her laugh.
With Miyu.
He found them cross-legged on a woven mat between the foreign language shelves. Sera was flipping through an atlas with glossy, sun-drenched photos of South America’s cliffs, ruins, and old cathedrals. She looked lit up from the inside, Miyu had a pencil stuck behind her ear and a half-eaten cookie in her mouth.
They didn’t notice him at first. Sometimes he suspected they pretended not to, just to mess with him. It worked sometimes.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, louder than necessary.
Miyu looked up, always pursing her lips at him. “Nothing you'd care about, Gojo-sama.”
“I might.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Sera replied, not even looking up.
He hovered a second longer, hands in his pockets. “Aren’t you supposed to be training?”
“I am. I’m studying The Odd Eye Pilgrimage,” she replied, turning a page, talking to Miyu. “There's a monastery in Morocco that records technique development through salt stains. Isn’t that cool?”
“No,” he lied.
Satoru couldn’t understand what she was so excited about. As soon as the Odd Eye manifested, they’d ship her off from one dusty sanctuary to another for years, making her bow to old fossils and stare at rocks until enlightenment slapped her in the face. All in the name of perfecting her technique. As if staring at the universe and focusing on her breath could convince it to blink back.
Years wasted meditating with people who probably hadn’t seen a curse in decades. While the world keeps burning, and the rest of them were expected to just… wait for her. Not even allowed to visit or call. It was ridiculous.
“Jealous?” Miyu asked, cocking her eyebrow.
The Kaneko hair couldn’t be sent away on her own, so a companion had to go with her. And someone decided it would be Sohara Miyu.
“Of what? You?” he scoffed. “Sure. There’s nothing I want more than to get dragged across the world to sleep on the floor, get eaten by mosquitoes, and live off grass and boiled roots. Sounds like a dream if you ask me.”
Miyu stands up, brushing crumbs off her skirt. “Still sounds jealous to me, what do you think that says about you?”
“What does that even mean—”
But Miyu was already walking off, muttering something like stupid under her breath. He didn’t care, because finally it was just the two of them. Sera kept her eyes on the book, tracing a path through the ocean from South America to Africa, but Satoru could tell she wasn’t reading anymore.
He kicked lightly at her shin. “Yo. Let’s do it.”
“No.”
“C’mon.”
“No.”
“You always say no.”
“Because it’s forbidden.”
“So?”
“So?” she echoed. “That’s your big argument?”
Satoru flopped onto the floor beside her, letting out the most dramatic sigh known to mankind, staring at the ceiling. He’d been trying for weeks to get her to use Threaded Gaze on him, but she wouldn’t budge.
“I’m me. I’m the Six Eyes, it’s not like you can kill me or anything. What’s one peek? Just, see what my soul looks like or whatever. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fun.”
Sera sighed, closing the book. “You’re so annoying.”
“Fine,” he said, angry now. “Then don’t do it.”
A beat. She eyed him, sensing that the rejection was getting to him.
“Actually…” she said slowly. His head whipped to her.
“Wait, really?”
She smiled. But it wasn’t her usual smile. It was the sharp on that made her look like a fox. She crawled closer to him, sitting up with her legs folded underneath her, and pulled a red string from her pocket. She always had some with her.
“Close your eyes,” she ordered.
Satoru mirrored her stance and closed them immediately, taking a deep breath. Finally, finally, finally.
“Take down your infinity.”
He hesitated. He’d faced curses, assassins, cursed assassins. But nothing ever made his heart go fast like this. He took it down, she didn’t need to touch him or anything, right? He’d seen her use the technique many times before. He’d joked it was infrared-based once. She had a little ritual of asking for permission and forgiveness, Satoru felt like it was a waste of time, but she said it was important.
“Relax,” she whispered.
He tried. He really did. But his heart wouldn’t stop racing up. He heard her shift closer, her hands on his cheeks. The pads of her thumbs hovered above his eyes.
And then—she rubbed something across both lids. Wet. It made him gasp and flinch.
“What the hell?”
He opened his eyes.
Sera was already standing and moving away from him, thumbs stained black, the pot of ink spilled on the floor, laughing maniacally.
“What have you done?” he stuttered, touching his eyes, staring at his hand in sheer horror. It looked like a squid took a dump on his fingers
“You made it too easy.”
“You painted my eyes?! Are you crazy?”
She sprinted, and Satoru leapt to his feet, furious and flustered and ready to chase her into the afterlife. How dare she smear his beautiful eyes? Did she know what they were worth?
“Sera! Get back here.”
She’d kicked her sandals off to run even faster, laughter echoing down the hall. She glanced back over her shoulder, tongue sticking out, eyes wild and crazy.
Her hair had grown since last year. It was choppy, almost reaching her jaw, with tiny bangs that reached the middle of her forehead. With the ink-stained sleeves of her robes and the sun catching her profile, she looked like something out of an animated movie.
Like a feral princess, he thought stupidly, stopping. Like San.
“She’s so ugly,” he muttered aloud to no one, before picking up speed after her.
It didn’t matter how fast she was. He’d catch her. He always did.
Spring 2003
The Kaneko estate always looked better at night. Maybe it was that her father went to sleep early, and he was never around to ruin the fun with his annoying voice. Satoru stepped out of the warp with a quiet hum, landing between two moss-covered stones. Fireflies blinked lazily in the dark. Somewhere not far, an old radio crackled from the guardhouse.
Back at the Gojo estate, he’d fluffed a couple of pillows under his blanket. If the house staff came to check, they’d have no reason to suspect he was anywhere but home.
He made his way to the greenhouse —her mother’s greenhouse— guided by the soft gold string lights along the path. The glass was fogged and it was covered in vines, but inside it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Wild herbs growing out of cracked porcelain. Plants suspended in water, with alien like roots. All sorts of wind chimes.
Sera was already waiting for him inside, cross-legged on a wooden table, switching hands over her face. She covered her right eye. Waited. Removed it. Covered her left. Waited. Removed it. Again and again.
Satoru leaned on the doorframe. “Still nothing?”
She jumped slightly, startled, but her shoulders relaxed when she saw him. “No.”
“You’re trying too hard.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Didn’t care to be quiet about it, the greenhouse was far enough that no one would hear the creaking. “You can’t force it, y’know.”
Sera didn’t answer. She looked tired, always did lately. Training until late at night, waking up too early. She was starting to get dark circles under her eyes, but Satoru thought they were kind of cool. He joined her at the table. Her hand was stained with chalk and dirt, her nails were bitten raw.
“You’ll get it,” he said casually. He didn’t know what else to say. He was never good with words. Maybe he should start working on that.
“Yeah. I have to.”
They sat in silence. Satoru felt the words he’d been thinking about rising before he meant them to.
“I don’t think it would be that bad… If we did get married.”
Sera looked at him like his hair had suddenly turned neon green. Horror painted all over her face.
“What?!”
“I’m just saying.” He tried not to sound nervous, to be cool about it and not to raise his voice to her level. “No more sneaking around. I could just be here.”
She’d never want to move back to the Gojo estate, not without figuring out a way to move the lake and the crows there. She blinked, eyes still wide open, going all over his face like she was trying to see through his skin.
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard terrible ideas from you. Are you insane?”
“Ok. Alright. Relax. I’m not telling you we need to have babies or anything—”
“Ew, dude—”
“—I’m saying it would be practical! It’s not like we’re in love or anything, dumbass.”
“No way.” She hopped off the table. “I don’t want us to be like our parents.”
Satoru snorted.
“You mean like my dad and your mom?”
Sera shot him a dark look. They’d figured that one out together a long time ago. But she just didn’t like to talk or think about it. Gojo didn’t care, in fact, he couldn’t find it in him to blame his father.
“No. I mean my parents. How they’re together, but they’re not. They used to be friends, and now they hate each other, and they’re always alone in the same room.”
He had no argument against that. Outside, crickets purred their lullaby. Sera grabbed a couple of cloaks and tossed him one.
“Come on. Stop talking nonsense. I want to show you something.”
The forest was softer in spring. They walked beneath the orange trees and dew-laced spiderwebs. The moon had already shifted since he arrived. It hung low now, pale and massive. They passed by a rock wall swallowed by ivy. A tall, heavy metal door was carved into it. Seamless and sealed, so it was definitely important. Satoru had never noticed it before.
“What’s that?”
“Vault door,” Sera replied, not stopping. “I’ll be able to go inside when I’m clan head.”
He stared at it a moment longer before catching up. He was still curious about it and could probably open it, if he wanted to, but it felt like too much work.
“Wow. You sound like you actually want to be clan head. Changed your mind?”
“It’ll happen whether I want it or not, so I’m getting used to the idea.”
It was a thirty minute hike before they reached the clearing and the lake. The clouds pulled back, and a flower field glowed in the moonlight, wrapping the lake from all sides. Cream, lilac, pale green flowers bloomed in impossible shapes, filling the space like a blanket. Their scent was sweet and spicy, like stardust cinnamon.
In the distance, the waterfall sizzled quietly, filling the midnight wind with a mist that could damp you or soak you the closer you walked to the plunge.
“They bloom once a year,” Sera said, taking her hood off and letting it fall to the floor. “The elders dry them in the sun and smoke them for vision trances. My mom says they used to crown the whole mountain range years ago.”
Satoru plucked one, a drop of a milky substance pooled at the end. He thought of chewing it. Miyu’s mother was getting really into decorating her cakes with tiny wild flowers, but she’d told them she made sure to pick them carefully, some could be poisonous.
“You wanna try?”
She shrugged, “If you want to.”
“Another day?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Sera sat down and began weaving the stems into a circle. Satoru stretched before dropping to the floor, deciding to compromise and pop the little flower between his lips.
“They grew from the same fallen star that gave Tengen her powers.”
That voice meant she expected Satoru to listen and shut up. Sometimes he couldn’t care less, sometimes she talked about super boring things that made him want to take a nap, but she got all butthurt if he made it too obvious.
Long before jujutsu techniques had names and clans existed, the sky split open above this forest, and a meteorite struck the earth, making the land rumble all across the island and killing thousands. The impact left a crater deep in the ground and cut a line across the mountain range, birthing a waterfall that filled the crater, making a lake.
This one seemed worth listening to, so he lifted his chest to look at her handiwork, with his chin propped up in his palm.
But the meteorite wasn’t just some random, boring rock. It was a piece of the corpse of a star, full of minerals, metals, and soils that had never touched the earth before. It also carried energy that didn’t belong, and life around it warped. Trees grew taller than they should, animals got harder and harder to hunt, and then the flowers appeared.
People wrote poems about how their roots drank from the star-infused soil and propagated only within the range of the crater lake. The first jujutsu writers theorized that Tengen found them during one of her travels around the area, looking for something that no one else understood. That she wasn’t born immortal, but became it. And that it was the flowers and the lake that answered and awakened her.
She popped the chain onto his head. It sagged between his ears, it made her snort and scrunch her nose.
“You look like a mushroom king.”
“Yeah? You look like a swamp creature.”
From the first time he saw it, he felt something odd about the lake. The water always felt different, like it had a will and it followed a different set of rules. Even Infinity reacted to it. He usually discarded her old tales, but he could believe this one. It clicked, this wasn’t just a beautiful place, it was charged and more sacred than any shrine he’d been forced into.
A rustle. Satoru sat up, senses spiked. Between the tall silver grasses, something moved. Sera grabbed his shoulders, reining him back. She always insisted that there was nothing to fear around the area, that him getting all defensive was an insult to the forest.
It was a small pup —skinny, fur mangy around the ribs— but its eyes gleamed sharp as a blade. And beside it—
A second shadow. Taller. Stockier. Defensive. A mom. A wolf mom.
Sera pushed him down to the floor with her. The mother stopped and stared around.
“I think it’s a Honshu wolf,” she whispered, breath hitching. “I knew it.”
He frowned, spitting grass. “I thought they were extinct.”
The pair of wolves walked past, disappearing down the hill, away from sight.
“I’ve read rumors on the web, of people seeing them in rural areas. I think I can sync with it,” she said, eyes bright.
He met her eyes and nodded firmly. “Do it.”
She grinned. “Help me get a picture. You brought your camera, right?”
Satoru nodded, his hands trembling slightly as they pulled out the digicam from his pants pocket. It was always thrilling to see her use the technique. She got all excited, it was contagious.
Sera sat cross-legged, wrapping the red string around her wrists in an intrinsic knot, and quietly started to ask for permission and forgiveness.
The moment it hit, Satoru felt it.
Satoru stared at her as it approached, slow and curious. She looked kind of malnourished, too. Probably still drained after weaning, and her eyes now held rings of gold. He clicked the shutter, and the flash made her pull back and shake her head. Next to him, Sera sat still like a statue, eyes closed and wrists wrapped in golden light, furrowing her brow briefly but breathing steadily.
He reached out and touched its head. The fur was coarse, but warm and real. She nipped at his hand, playfully grazing his skin with her canines. Sera’s laugh echoed from inside the wolf’s chest. It hadn't been nearly enough to cut him, but he'd recently learned about rabies, and flinched by instinct.
He grinned.
“You want a treat?”
Later, they collapsed in the flowerbed, side by side, heads almost touching. The Honshu wolf was far away now, and her puppy, trailing behind her, pointed his snout in the air. He could still smell the two small humans, and he couldn’t understand what made them different from the others they’d encountered from afar.
Sera was flipping through the photos on the digicam.
“They totally were Honshu wolves, I swear. Look at the neck ruff, and the hind legs, see how it slopes? I wish could post them online, but the wrong people are gonna try looking for them.”
Satoru wasn’t listening. He watched the stars blink, one by one. His fingers still smelled like dirty fur. He was trying to memorize this. The way it felt to rest here, happy and sad at the same time. He took a peek at her bitten fingernail resting over the button of his camera.
Sometimes she drew blood, and whined every time she washed her hands. He didn’t like thinking about it, just like he didn’t like to think about Morocco and those stupid salty techniques.
You’re wrong, we could never be like them.
Not like her parents, sad and bitter.
Not like his parents, though he barely knew them.
Not like her mother and his father, doomed and hidden.
The moon had shifted again. Time moved without asking for permission. It never did.
“It’s getting late,” he said, voice raspy from being quiet for too long. “If I don’t get back before sunrise…”
Sera didn’t answer right away. She placed the camera down and reached over, closing her fist around his sleeve tightly, wrinkling it. It must’ve hurt her raw nails.
“No,” she said. “We still have time.”
It wasn’t just about the sunrise. He knew that. She didn’t say stay, didn’t have to. But he knew she didn’t want him to go, just as he didn’t want her to. And Satoru, staring up at the sky that looked wider than it ever had before, felt finally, completely, utterly content.
feedback is always nice and gives me a huge boost to keep going, so don't be shy and drop a comment if you've liked the story so far.
btw if you want to get a visual idea of what sera's hair looks like during the last scene, look up jiyu from kiiikiii <3
More lore bites:
- Yes Satoru's father and Sera's mother are having an affair.
- Her mother's maiden name is Yamato Mayomi.
- Sera's father accused Mayomi of carrying Gojo's father's baby, he was considering divorcing her but then Sera showed up with her Odd Eye.
- Miyu intentionally hoards Sera's attention to fuck with Satoru.
- The Odd Eye technique implies that the user sees with one eye to the present, and one eye to the future. It takes a huge toll on the mind and needs a deep understanding of cursed energy.
- The Odd Eye Pilgrimage is basically a tour around the world where the wielder trains in seclusion, meditating and refining the technique away from society. Once they return, they're expected to no longer be who they were, to lose all attachment to family and loved ones. They should be completely impartial, like a blank page.
- Yes i got the Odd Eye name from Odd Eye Circle. I am, first and foremost, a loona deep state agent.
IMPORTANT: I went back and tweaked the earlier chapters, it was necessary i promise. i sprinkled in some foreshadowing. honestly i kind of ate so if you're curious, you might wanna go back and see for yourself.
summary: with your clan on the brink of extinction, the elders make a desperate deal to save your family’s bloodline. The Gojo clan offers protection– but at a cost, a powerful male heir.
But, unknowst to the Gojos, there is no male heir. Only you. So, you leave your identity behind and surrender to your cruel fate. A new name. A new appearance. A person that never existed. But how long will this deception last, before Gojo Satoru unravels the truth?
Because in this tale of deceit and anguish lies a twisted fate of love. As nothing true can emerge out of a web of lies after all.
18+ mdni
cws: sacrilege, emotional manipulation, religious guilt, geto is... a little off his rocker, reader is into it tho, degradation, ??? impure thoughts, m!masturbation
2.4k words
"bless me, father, for i have sinned."
you've only spoken those words a fair few times in your life. you'd always been the good girl that your parents prayed for, the one they poured their hearts and souls into raising. and then you left for college, abandoning your small hometown for the big city where you made new friends, adopted a new, more secular, lifestyle. you'd lost yourself, allowed yourself to be swept away in a current of impurity, the consequences of which failed to plague you until you returned home.
once you set foot upon the dirt road you grew up on, the guilt began to creep in. its roots grabbed you, wrapping around your feet, your torso, snaking up to your throat where it gripped you with the force of the angels, strangling you. your chest tightened, breath quickening and you felt the unavoidable dread settle in your stomach. it was too real. what you'd done while you were away. the walls in your old bedroom felt too tall, too close together, you were running out of air. so you ran. your body carried you, kicking up the dust beneath your feet as you went to the only place you felt you could go. the church.
when you arrived, you pushed open the heavy, wooden doors with a loud creak, and called out.
"father?"
it was a new voice that replied. one that belonged to a tall, slender, youngman, with onyx hair longer than yours and eyes that burned into you. you were unaware that there had been a change since your time away. now, the one representing your church was father geto.
"my last confession was… seven years ago." the statement rolls off your tongue more like a question, feeling a little unsure of yourself. you don't remember exactly how long it's been since you'd had anything to confess. "these are my sins."
there's a stretch of silence that follows your words. the shame that has burrowed within your brain causes your body to feel tense, your face and chest flush with heat as you struggle in silence, trying to figure out where to start. on the other side of the lattice wall, it's quiet. you're unfamiliar with this priest, and a small part of you wishes he was your old one, the one you were more comfortable with, whom you had more confidence in. another pang of guilt strikes you in the chest. you shouldn't discredit this man, he is too, a man of god.
"go on." the new priest finally speaks up.
you're not sure how much time passed while you were occupied with your spiraling thoughts. clearing your throat, you begin.
"umm… well, i went to college. i-i mean, that's not the sin. sorry. i mean that in college, i was bad." you're tripping over your words, still working up the courage to put it all out on the table.
in the other side of the dark confessional, geto is listening intently. yes, to what you're trying to share with him, but also to the soft, saccharine sound of your voice, the trembling cadence that leaves him with a feeling of intrigue.
"i did drugs, i guess. smoked marijuana and i drank alcohol. like, a lot." you swallow loudly. that part was already hard to get out, and it's only going to get worse. now, you have to tell him about how you gave up any last ounce of purity within you on one drunken night during spring break, to a man you'd just met.
"and i, um, forni—" you cut yourself off. you can't do it, can't say it. "i'm sorry. i don't want to say it."
geto's cock twitches subtly at your near confession. how interesting.
"would you like my help to guide you?" he offers with an innocent tone and intentions that are far from that.
"yes, please, father geto."
the meek quality to your response, and fuck, the way you say his name and title, he can't help it when his cock jumps again.
"sometimes, it is easier to express the particulars of your sins, rather than simply state them."
"i'm not sure i understand what you mean."
"tell me," he starts slowly, "what exactly you did when you fornicated. that is what you were starting to say, was it not?"
"o-oh." you raise a hand to the golden cross resting around your neck, sending out a silent prayer for courage. "yes, it was." you're sweating now, the temperature in the box feels sweltering. you're scared to do as he says, but maybe he's right, maybe it will help. and indeed, you find that once the words start to come out, they don't stop.
"i was on vacation with some friends. we went to the beach that day, where we met some other people our age and had a few drinks with them. it was just fun. and this guy, he was talking to me a lot and i thought he was cute."
you're explaining more than you need to, setting the scene for geto, and in his mind's eye he can see it. well, you. at the beach, in your bathing suit. was it a one-piece? or maybe a bikini? you probably got far away from your parents and couldn't help but show a little skin.
"we hung out the whole day, and then he asked if he could come back to the hotel with me." your voice dips, "and i said yes."
you pause, waiting for a scandalized gasp or for him to chastise you for your decision. but it never comes, just the sound of quiet breathing on the other side.
"he was just… nice. i don't know. and it seemed like he really cared about me. i think? i just thought, would it really be so bad?"
those last few statements tell geto all he needs to know. he can already tell that on the surface you're 'good', or at least you think you are. but really, how much of a good girl are you if you're just going to give it up to the first boy who shows interest in you. like a whore.
his robes are loose but they feel tight, and even through the draping material it's evident — the tent that's forming at the apex of his thighs.
"so yeah. then we… you know."
you try to end it there, but geto's not going to let you get away with just that. he needs more. "that's all?" he goads, "how am i- how is god supposed to forgive your sins if you can't admit them to yourself?"
he's right, you think. so you continue.
"he kissed me first. it was tender and he held me close to him-"
"where?" he cuts you off.
"in the hotel room?" you answer, confused by the question.
"no. where did he hold you?" he clarifies.
"oh. my back, then my hips, and then… he, um, held my breasts."
geto lowers a hand to palm at his bulge. so, you'd let him touch your tits just like that? god, you were easy. you probably let him touch your virgin pussy after that too.
again, he's right.
"and then we moved and he laid me down on the bed. he asked if he could touch me more, down there."
his breathing is heavier, he thinks you can hear the change but he doesn't acknowledge it. instead he asks, "did it feel good?"
you hesitate. you don't want to admit that it did, you weren't supposed to like that, not with a stranger. but you can't lie in the house of god. "sometimes? depending on what he did, i guess."
"tell me what he did that you liked."
"w-well, it felt good when he rubbed me. like, not inside, but-"
"but when he touched your clit, you mean," he finishes for you.
"yeah, that. it felt good inside too, but it wasn't, i don't know. enough?"
geto believes you. he's sure some college boy wouldn't be big enough for you, that their hands wouldn't be able to reach that sweet spot on the anterior side of your walls. they wouldn't be able to curl their fingers right while they pumped them in and out of you. not like he could.
"mhmm. and what after?" his voice has dropped an octave, it's rougher now.
the hand that was pressing against himself slips beneath the cloth to wrap around his throbbing cock and a sigh escapes his lips before he can stop it. and you hear it. it sounds familiar, now. now that you know what a sigh of relief sounds like, the memory of that exact thing replaying in your mind as you remember the moment when your one night stand finally got to sink inside you.
is he… aroused? no. definitely not. wait, am i? you shake your head to expel your thoughts and distract yourself from the warmth that you feel in your core now.
"after that he asked if we could have sex."
geto swipes his thumb over his slit, collecting the dribble of precum that was there, then glides it around the head, pressing gently on his frenulum before his hand descends down his shaft in one fluid motion. his teeth are digging painfully into his bottom lip, trying to avoid another slip up.
"and that felt better than what we did before."
"how did he take you?"
"what do you mean?"
fuck, you were always playing so coy. acting like you didn't understand what he was asking you. "what position did he have you in?"
"well, i was on my back and he was on top of me, if that's what you mean."
"missionary. yeah." he grits out, starting to pump himself languidly. "did you enjoy that one?" it's not his favorite, but he has to admit, it would be nice to be able to see your face. to know what kind of expression you wear when you're being stuffed full, when you finally come undone. you have a pretty face, it was the first thing he noticed about you, and he's sure he can make it look prettier.
"it was intimate. i liked that." of course you did. probably made you feel better about spreading your legs for a man you'd just met.
"did it hurt? sometimes it does the first time."
"no, it didn't hurt." he should have guessed. should have known that whoever you were with wouldn't be big enough to stretch you out right. and he knows you're so fucking tight, he wants to feel the way your walls would wrap around his girth, the way they'd clamp down on him, fighting to never let him go.
"was that the only way you tried?"
"yes. he didn't… have the energy to keep going." you feel bad revealing that, maybe because you'd hoped for more and he wasn't able to give it to you, so you feel sorry for him. his incompetence. you wonder if father geto would be able to.
"poor thing, but you wanted more, didn't you?" it was like he could read your mind.
just listening to you, geto's not sure he's ever been this hard. even as he strokes himself it feels like he can't get any relief, his hand isn't enough but it'll have to be, at least for today.
more heat blooms in your cheeks, your hand holding the cross within it tighter, your knees knocking together as you close your legs like he might be able to see the wetness under your skirt through the partition. "i wanted more," you confirm. "i'm sorry. that's wrong, isn't it?"
no. what's wrong is that you were left unsatisfied. that you'd wasted your virginity on a lousy fuck and the only good thing about that is the fact that that boynever got to know what it felt like to have your fluttering cunt milking him dry. he didn't deserve that.
but geto can't say that, because he doesn't know the way you're rubbing your thighs together, trying to create any friction to ease the aching between them. he doesn't know how you're picturing the same thing he is — that it was him who was inside you instead. so he settles on, "it's only natural."
"r-right." you stutter when another brush of your legs inches the flimsy fabric covering your pussy between your slick folds, catching on your clit.
"would you do it again?" he's fisting his cock harder now, squeezing tighter, trying to replicate the sensation he's envisioning.
"i would, but, not with him." i would with you, goes unsaid. but the message gets across, cutting through the tension that settled between you both and you hear him grunt. it's gruff, deep, and it makes your stomach flip, you want him to do it again. surely it's okay to think that, it's natural, he'd said so himself.
geto's restraint is slipping, that much is obvious with his increasing vocalizations, and he doesn't care. not when he's so close now, his release waiting for him, he just needs one more push. soft pants cascade through the holes in the wall, flowing in and out of both sides of the confessional.
"that's not what a good girl would say. are you a good girl?" the words come out ragged, broken with minuscule groans littered between them.
you want to weigh your answer, but you know he's waiting for it and before you can stop yourself the truth spills out, "i would be for you."
"god," he moans, unabashed, "yeah, you would." and with that, he finally gets his release. the orgasm that's been building since you stepped foot in his house crashes over him, sticky, white ropes of cum splattering on the inside of his robes.
he's still catching his breath when reality sets in for you. what he'd you'd just done. where you'd just done it. and then you're running again. out the doors of the church and along the dirt road home, to the place you first wished to escape.
you're swimming in a mix of shame, embarrassment, and arousal. but when the sun sets and you're left alone in the darkness of your room, one of those wins out, and you find yourself sliding a hand between your thighs.
likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡
a/n: i acc had sm fun writing this wtf i might do a part 2 if you guys enjoyed ( •̯́ ₃ •̯̀)
𓂃 CHAPTER SYNOPSIS ☆
“Close your eyes,” she ordered.
Satoru mirrored her stance and shut his eyes without question, taking a slow breath. She smelled like milk and honey. Finally, finally, finally.
“Take down your infinity.”
He hesitated. He’d faced curses, assassins, cursed assassins. But nothing ever made his heart race like this. Still, he dropped it. She didn’t need to touch him, he knew that. He’d seen her use the technique before, joked once that it was infrared-based. But if she did reach out, he wouldn’t mind. A part of him hoped she would.
𓂃 GENRE ☆ angst and fluff
𓂃 WORD COUNT ☆ 4k
𓂃 TAGS ☆ childhood friends, mutual pining, unresolved tension, gojo being down bad, bittersweet, yearning, angst with a happy ending, canon divergence, jujutsu politics, loss of innocence, flashbacks, possesive and jealous gojo, gojo tells sera they should get married so they can hang out all the time
𓂃 A/N ☆ i wrote this listening to ditto by (free) newjeans on repeat so expect it to be nostalgic and haunting. just satoru and sera transitioning from childhood to their early teens. inshallah nothing traumatic happens to them.
previous chapter masterlist next chapter
Summer 2001
The inside of the cabinet was a gas chamber of dust and lacquer and old pine. Satoru’s knees were starting to cramp, Sera’s pointy elbow had already jabbed him in the ribs at least five times. But he didn’t complain. Her arm was pressed close against him, and her breath stirred the fine hairs on the side of his neck every time she pressed her ear to the door. It was weird and nice at the same time.
Outside, in the room, the elders were in the middle of another meeting. Important adults discussing important things. Something about strategies, about them. Because it was always about them. And it was Sera’s idea to hide here and listen. He felt her shift beside him. He didn’t need to look to know her eyes were focused on a dark corner of the cabinet, paying close attention to the elder's words and doing everything to avoid his face. She was too easy to make laugh, one tiny twitch of his face and she'd get them caught.
“…if the Kaneko girl stabilizes, it might be prudent to consider a potential marriage.”
His stomach dropped. She went stiff.
“Agreed.”
He turned his head slowly, meeting Sera’s wide eyes that mirrored his own. Tiny dots of light fell on her face in the pattern of the door rattan, she looked like a deer caught in fragmented headlights.
Marriage? With who?
For some reason, perhaps because they'd had to hang out with him at a funeral, he thought of Zenin Naoya's stupid face and voice trying to make conversation with them.
“Formally binding the heirs might not just unify the clans,” someone added. “perhaps it could restore the accelerated evolution we saw during the Heian era."
A part of him released. They were still talking about them.
"Think of the offspring.”
And just when he felt himself relax, his entire body cringed. Sera mouthed offspring in horror, her eyebrows nearly vanishing into her hairline.
“I wouldn’t say she’d be a right fit for the role. The hair incident was quite disturbing. What kind of girl cuts her hair like a delinquent?”
“There’s plenty of time to correct her habits. The last Kaneko matriarch was rebellious, too. And she was tamed just fine.”
“And they’re already close, aren’t they? Always together. Childhood bonds make for obedient alliances.”
“But sentimentality can be dangerous,” someone countered. “Emotion clouds judgement. Attachment makes people predictable, vulnerable.”
“Besides, the boy is a case on his own. Will he even tolerate a wife?”
Their laughs stabbed their ears. Satoru didn’t notice his fists ready to push the door open, until Sera grabbed his elbow and stopped him from doing anything rash.
“It’s his duty. He’ll have no choice.”
The rest of the conversation was a blur that ended with the doors clicking shut behind them. Satoru was trying to make sense out of it when Sera pressed her forearms to his chest and shoved him with all her might. He stumbled, knocking against the wall of the cabinet. When did she get this strong?
“Ow! What was that for?”
“I will never, ever marry you,” she snapped, her voice sharp, pointing a finger at his face. “Or anyone else.”
He slapped her hand away and pushed her back by the shoulders.
“I don’t wanna marry you either, dumbass. You look like a boy now, anyway.”
She gasped. “I don’t look like a boy!”
“You cut your hair!” he accused, he’d been hoarding the feeling of betrayal all day. “And you didn’t even tell me!”
“It’s my hair, what do you care?”
“It was long, like your mom’s,” he muttered, crossing his arms and looking away. “It looked better.”
They glared at each other in the dark, unwilling to make amends or step out, but the cabinet made that decision for them. With a groan and a snap, the back panel slipped loose. They tumbled into the room, landing in a heap, groaning loudly. Satoru tried to disentangle his sleeve from her stupid hair, but— no, wait, she had no hair anymore. It was short, almost as short as his.
He pushed her off roughly, not caring if it hurt her, and sat up. Disoriented, just in time to hear the sharp click of heels.
Sera’s mother stood above them, amusement written all over her features. She looked like a garden statue, with waves and waves of caramel hair covering her shoulders, going past her elbows. She always made Satoru’s breath stutter.
“Oh dear,” she said, covering her mouth with a manicured hand, warm eyes smiling. “Is this how the great clans forge alliances these days?”
The kids turned red, glancing at each other. They shouted at the same time.
“What?!”
“Mom!”
Her mother laughed, a sound like porcelain chimes. She was beautiful in a haunting way. Long dark lashes, berry lips, eyes like Sera’s, just less sharp. Kinder.
“If you’re going to go around spying on the elders, you’ll need more stealth training. Come,” she said, waving them over. “There’s raw yatsuhashi in the kitchen. And milk tea.”
Satoru scrambled to his feet, brushing dust off his clothes. Sera was slower. She stood up, shoulders tense, lips pressed into a line, before her mother gave her a look and ran her hand through her short hair. Only then she relaxed.
She turned to him, nose scrunched and mean eyes.
“Sucker.”
Her mother gasped. “Sera! What’s this behavior?”
Satoru watched as she ran ahead, he would've had a retort ready, maybe grabbed her by the hair, inevitably starting another fight. But with her mother's presence, he felt uncharacteristically shy. Sera had been different since she cut her hair. He hadn’t realized how much it bothered him until it was gone. She looked… sharper. Acted bolder, sometimes more than him, often getting them into trouble, escalating fights rather than brushing him off.
Her mother caught him staring. Her smile had started to slip, like she couldn’t hold it in place any longer.
“Forgive her, Gojo-san,” she said. “She doesn’t always know how to be kind to the people she cares about. But she tries, in her own way.”
Walking next to her mother down the long corridor, Satoru couldn’t stop thinking about the things the elders talked about. About the way her mother looked at her, like something sweet could cancel out something bitter. And how she always smelled like sweet powdery perfume mixed with something sharp and pungent, similar to his uncle’s breath when he’d fall asleep in the drawing room.
He didn’t understand the full weight of it yet. But even at eleven, some part of him wanted to reach out, pull them both away from the things that made her think she needed to butcher her hair. Away from her useless father and the stupid oldheads that sat in dark rooms and came up with stupid plans.
He didn’t have a plan for it. But he would, one day. And once they became head of their clans, they'd deal with them. Every single one of them.
Fall 2002
The Kaneko library was big enough to get lost in, but Satoru knew his way around. He didn’t care about scrolls or treaties or what some dead guy wrote upside down five hundred years ago. What he did care about was that Sera was somewhere in here. He could hear her laugh bouncing off the shelves, unknowingly guiding him.
With Miyu.
He found them crosslegged on a woven mat, surrounded by books and snacks. Sera was flipping through an atlas with glossy, sun-drenched photos of South America’s cliffs and ruins. She looked lit up from the inside, Miyu had a brush in her hand and a half-eaten cookie in her mouth, drawing lazy, meaningless strokes with ink on thick paper.
They didn’t notice him at first. Sometimes he suspected they pretended not to, just to mess with him. It worked.
“What’s so funny?” he asked, louder than necessary, reaching down to steal a cookie.
Miyu looked up, always pursing her lips at him, speaking with her mouth full. “Nothing you'd care about, Gojo-sama.”
“I might.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” Sera replied, not even looking up.
He hovered a second longer, grimacing at the dry texture of the granola cookie. “Aren’t you supposed to be training?”
“I am. I’m studying The Odd Eye pilgrimage,” she replied, turning a page, talking to Miyu. “There's a monastery in Morocco that records technique development through salt stains. Isn’t that cool?”
“No,” he lied.
Satoru couldn’t understand her excitement. As soon as the Odd Eye manifested, they’d ship her off from one dusty sanctuary to another for years, making her bow to old fossils and stare at rocks until enlightenment slapped her in the face. All in the name of perfecting her technique. As if staring at the universe and focusing on her breath could convince it to blink back.
Years wasted meditating with people who probably hadn’t seen a curse in decades. And the rest of them were expected to just… wait for her. Not even allowed to visit or call. It was ridiculous, almost as ridiculous as Sera entertaining the idea.
“Jealous?” Miyu asked, cocking her eyebrow.
The Kaneko heir couldn’t be sent away on her own, so a companion had to go with her. And someone decided it would be Sohara Miyu.
“Of what? You?” he scoffed. “Sure. There’s nothing I want more than to get dragged across the world to sleep on the floor, get eaten by mosquitoes, and live off grass and boiled roots. Sounds like a dream if you ask me.”
Miyu stands up, brushing crumbs off her skirt. “Still sounds jealous to me, what does that say about you?”
“What does that even mean?”
But Miyu was already walking off, muttering under her breath that he didn’t care to decipher, because finally, it was just the two of them. Sera kept her eyes on the book, tracing a path through the ocean from South America to Africa, but Satoru could tell she wasn’t reading anymore.
He kicked at her shin, lightly. “Yo. Let’s do it.”
“No.”
“C’mon.”
“No.”
“You always say no.”
“Because it’s forbidden, Satoru.”
“So?”
“So?” she echoed. “That’s your big argument?”
Satoru flopped onto the floor beside her, letting out the most dramatic sigh known to mankind, staring at the ceiling. He’d been trying for weeks to get her to use Threaded Gaze on him, but she wouldn’t budge. He could get her to agree to the craziest, most stupid ideas and schemes, but when it came to testing her technique on him, she refused to give in.
“I’m me. I’m the Six Eyes, it’s not like you can kill me or anything. What’s one peek? Just see what my soul looks like or whatever. It’ll be fine. It’ll be fun. C'mon, Sera.”
She sighed, closing the book. “You’re so annoying.”
“Fine,” he huffed, angry now, sitting up and preparing to leave her to her boredom and stupid books. “Then don’t do it.”
A beat. She eyed him, sensing that the rejection was getting to him.
“Actually…” she said slowly. His head whipped to her.
She smiled. But it wasn’t her usual smile. It was the sharp one that made her look like a fox. She crawled closer to him, sitting up with her legs folded underneath her, and pulled a red string from her pocket. She always had some with her, just in case.
“Close your eyes,” she ordered.
Satoru mirrored her stance and did as told without a peep, taking a deep breath. Finally, finally, finally.
“Take down your infinity.”
He hesitated. He’d faced curses, assassins, cursed assassins. But nothing ever had made his heart go fast like this. He took it down anyway. She didn’t need to touch him or anything, right? He’d seen her use the technique many times before. He’d joked it was infrared-based once. She had a little ritual of asking for permission and forgiveness, Satoru felt like it was a waste of time, but she said it was important. But if she did reach out, he wouldn't mind. A part of his brain that liked to randomly pop out from time to time with sudden, weird ideas hoped she would.
He felt equally confused and repulsed by the thought.
“Relax,” she whispered, making him flinch.
He tried. He really did. But his heart wouldn’t stop racing up. He heard her shift closer, her hands on his cheeks. The pads of her thumbs hovered above his eyes. Her hands were rough from playing with plaster, full of tiny prickly pieces of skin that caught against his', like dry microfiber.
She rubbed them against across both lids. This time, it felt wet. Satoru gasped, jumping back, pushing her arms away.
“What the hell?”
He opened his eyes, his eyelashes felt heavy, casting a dark shadow over his vision.
Sera was already standing and backing away from him, thumbs stained black, the pot of ink spilled on the floor, laughing maniacally.
“What have you done?” he stuttered, touching his eyes, staring at his hand in sheer horror. It looked like a squid took a dump on his fingers. "What is this?"
“You made it too easy.”
“You painted my eyes?! Are you crazy?”
She sprinted, and Satoru leapt to his feet, furious and flustered and ready to chase her into the afterlife. How dare she smear his beautiful eyes? Did she know what they were worth?
“You are so done!”
She’d kicked her sandals off to run even faster, laughter echoing down the hall. She glanced back over her shoulder, tongue sticking out, eyes wild and crazy.
Her hair had grown since last year. It was choppy, almost reaching her jaw, with wispy bangs that reached the middle of her forehead. With the ink-stained sleeves of her robes and the sun catching her profile, she looked like something out of an animated movie.
Like a feral princess, he thought stupidly, pausing in his tracks.
“She’s so ugly,” he muttered aloud to no one, before picking up after her.
It didn’t matter how fast she was. He’d catch her, he always did.
Spring 2003
The Kaneko estate always looked better at night. Maybe it was that her father went to sleep early, and he was never around to ruin the fun with his annoying voice. Satoru stepped out of the warp with a quiet hum, landing between two moss-covered stones. Fireflies blinked lazily in the dark. Somewhere not far, an old radio crackled from the guardhouse.
Back at the Gojo estate, not too far from here, he’d fluffed a couple of pillows under his blanket. If the house staff came to check, they’d have no reason to suspect he was anywhere but home.
He made his way to the greenhouse —her mother’s greenhouse— guided by the soft gold string lights along the path. The glass was fogged and it was covered in vines, but inside it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Wild herbs growing out of cracked porcelain. Plants suspended in water, with alien like roots. All sorts of wind chimes that sang a melody if you ran your hands past them.
Sera was already waiting for him inside, crosslegged on a wooden table, switching hands over her face. She covered her right eye. Waited. Removed it. Covered her left. Waited. Removed it. Again and again.
Satoru leaned against the doorframe. “Still nothing?”
She jumped slightly, startled, but her shoulders relaxed when she saw him. Lately, he was getting better and catching her off guard. It made him feel proud for some reason.
“No.”
“You’re trying too hard.” He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Didn’t care to be quiet about it, the greenhouse was far enough that no one would hear the creaking. “You can’t force it, y’know.”
Sera didn’t answer. She looked tired, always did lately. Training until late at night, waking up too early. She was starting to get dark circles under her eyes, but Satoru thought they were kind of cool. He joined her at the table. Her hand was stained with chalk and dirt, her nails were bitten raw.
“You’ll get it,” he said casually. He didn’t know what else to say. He was never good with words. Maybe he should start working on that.
“Yeah. I have to.”
They sat in silence. Satoru felt the words come out of his mouth before he could think it through.
“I don’t think it would be that bad… If we did get married.”
It was something he'd been thinking about lately, for no reason other than the fact that it was getting harder to find moments where they weren't busy or surrounded by other people. Sera looked at him like his hair had suddenly turned neon green. Horror painted all over her face.
“What?!”
“I’m just saying.” He tried to fend off his nerves, to be cool about it and not to raise his voice to her level. “No more sneaking around. I could just be here all the time, no one could say a thing.”
She’d never move to the Gojo estate, not without figuring out a way to take the lake and the crows there. She blinked, eyes still wide open, going all over his face like she was trying to see through his skin.
“That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard. And I’ve heard terrible ideas from you. Are you insane?”
“Ok. Alright. Relax. I’m not, telling you we need to have babies or anything—”
“Ew, dude—”
“—I’m saying it would make things easier! It’s not like we’re in love or anything, dumbass.”
“No way.” She hopped off the table, wiping her hands. “I don’t want us to be like our parents.”
Satoru snorted.
“You mean like my dad and your mom?”
Sera shot him a dark look. They’d figured that one out together a long time ago. But she just didn’t like to talk or think about it. Gojo didn’t care, in fact, he couldn’t find it in him to blame his father, or feel bad for his mother or her father at all. They were all a bunch of cowards for letting their situation reach such a point.
“No. I mean my parents. How they’re together, but they’re not. They used to be friends, and now they hate each other, and they’re always alone in the same room.”
He had no argument against that. Outside, crickets sang their lullaby. Sera grabbed a couple of cloaks and tossed him one.
“Come on. Stop talking nonsense. I wanna show you something.”
Oh. He could forget the subject for that. She'd never once disappointed after saying those words.
The forest was always softer in spring, recovering from the long winter. They walked past the orange trees and dew-laced spiderwebs. The moon had already shifted since he arrived, it hung low now, pale and massive. They passed by a rock wall swallowed by ivy. A tall, heavy metal door was carved into it. Seamless and sealed, whatever was behind it was definitely important. Satoru had never noticed it before.
“What’s that?”
“Vault door,” Sera replied, not looking back, not stopping. “I’ll be able to go inside when I’m clan head.”
He stared at it a moment longer before catching up. He was still curious about it and could probably open it if he wanted to, but it felt like too much work. Plus, if it wasn't the thing she wanted to show him, it didn't interest him.
“You sound like you actually want to be clan head. Changed your mind?”
“It’ll happen whether I want it or not, so I’m getting used to the idea.”
The reply made him frown, it didn't sound like something she'd say at all. He walked past her, turning around to face her while walking backwards. She was her, still, same face and features that had, at some point, changed without him noticing. No longer a kid, but not yet an adult. Something stuck in the middle. Was she purposefully ignoring that they'd make her get married before becoming clan head? She was getting less and less ugly with the years, so the guy they'd tie her to would probably do so gladly. And then, they'd demand offspring—
"What's with that look?" she chuckled.
He turned his back on her, sniffing and releasing his hand inside his pocket.
It was a thirty minute hike before they reached the clearing and the lake. The clouds pulled back, and a flower field glowed in the moonlight, wrapping the lake from all sides. Cream, lilac, pale green flowers bloomed in impossible shapes, filling the space like a blanket. Their scent was sweet and spicy, like stardust cinnamon.
The waterfall roared in the distance, filling the midnight wind with a mist that could damp you or soak you the closer you walked to the plunge.
“They bloom once a year,” Sera said, taking her hood off and letting it fall to the floor. “The elders dry them in the sun and smoke them. My mom says they used to crown the whole mountain range years ago.”
Satoru plucked one, a drop of a milky substance pooled at the end. He thought of chewing it. Miyu’s mother was getting really into decorating her cakes with tiny wild flowers, but she’d told them she made sure to pick them carefully, some could be poisonous.
“You wanna try?”
She shrugged, “If you want to.”
“Another day?”
“Yeah, why not?”
Sera sat down and began weaving the stems into a circle. Satoru stretched before dropping to the floor, deciding to compromise and pop the little flower between his lips.
“They grew from the same fallen star that gave Tengen her powers.”
That voice meant she expected Satoru to listen and shut up. Sometimes he couldn’t care less, sometimes she talked about super boring things like mythology gossip that made him want to take a nap, but she got all butthurt if he made it too obvious.
Long before jujutsu techniques had names and clans existed, the sky split open above this forest, and a meteorite struck the earth, making the land rumble all across the island and killing thousands. The impact left a crater deep in the ground and cut a line across the mountain range, birthing a waterfall that filled the crater, making a lake.
This one seemed worth listening to, so he lifted his chest to look at her handiwork, with his chin propped up in his palm.
But the meteorite wasn’t just some random, boring rock. It was a piece of the corpse of a star, full of minerals, metals, and soils that had never touched the earth before. It also carried energy that didn’t belong, and life around it warped. Trees grew taller than they should, animals got harder and harder to hunt, and then the flowers appeared.
People wrote poems about how their roots drank from the star-infused soil and propagated only within the range of the crater lake. The first jujutsu writers theorized that Tengen found them during one of her travels around the area, looking for something that no one else understood. That she wasn’t born immortal, but became it. And that it was the flowers and the lake that answered and awakened her.
She popped the chain onto his head, but it lost structure the second she released it. She snorted, crinkling her nose.
“You look stupid.”
“Yeah? You look like a swamp creature.”
Ever since that first night he followed her here, he felt something odd about the lake. There was something weird about it, like it had a will and it followed a different set of rules. Even Infinity reacted to it. He usually discarded her old tales, but he could believe this one. This wasn’t just a beautiful place, it was charged and more sacred than any shrine he’d been forced into.
A rustle. Satoru sat up, senses spiked. Between the tall grass, something moved. Sera grabbed his shoulders, reining him back. She always insisted that there was nothing to fear around the area, that him getting all defensive was an insult to the forest.
It was a small pup —skinny, fur mangy around the ribs— but its eyes gleamed sharp as a blade. And beside it—
A second shadow. Taller. Stockier. Defensive. A mom. A wolf mom.
Sera pushed him down to the floor with her. The mother stopped and stared around.
“I think it’s a Honshu wolf,” she whispered, breath hitching. “I knew it.”
He frowned, spitting grass. “I thought they were extinct.”
The pair of wolves walked past, disappearing down the hill, away from sight.
“I’ve read rumors on the web, of people seeing them in rural areas. I think I can sync with it,” she said, eyes sparkling.
He met her eyes and nodded firmly. “Do it.”
She grinned. “Help me get a picture. You brought your camera, right?”
Satoru nodded, his hands trembling slightly as they pulled out the digicam from his pants pocket. It was always thrilling to see her use the technique. She got all excited, it was contagious.
Sera sat cross-legged, wrapping the red string around her wrists in an intrinsic knot. Very quietly, she started asking for permission and forgiveness.
The moment it hit, Satoru felt it.
A golden thread —thin like cotton candy— flickered from her eyes and vanished down the hill. Somewhere in the distance, the wolf mom paused and turned.
Satoru stared at her as it approached, slow and curious. She looked kind of malnourished, too. Probably still drained after weaning, and her eyes now held rings of gold. He clicked the shutter, and the flash made her pull back and shake her head. Next to him, Sera sat still like a statue, eyes closed and wrists wrapped in golden light, furrowing her brow briefly but breathing steadily.
He reached out and touched her head. The fur was coarse, but warm and real. She nipped at his hand, playfully grazing his skin with her canines. Sera’s laugh echoed from inside the wolf’s chest. It hadn't been nearly enough to cut him, but he'd recently learned about rabies, and flinched by instinct.
He grinned.
“You want a treat?”
Later, they collapsed in the flowerbed, side by side, heads almost touching. The Honshu wolf was far away, and her puppy, trailing behind her, pointed his snout in the air. He could still smell the two small humans, and he couldn’t understand what made them different from the others they’d encountered from afar.
Sera was flipping through the photos on the digicam, zooming in and out.
“They totally were Honshu wolves, I swear. Look at the neck ruff, and the hind legs, see how it slopes? I wish could post them online, but the wrong people are gonna try looking for them.”
Satoru wasn’t listening. He watched the stars blink, one by one. His fingers still smelled like dirty fur. He was trying to memorize this. The way it felt to rest here, happy and worried at the same time. He took a peek at her bitten fingernail resting over the button of his camera.
Sometimes she drew blood, and complained every time she washed her hands like she didn't do it to herself. He didn’t like thinking about it, just like he didn’t like to think about Morocco and those stupid salty techniques.
You’re wrong, we could never be like them, he wanted to say.
Not like her parents, sad and bitter.
Not like his parents, though he barely knew them.
Not like her mother and his father, doomed and hidden.
The moon had shifted again. Time moved without asking for permission. It never did.
“It’s getting late,” he said, voice raspy from being quiet for too long. “If I don’t get back before sunrise…”
Sera didn’t answer right away. She placed the camera down and reached over, closing her fist around his sleeve tightly, wrinkling it. It must’ve hurt her nails.
“No,” she said. “We still have time.”
It wasn’t just about the sunrise. She didn’t say stay, didn’t have to. But he knew she didn’t want him to go, just as he didn’t want her to leave. And for the moment Satoru, staring up at the sky that looked wider than ever before, felt finally, completely, utterly content.
feedback is always nice and gives me a huge boost to keep going, so don't be shy and drop a comment if you've liked the story so far.
btw if you want to get a visual idea of what sera's hair looks like during the last scene, look up jiyu from kiiikiii <3
More lore bites:
- Yes Satoru's father and Sera's mother are having an affair.
- Her mother's maiden name is Yamato Mayomi.
- Sera's father accused Mayomi of carrying Gojo's father's baby, he was considering divorcing her but then Sera showed up with her Odd Eye.
- Miyu intentionally hoards Sera's attention to fuck with Satoru.
- The Odd Eye technique implies that the user sees with one eye to the present, and one eye to the future. It takes a huge toll on the mind and needs a deep understanding of cursed energy.
- The Odd Eye Pilgrimage is basically a tour around the world where the wielder trains in seclusion, meditating and refining the technique away from society. Once they return, they're expected to no longer be who they were, to lose all attachment to family and loved ones. They should be completely impartial, like a blank page.
- Yes i got the Odd Eye name from Odd Eye Circle. I am, first and foremost, a loona deep state agent.
IMPORTANT: I went back and tweaked the earlier chapters, it was necessary i promise. i sprinkled in some foreshadowing. honestly i kind of ate so if you're curious, you might wanna go back and see for yourself.
dailybridgerton
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