Boothill was the troublemaker of troublemakers. Every time there was an issue around the town or the farm it was more than likely his fault
His parents did the best they could but sometimes they just had to let him fuck around and find out
His friends encouraged most of his antics. Why? Because they were just as bad if not worse than he was which made it very difficult to actually stay in a relationship with him
That man was all over the place
But guess what? Somehow or another, he managed to score you.
No, no, you didn’t score him. It’s definitely the other way around because you were positively riveting
No man wanted to mess with you because you were just that terrifying and many learned their lessons when they tried to figure out why exactly
(That was NOT fun for them but hilarious for you)
You didn’t have a blood family. Or not one that you acknowledged anyway. It was just you all on your own, taking a job to help pay the bills and whatnot
You were close enough to the city that you could do down when you wanted but far enough that people wouldn’t bother you on a whim
That did not account for Boothill and his group stopping by for rest and then seeing you
Boothill was whipped. Down bad. Love at first sight dare I say. He was completely enamored by you and your feisty personality
He loves a woman who can beat his ass
“So,” The cowboy gave you his most charming and polite smile, tilting his hat in greeting as he leaned against your fence. “Is there a reason I haven’t seen a gall like ya ‘round here?”
You scoffed and rolled your eyes, getting rid of the weeds at the flowerbeds. “I live here, you just ain’t pay attention.”
“Nah, I’d remember a face like yours.” He chuckled, coughing into his fist when the fence leaned a little too far from his body weight. He got off, holding his hands in a form of peace as he continued on. “Ya ain’t lonely?”
“If I was lonely,” You yanked another weed, “I wouldn’ be all the way over here, now would I?”
“My apologies.” The man couldn’t stop grinning. “But maybe ya need company?”
“Maybe what I need is for you to shut yer trap before I use one of these garden tools on that mouth.” You snapped back.
He gulped. Damn. He was head over heels already.
Fast forward to several dates, physical fights, meeting his parents, and helping him with whatever he needed and vice versa you guys were engaged
And two months after that? He found that baby in the snow
You both were on your way back from town to get supplies when a sharp cry came from underneath a snow bush. Boothill was immediately drawn to it, going over and lifting a small bundle into his arms
Whoever left the baby there was sick and cruel and you would gladly kill them
Boothill calmed you down enough to take the baby to the house and help warm them up
The baby girl— you learned after giving them a bath— wasn’t out there for that long. She just needed help getting warmed back up
But she was latched to Boothill like no other. It took her a while to warm up to you, but she was napping on you soon enough
His parents were proud of both of you for raising the kid responsibly. Sure, Boothill did his usual cowboy activities, but he always made sure to get home before dark. And if the job went longer than he thought? He’d apologize profusely and make it up to you
He promised you, your daughter, and himself that he would be the best man in the entire galaxy. Hell, he’d give you the best damn wedding and make sure you’re treated like a queen and your daughter like the best princess in the land
After the IPC
Recently, your daughter started to learn how to walk. It was small steps, but very big small steps
It happened when Boothill was sitting on the couch in his pajamas, you on the other side of the living room with her and holding her arms to help her stand
She babbled, giggled and jumped, which made you laugh too. You pointed to Boothill, “Go to Papa.”
Processing the instruction and the direction of your finger, she hobbled little by little. Boothill chuckled and sat up, holding his arms out as he watched their daughter take her first steps, picking her up when she got to him and peppering her face in kisses, “that’s my girl!”
After that? She was a little menace. Hobbling and toddling around, running as fast as she could on her two stubby feet
“C’mere you little rascal!” Boothill’s voice came from upstairs. At the moment, you were helping his parents with decorating the walls with new pictures of your growing family. Some with you and Boothill, some with you and your daughter, Boothill and your daughter, etc etc.
The stomps were the most adorable part. The first steps were small patters of tiny feet, tripping and uncoordinated while what followed was heavier and more careful. You simply laughed when your daughter came stumbling down the stairs, giggling wildly as her dad chase her.
“Goodness.” One of Boothill’s parents shook their head while the other outright cackled at the sight. “The two troublemakers just runnin’ ‘round like bulls in a china shop.”
“Ay!” The cowboy lifted the toddler in his arms, tickling her and making her squeal, “She’s the one that started it!”
“Are you seriously blaming a three year old?” The snort that came from you was sarcastic and bubbling into a squeal when the man grabbed you and tickled you as well. “You bastard! Let me go!”
“Language, darlin’.”
“Boothill!”
Your daughter would even go as far as to chase Boothill when he needed to go out for a job with his fellow cowboys
“I’ll be back, babygirl.” He would always say, kissing her head and then kissing you.
You’d always tell him to be careful, especially with the IPC running rampant lately after realizing there were resources on your planet
He told you he’d be as safe as possible. No risks, no reckless dumb shit— as you put it.
Except it was you who should’ve made the promise
It was late when Boothill was still out. His parents hanging around the kitchen whipping up dinner. You were playing with your daughter on the ground, holding up some of her horses and mimicking the voices. She clapped her hands and responded, some words forming while she babbled the rest of it. You simply grinned and responded.
Except, out of nowhere, she stopped and turned towards the window, making you sit up. It was odd. She never really got distracted unless something huge got her attention. Like Boothill’s horse or the animals on the farm. Especially the chickens.
“What’s wrong, babygirl?” You asked, looking in the direction she was.
And saw a giant cloud of orange, gray, and red.
At first, you just thought it was some kind of train derailing gone-wrong again. Some gangs and bandits were notorious for it anyway. Or perhaps even a building or cave being demolished. That would be pretty plausible.
Except the explosion got bigger. And brighter.
Boothill’s parents heard your panicked gasp as you grabbed your daughter, causing her to squeak in surprise, but wrap her arms around your neck. The two looking out the window, paling considerably at the sight. One of them held their thumb up, noticing how much bigger the cloud was.
“What’s going on?” You asked with frantic eyes, trying not to freak out enough to scare the toddler, but it was kind of hard when there was a giant mushroom cloud that grew by the minute.
The two looked at each other, then looked at you, and held you close, caressing your and your daughter’s hair.
You felt dread sink into your stomach. You thought about every moment of your life. Every happy and sad memory, everything that made you the person you were today.
You only wished you could tell Boothill how much you loved him. You don’t express your love as much as he does, but by the aeons, you wished you did. You wished you could’ve stopped him from going and telling him that you loved him with all your heart. You wished you could’ve gotten married, could’ve lived together, could’ve grown old together with your daughter as she paved her own way.
“Just breathe.” One of his parents— that you thought of as your parents— told you. “We’re together. ‘S what matters now.”
All you could do was nod and lean into them, feeling a wind brush through the house. The explosion was getting closer.
“Papa?” Your daughter asked, her fist in her mouth, her eyes wide and curious. It took a lot in you not to cry as you told her, “Papa’s somewhere else right now, babygirl. But we’ll see him again, okay?”
“O’tay!” She said, leaning into your neck.
All you could do was hold her and your parents close, squeezing looking at the window as everything turned a blinding white.
And then black.
A/N: Lol wanted to write something depressing for the hell of it. I gotta add to my collection of characters. I was daydreaming abt this for days
Bruce has been living alone in a house he had built for him and his family for way too long. For the first time in forever, Bruce is the one to voluntarily leave his loved ones behind.
Featuring Clark's pinning and necessary conversations.
Fair warning. I love to shit on Alfred Pennyworth, and I made Dick look really bad here.
Chapter 1
<< Part 2 >>
Bruce woke up to Damian practically taking the door out of its hinges with the desperation he threw it open.
With the athleticism only a Robin could acquire, he jumped, falling straight into his father's chest. "Move on, father! The Kents will arrive shortly and you NEED a shower" he screamed before jumping down, allowing the air to return to Bruce's lungs.
"Good morning to you too, son" Bruce sat up, a hand on his back to diminish the pain from the lovable assault.
"No time for that!" The boy answered from inside Bruce's walking-closet. His small face reappeared on the corner as he frowned towards his dad. "What are you doing, go in the shower! I got your outfit!"
Bruce chuckled and walked beside him, softly petting his head before entering the bathroom. Delighted by the short-lived instances that his son allowed himself to behave as a regular teen.
In less than 15 minutes (by the grace of an incredibly anxious Damian practically hand feeding Bruce and dragging their bags outside), they were ready to depart.
Bruce was going through the last details with Oliver over the phone, while double checking the locks on every door, when he heard Damian's call from outside. "The Kents are hEere, baba!!" He bit his lips to keep the laugh inside at his son's voice break. A small reminder that he was indeed, still a growing boy.
He came outside to see a jumping Jon clinging from his kid's neck, Damian with a fond expression, pretending to be annoyed.
Clark stood behind them, with a blinding smile, proudly watching them. He looked up towards him, and Bruce could swear he saw his smile falter for a second, before waving at him. "Bruce, hi." He got close, pressing a hand over Bruce's shoulder, before closing the space in a hug. "Hope you don't mind, but we took the liberty to put your bags inside the trunk"
Bruce smiled back, pressing himself on Clark's chest as he returned the greeting. "Not at all, thank you." He let go of the man, still smiling and looked at him. He couldn't help the smirk when he saw how Clark was consciously looking everywhere BUT him. The Kryptonian quickly turned away, red on his neck, fingers fumbling with the car's door to sit on the passenger seat.
"Hey!!" Came the indignant voice of his youngest when he realized the copilot spot was taken under his nose. Bruce chuckled, pressing a hand against the brown hair. "Son, why won't you sit with Jon?" He smiled at the soft grumble "If you want to, you can change seats with Clark when we get to a gas station".
Damian's complaints were cut short when Jon grabbed his hand, pulling him inside while babbling about random facts of the animals in the farm. Bruce closed the door, and made a mental note to remind himself to not allow his baby to dress him up again as he saw his reflection on the window. Clearly Damian's idea of "comfortable clothes" was closest to an Italian beach outfit than a traditional jeans and t-shirt.
He chuckled, and entered the car while trying to close the inexistent top buttons of his white shirt. He heard Clark make a low noise that clearly came from the back of his throat. "Seriously? I feel like I should hand you a daiquiri or something" Bruce just laughed, a full belly sound that had Clark blinking stupidly as the Gothamite buckled his seat belt.
"Eyes to the front, Kent!" Clark jumped on his seat when he remembered the company in the back seat. "Keep oogling at my father like that-"
"Damian-"
"Dames, check this out!"
Clark internally thought about what he would give to his boy. Sweet, sweet lifesaver Jon.
Clark swears on Krypton he did his best to keep the eyes on the road, nevermind how Bruce's shirt pressed against his muscles, or how the neckline deepened everytime he moved his arm on the gear, or how his black hair caught the light, or how-
"-Clark!!" Bruce was frowning at him. Head barely tilted, looking at him by the corner of his eye... Greyish blue irises palling against the sunlight behind brown sunglasses-. "Clark, which exist?! You have both of our phones!"
Yeah... Krypton wasn't anymore, anyway.
They arrived at the Kent's after a little less than 4 hours, taking in consideration the gas station stop - in which Damian pretended to be asleep so he wouldn't feel ashamed for not wanting to change seats with Clark -, so they made it with a pretty good window to help with lunch.
Martha greeted them as soon as they opened the car's door. She gave Clark such a tight hug, that made Bruce unconsciously smile at the interaction. He felt the sun emanate from where their smiles strained with love and something akin to regret, they always looked as if they hadn't seen each other in years. Martha broke the hug to look at her son's face. Their eyes shone with unshed emotion.
Where Clark was summer sunshine, Martha was spring breeze. He thought to himself.
She gave the two young boys a big collective hug, while Johnathan welcomed his son, and turned to face Bruce.
Bruce immediately froze and took a step back, but before he could even think about what he was doing, the petite woman, with strong and loving arms, surrounded him in a hug that carried warmth and love and the smell of spices. He just stood awkwardly in place, unable to lift his arms without disrupting her hug, and let her inhale on his shoulder.
"Bruce, dear" she exhaled and let go to trap his cheeks between her hands, forcing him to bend to her high. "It's been so long, honey. I hope you haven't forgotten about us in all this time!" He shook his head. Shyly. And lift a hand to put on top of Martha's.
He gave her his best candid smile "Never, mrs Ken- ah!" A strong slap on his shoulder and a frown from the woman shut him up.
"Nonsense! What have I told you about those horribly fake smiles of yours and the way you call me?"
"I'm... Sorry?" He blinked twice while rubbing his arm. "... Ma?" He cautiously finished. It was the blinding trademarked Kent smile that told him he did good.
Martha got hold of his arm and practically dragged him inside, while he shyly waved a greeting to Pa Kent. Clark smiling way too cheerfully, given the embarrassing situation, followed behind them.
Bruce helped in the kitchen. Since the day he proved to the world how he actually was really good at it, he became one of the few people Ma Kent allowed inside her kitchen during cooking. So they shared stories and talked about their current lifes. If Martha noticed how he blatantly avoided touching onto his children's lives, she was kind enough not to mention.
Bruce had thought the moment in the kitchen had been fun, but... Oh, lunch was the best. The way they all freely laughed, Damian included (no matter if he tried to cover his mouth to hide it). How they talked comfortably, no caring of his mannerisms or his lack of verbal responses. They just kept the conversation going, including him. Listening when he spoke. Not once did anybody take a jab at him. Not once did they raise their voices if not to laugh.
At some point during the end of the lunch Damian even came to sit next to him, dragging his chair to show him the video they were just talking about... Bruce allowed himself to smile.
Everything was delightful. Everything was so good. So... Not meant for him.
He was too used to just sit and watch. To listen. He had believed that was his place, and he thought he liked that spot. It was safe. But here. He was being included. He was part of the moment.
"Baba?" Damian looked up at him, concern in his face. Bruce shook his head and gave him a soft peck on his forehead, signaling him to continue. Damian tilted his head, doubtful, but didn't press and kept the video going. His baby boy was so smart, and he couldn't help but question if he had anything to do with that. If he deserved to have any say on the kid's raising, since he missed so much over the last years... He tried to focus on his boy's voice.
Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the careful nod from Martha to Clark, or how she slowly moved behind him as Damian finished his commentary.
A firm hand on his shoulder, and a soft smile on her face. "Mind to help me with something on the shed, dear? Clark will take the dishwashing duty" she asked when he turned to face her. He could only nod, avoiding Clark's knowing eyes, as he moved with her outside the house.
Bruce grunted, moving the last bag and dusting his hands off. "Thank you, dear". Martha's voice came from the corner entrance, from where she was standing with a tray of lemonade.
"I think Clark would have done it faster" He smiled, taking one glass and lifting it to his lips and moving to sit in the seat next to the little table where Martha was placing the tray.
"He would have, yes" She sat down, waiting for Bruce to leave his glass to take on his hand between hers. "What's on your mind, honey?"
Bruce watched how her callous fingers traced circles on the back of his hand. He took a moment. He thought it over. And over the thousand plans his brain made to successfully avoid this conversation, he chose to open up.
"There's... A lot, actually. Maybe too much" He looked up. Martha was watching him with such deepness it made his throat hurt. "I don't know how to do..." He pointed between them with his free hand "this"
"This?"
"This" he moved his hand around, towards the house, towards the people inside it. Towards everything. "I'm not used to so much"
"Do you need us to tone it down, sweetheart?"
"What!? No! No, no, no! Please, oh god no!" He desperately lifted both hands, shaking them in the air. Martha smiled knowingly. She placed her hand in front of him, palm upwards, an invitation.
He hesitated just a second before placing his own on top, and she covered his hand with her other palm.
"Then tell me, dear. Tell me what's happening"
"I- I don't know how to..." He swallowed, opening and closing his hand between Marta's "how to be. If there's nothing expected of me. If I'm not... Good. Useful"
Martha smiled, patting his hand. "Oh dear, trust me. I know"
"... You know?" Martha's smile turned into a mischievous grin. She tilted her head towards the shed "...oh..."
Martha chuckled "We saw you getting absentee standing next to us, Bruce. We worried" She took a big breath. "Have you always been expected to be good?" She looked at Bruce's trembling eyes. And let go a shaky breath when he tilted his head, frowning in confusion. "Let me rephrase it, dear. Did your parents ask for you to be good all the time?"
Bruce took off his hand as if burned. "What? No. They never- No!" Martha tried to put a hand on his shoulder, but he was already on his feet.
"I mean, there were circumstances. In public I was expected to behave, to represent the last name... But at home? They never. No. They not once criticised me, they barely corrected me. They..."
Bruce sat back, head down, looking at his feet. "I... Can't even remember if the memories of my mother's words are real or not." He sighed. "It's been so long. But I think she once told me- ...she once told there was nothi- that my only job as a kid was-" Martha moved over to hug his head, while silent tears fell to the ground. "I think she only wanted me to grow up healthy. To be happy."
They stood in silence for a while. Martha hugging him. Bruce crying in contained, quiet grief. When he finally stopped, Martha took a step back and placed a hand on his cheek.
"Then why, oh why, my silly boy. Why would you believe you HAVE to give us anything to deserve to take room next to us?" Bruce just looked at her.
He knew the moment she figured it out by the way her eyebrows dipped down and her mouth curved on a frown. "Whose words are you hearing, dear?"
Bruce opened his mouth, and quickly closed it, he tried to look away, biting the dry patch on his lip.
Martha closed her eyes with strength. With anger. She let go of Bruce to cover her face with her hands, turning around. Bruce panicked, rising to his feet, arm lifted, trying to catch her. Before he got to even touch her, she turned around, grabbing him by the neck and forcing him down in a hug, burying his face on her shoulder.
"... He was a stupid, stupid man. Blind. Stupid, STUPID. So, so, so-"
"Please" Came a mumble against her clothes "please don't hate him. He... Liked you both so much. And..." Bruce made a shaky wet sound, digging his fingers on the back of Martha's dress. "He stayed" was a whisper.
Clark steadied his breath as he listened to her mother's heartbeat slow down from her recent fury. He swallowed his own anger, drowning it with the small sobs that fell from Bruce's lips.
He tried to calm himself. There was nothing to do anymore. No revenge to take. Nobody who could take the blame. The Englishman lay peacefully on his own coffin, and yet... And yet his words kept hunting his ward.
He cleaned his face with the rim of his shirt, and took a deep breath before re entering the house.
Damian woke up to the noise of his phone going off. He sat up, freeing himself under Jon's weight. He dangled his feet to the side of the sofa, and before picking up the phone from the side table, he took the remote and turned off the tv.
In complete darkness, his face was only lit by the shine of the phone screen. He took a steady breath and slid to answer. "Richard"
On the other side of the line he could hear a relieved sigh.
"Dami... God, you got me scared here, kid." A chuckle. "Imagine my fright when I came to the manor and you were nowhere to be found. If you hadn't picked up, I was to start tracking you!" A shaky laugh. Damian took off the phone to check on the time and date, frowning. He put it back next to his ear. "Are you o-"
"I don't understand, Richard" he cut him off. "It hasn't even been a day since we left the manor"
"Yes, but-"
"We saw each other two days ago, Richard. I'm confused as to why-"
"Oh! I came to check on you, to see how you were faring with Bruce and you weren't he-"
"Excuse me?" He could recognize his brother was taken aback.
"...Dames?"
"What do you mean to check on me?"
"I mean... I thought Bruce might have gotten angry. He might have reacted badly..."
"...What?" Damian felt dumbstruck against the words.
"I- uh... Damian? What's-"
"What do you think father would have done, Richard?"
"What?"
Damian felt his body go numb. Was it always like this? Did they always talk this way? Had father ever heard them?
"Has father ever done something that would make you compelled to worry about my wellbeing?"
He heard a scoff and his hand clenched the phone "Damian, we're talking about Bruce-"
"Yes. I know who we are talking about, that's the only person I refer to as my father, Richard." Silence "I must remind you I only have one father."
A beat. Damian took a deep breath to steady himself. "I have no idea what had you calling me, Richard"
"...Dami..."
"Has father ever hit me?"
"What?"
"Has he ever neglected me or punished me in ways you consider would endanger me?"
"What? No, Damian. No, that's not why I-"
"Then why, Grayson," he heard the sharp gasp on the other line "do you think this is appropriate?" Silence. "If my father isn't a horrible dangerous person... Why are you calling... Me?"
"I... I don't understand, Dames. What's ha-"
"No, you clearly don't understand. And I have to take blame on that, because I feel neither did I fully understood until recently."
"Damian..."
"Maybe we all need to start understanding. Yes. That's the main issue. Lack of understanding."
"I am... So confused, Dami"
"Mhm. I can tell. Not my place to intervene, though. So you will have to figure it out on your own" he could practically see his brother's brain shortcut. "In the meantime, baba and I will enjoy ourselves. Thank you for calling, but I don't really appreciate your meddlesome concerns"
He hung up without paying attention to the voice calling for him on the other side of the phonecall.
He turned around, and let his face fall on the soft spot of his friend's stomach, waking him up.
"Oof! Damian?!"
"Jon. Do you know where is my baba?"
Tags!
@nikiexe0 @occasionalauthoring @mylifeisfruk4ever @veythegay @floraao @ace-wuz-here If I forgot to tag someone... I'm so sorry (◍•ᴗ•◍)
Do people genuinely not write fluff anymore?? Bro i see my own father more than i see fluff on here and i see him once or twice a year. I even check out the fluff hashtag and it’s all smut im seriously about to crash out. I do NOT want to read about someone getting cracked bro that’s all you keep it away from me. I also hate when its a super cute fanfic that looks like fluff and it has a super cute prompt but then it immediately goes to smut…I just want something cute to read! ESPECIALLY under the jjk hashtag the first time I saw it I was expecting to see something cute or some really good fan art but NO just straight up reader getting cracked by the entire jjk cast…i do NOT want to see that shit even if i put fluff in the jjk hashtag i still get smut. like good grief can a girl just get some fluff or do i have to write it myself because no one else does??
Props to the people who write fluff in this economy keep doing what you do best 🫡
Context: This is a long-fic that will follow Gojo and the reader through childhood -> adolescence -> adulthood
I have tried to stay as canon-compliant as possible with a few tweaks here and there.
This is a female reader-insert story where Y/N is used. While I tried not to make her an OC, she does have a set family and last name (i.e., Morisato) as it was central-ish to the plot.
Links to Chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4 (Part 1 and 2) below <3
Plot:
You were born into the Morisato clan, a lesser, respected jujutsu family just like the Inumakis. The issue, however, was that you lacked the cursed energy to ever be useful to jujutsu society or your family’s ambition. Because of that, you were expected to strengthen the clan through a different means—a marriage to a powerful sorcerer.
Every friendship has a beginning, though some are born in the unlikeliest of places. On the sprawling grounds of the Gojo estate, a simple game of hide-and-seek brings together two children who might never have crossed paths. Satoru Gojo is the miracle child of his clan, born with both the six eyes and limitless technique. You are the youngest of your family, dismissed as weak and unworthy by your clan elders. Yet in the shade of several summers, small promises spark a connection that will shape the course of your lives—for better or worse. That's up to you to decide.
Tags (will update as the story progresses):
Gojo x Fem!Reader, Gojo x ChildhoodFriend!Reader, Long-Fic, Slow Burn, Childhood Friends, Childhood Bonds, Fluff to Angst, Arranged Marriage (maybe?), Clan Politics, Jujutsu Kaisen, JJK, JJK x Reader, Jujutsu Society, Coming of Age, Slice of Life, Found Family, Protective Gojo, Reader-Insert, Power Imbalance, Possessive Gojo, Yandere Undertones, Darker Themes Later, Eventual Smut (18+ content)
Context/Plot/Synopsis -> Chapter 2 ✨️
WC: ~6.7k
Tags: Gojo x Fem!Reader, Long-Fic, Slow Burn, Childhood Friends, Fluff to Angst (eventually), Clan Politics, Jujutsu Kaisen, JJK, JJK x Reader, Jujutsu Society, Coming of Age, Reader-Insert, Darker Yandere Themes Later (be warned)
AN: So happy to be finally sharing the start of this long-fic I've been working on for a while (so many rewrites, lol). Hope you all enjoy 🤍🥹
Summer 2001.
The bright summer day brought a rare moment of calm in his short yet already demanding life.
At only eleven years old, Gojo had experienced a lifetime’s worth of turmoil and danger simply because of who and what he was.
The assassination attempts began not long after knowledge of his existence and abilities spread across Jujutsu society. He'd even inspired a bounty worth over one hundred million yen by age six.
But that shouldn't have been surprising.
His birth had caused a shift in the balance of the Jujutsu world, after all.
And while some lauded his existence as a blessing, others saw his arrival as an omen—one that signaled the end of an era where curse users had gone mostly unchecked. Hence, the target on his back so early on in his life.
They might've thought it would be easier to get rid of him then, while he was still young, inexperienced, vulnerable. To their misfortune, the Gojo clan had ensured that was not a feasible option.
As soon as he was able, his training in jujutsu sorcery began. Much to no one's surprise, he took to the art quickly, learning straight away how advantageous his innate abilities truly were against the spirits and people he was meant to keep in check.
To those on the receiving end, it seemed cruelly unfair how this child had been born so blessed, so inherently talented. For the first time in four centuries, both of the Gojo clan’s infamous birthrights resided in one child.
The six eyes gave him a unique view of the world that was both invigorating and exhausting all at once. Because he could see it—he could see the cursed energy flowing within every living thing down to the very atoms they were composed of.
And no one could touch him unless he so desired and allowed it. This was one of the many gifts afforded to him by the limitless technique.
Even with a rudimentary understanding of both abilities, the curse users after his life stood zero chance. It forced many of them to retreat into the shadows, bringing forth a new era in the jujutsu world.
A culmination that, once again, secured the Gojo clan’s dominance over all other major families, further cementing his influence on even the political landscape of jujutsu society.
But Japan would soon discover that this new era had come with its own messes and complications. Worse still, it had also stolen something invaluable from its harbinger.
Satoru Gojo's childhood.
His tumultuous life up until this point had prevented him from knowing the simple joys and sorrows of being just another wide-eyed kid full of innocence and wonder. He'd hardly even left the confines of the Gojo estate, and if he did, it was usually for official business. Never had he wandered onto a playground or engaged in games with anyone, much less someone closer to his age.
Sad as that was, it was to be expected. A prodigy like him had no time for such frivolities anyway—at least that's what his family had influenced him to believe from the start.
They'd drilled that truth into him, reminding him constantly of his duty as the future clan heir.
No, Satoru Gojo had not lived a normal life thus far, and it was likely he never would.
Or at least it seemed that way until he met…
You.
Sweet, weak, little you.
You’d been born three months and twenty days after him, on March 27, 1990.
The mistake of the Morisato Clan—that’s what the family’s elders had come to call you.
Unlike your brothers and sisters, you were unplanned, unwanted, and unworthy of the surname in their eyes. Especially after they realized just how useless you would be in their seemingly endless pursuit of prestige and power.
All four siblings who came before you had shown exceptional promise in jujutsu sorcery. Meanwhile, you continuously failed to meet even the lowest of their expectations.
By the time you were six, they'd confirmed their suspicions—you'd never be a sorcerer of merit. The scant amount of cursed energy coursing through you was a limitation you could never overcome, even with extensive training.
This was an unacceptable flaw by their standards, one they intended to rectify by other means.
In truth, your birth was almost the complete opposite of Satoru Gojo—you’d caused no rifts, no bounties, no consequences.
While the elders of your clan regarded you as a defect that needed correcting, others, like your siblings, welcomed your arrival as a blessing.
Either sway of opinion mattered little to the world as a whole—unlike Gojo, you were not lauded or feared to the point of worship or assassination.
And yet…
Despite the differences, you both faced the loss of a carefree childhood—replaced instead by expectations imposed upon you by the very people who were supposed to love you unconditionally in this terrifying world of gods and monsters.
No, just like Satoru Gojo, you'd never truly lead a normal life. Try as you might, there was no escaping your fate and bloodline.
By age nine, your parents and your elders made sure you knew your intended role in jujutsu society.
At eleven, the weight of their expectations was unavoidable as your own version of training began.
While sorcerers took up weapons and spells, you tied on an apron and memorized recipe after recipe.
And you hated it with all your heart.
⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔
It was a chance encounter when the two of you first met—the mistake and the miracle.
He’d been taking a walk with a family member around the Gojo estate, like any other slow summer day.
Which, as fate would have it, was your family’s destination.
While your parents attended to important matters with the Gojos, the Morisato siblings had different plans. Your eldest sister, Hanako, and elder brother, Rento, had asked and received permission to tour the grounds of the Gojo estate. Luckily, this included you and your two other siblings as well.
Given the immense size of the place, the Gojos had graciously provided you all with a guide—a rather sweet, older maid with a raspy voice.
“Come, come, children. We can start with one of the archive rooms.” She started after a quick introduction. To your surprise, she was also a member of the Gojo clan.
After being shown several historical rooms filled with artifacts and books, the maid suggested heading towards the gardens.
“I’m sure you all will enjoy it. We have several ponds with a variety of koi. Even the most rare.”
You couldn’t help but feel excited about the change of scenery. Books, art, and retired weapons were interesting, but they had become lackluster after the fifth room in a row.
As you walked through the halls, the walls eventually opened up to the final door before revealing the Gojo’s grand garden.
“Here we are, children. Isn’t it lovely?” she kindly asked.
“It’s quite impressive and beautiful. Thank you for showing us,” Hana responded respectfully.
And it truly was a sight to behold, especially for you.
Everything in it just looked so alive as bright green maples, tall black pines, and dense shrubs stretched across the landscape. Stone paths curved gently through the grounds, guiding you past koi-filled ponds and towards small wooden bridges that connected several islands also overrun with more plant life. A few stone lanterns peeked out from the greenery, half-covered in moss, their surfaces worn smooth with the passing of time, no doubt.
You could hear a sound somewhere nearby that came and went in rhythm. Only later did you notice the small bamboo pipe by the edge of one of the ponds—slowly filling, tipping, and knocking gently against a stone before resetting.
It felt so peaceful—like the garden belonged to a different world altogether. Which, in a way, wasn't entirely wrong. This was the Gojo clan's estate, after all.
At the far end stood an old wooden gate. It led to a forested path that circled the property, which seemed just as alive as the garden itself.
“You all may take that path if you'd like,” the maid mentioned with a smile. “I can assure you it's quite safe around here. The young master's presence wards away any spirits.”
After exploring the garden for some time, the five of you started on the path around the estate. Unknowingly, you were heading in a similar direction as Gojo and his escort.
⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔
The maid’s reassurances had been correct—the walking path and surrounding forest were free of any cursed spirits.
This unexpected safety net allowed you all to enjoy yourselves more freely compared to other trips with your parents.
And amidst the cheerful banter of five siblings, a game of hide and seek was started.
Ah, but who was hiding and who was seeking?
Naturally, the eldest was chosen to seek, while the younger siblings, including you, ran and scattered across the forest to hide from the, oh, so terrible, Hana.
Before the game began, a few familiar family rules were set:
No hiding together.
Hiders could move locations unless they’d already been found.
Once found, hiders could choose to join the seekers in finding others.
Seekers could not use jujutsu to find hiders, but hiders could use it to evade discovery.
The fourth rule was especially important, as its entire purpose was to prolong the game. Before its implementation, Hana and Rento had been able to find you and your other siblings far too quickly for the contest to be any fun.
Truthfully, you were always the one who was found first, even with the fourth rule in place.
And while you weren’t especially competitive, you still disliked the feeling of losing anyway. It only served as a reminder of how different you were compared to your brothers and sisters—something your elders never let you forget. So, you were determined to change that fact today.
This time, at the very least, you wouldn’t be found by Hana first. Third place was good enough for you.
Running south, you came across a rather large cluster of rocks with just the right amount of wiggle room and coverage for two, barely.
‘Yes this is perfect!’ you excitedly thought.
You crouched down and maneuvered your way in, eventually finding a position to sit silently. Looking around, you noticed a narrow crack among the rubble that allowed you to see the path ahead—a lucky loophole that just might give you enough time to slip away if you spotted any of your siblings first.
You cheerily smiled in hopefulness of your victory, placing your hands over your mouth to further quiet even your breathing.
‘I have a chance this time.’ You thought happily.
Now all you had to do was watch, wait, and listen patiently.
⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔
Spreading out across the forest, he had sensed the cursed energy of every single Morisato sibling—even your feeble signals were registered by his six eyes.
Instinctively, he assessed the situation, contemplating if this was another attempt on his life by a group of half-wit curse users.
After a short moment, he deduced that there was no way the five of you were trained assassins after his head.
To top it off, you, the weakest of the bunch, were the closest to his location.
Being unable to figure out the exact reason for such erratic behaviors from five unfamiliar individuals, he decided to seek you out specifically.
It was laughable how simple it was for him to find you.
Easily noticing your hidden figure behind a pile of rocks that had been eroded by father time, he paused and signaled to his companion that he intended to walk in your direction, alone.
They obeyed his command without a second thought or word, only bowing in response and remaining in the general area in case circumstances changed.
His approach was silent and nonchalant.
“What are you doing?” he asked as he stood behind your source of false security, peaking in with a hint of annoyance in his voice.
Startled at first, you jumped in place while turning to look at the source.
‘Oh, thank goodness, it's just a boy.’ You thought as relief momentarily washed over you.
You hadn’t been caught by Hana or any of your other siblings yet.
But…
‘Who was he? And where the heck had he come from?’ you questioned.
Not wanting to draw attention to your location, you decided to focus on getting him to leave rather than learning the answer to those questions. You moved your finger over your lips before whispering, “shhhh. I’m hiding.”
“Why?”
“Not so loud,” you looked at him with furrowed brows before continuing.
“You're going to get me caught. Please go away. Please.” You pleaded, still speaking each word as softly as you could manage.
He blinked in disbelief. ‘Go away?’ you had said. No one had ever spoken to him like that, much less regarded him, of all people, in such a piffling way. Just who were you?
Instead of pushing him away, you’d only piqued his interest.
In earnest curiosity, he lowered himself to your level, wedging himself into the gap beside you.
“H-Hey, what’re you doing?” you protested in shock.
“Hiding with you.”
“W-why? I don't even know y—”
Mimicking your previous actions, he raised his finger to his lips, “Shhhh. I thought you said we had to be quiet or we’d get caught.”
‘Wait—What? He can't just turn up and make this a we thing!?’
You stared at the unfamiliar boy with mixed emotions. Both baffled and annoyed at his nerve, yet also completely caught off guard by the startling blue of his eyes, their brightness softened by lashes pale as snow.
‘They're the color of the sky,’ you thought, half mesmerized.
You hadn’t asked him to stay. In fact, you’d told him more than once to go. And yet here he was, pressed shoulder to shoulder beside you, filling what little space remained in this hidden crevice of stone.
Part of you wanted to tell him to leave again, while the softer half decided against it.
You sighed before whispering, “okay, you can stay, but we’re on the lookout for my big sister, Hana. She’s seeking while the rest of us hide.”
He nodded.
“I’ve never…” you hesitated for a moment before blurting out a truth, “I’ve always been caught first when we play, and I really don’t want that to happen this time.”
He could tell that you were being open with him, a total stranger. He wasn’t used to such an honest exchange. Most people always had a hidden agenda when it came to interacting with him.
Not you, though.
There wasn’t a hint of deceit in your hushed words or sincere eyes.
It was so new to him that he found your demeanor perplexing.
But it also made him feel something. He just wasn’t quite sure what it was yet.
Despite not fully understanding his own emotions at the moment, or yours for that matter, he felt comfortable enough to return the gesture.
“I’ve never played this game, but I’ll help you win,” he whispered back.
Your eye twitched in disbelief.
Never played hide and seek? How was that even possible? And if that was true, how could he sound so sure about helping you win?
‘What a strange boy,’ you thought before voicing your surprise.
“Never?” you asked, the word slipping out louder than it should have.
He simply nodded.
“Why not?”
He looked past you before stating, “I think your sister is heading this way. We should move.”
“How do you know that?”
“I can explain later, but we have to go now.”
He squeezed himself out of the hiding spot and offered you his hand.
Staring at it, you weighed the risk.
Was it really wise to trust a stranger so quickly? You didn’t feel any maliciousness from him, and despite his unusualness, he seemed nice enough, but still…
Sensing your rightful hesitation, he attempted to reassure you and ease whatever worries were running through your head.
“I’m from the Gojo clan, so you can trust me.”
He wasnt sure why, but something held him back from giving you his full name,
“Pinky promise?” you quickly asked, lifting your hand near his, pinky raised in the air.
“You can’t break one of those y’know.”
He tsked as a slight grin tugged at his lips—the first in a very long while. Not like you'd know that, though.
‘What a silly thing to believe in,’ he thought to himself.
Even so, he moved his hand to form a pinky promise with you.
“There. Now let’s go unless you want to get caught.”
⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔
An hour later, after Hana had found everyone except you, she admitted defeat.
She shouted out into the forest,
“Y/n! You’ve won, now, please come on out. We’re starting to get worried!”
Your other siblings called out similarly, too.
With that, the two of you slipped out of Gojo’s perfect hiding place and made your way toward the clearing where your brothers and sisters waited.
Once close enough, you stretched your arm out and waved in their direction with a big, cheerful smile plastered across your face.
Never in your wildest dreams had you expected to win this game—hell, a meager third place was all you had hoped to achieve to begin with.
But here you were, now. Grinning away, the winner.
And it was all thanks to your newfound friend—Satoru Gojo.
Even after he had told you his full name, you acted no differently.
The relief he felt from your indifference had caught him off guard.
Maybe that was why he’d held it back before—because he’d been worried you might treat him like everyone else in his life.
At first, he wondered if maybe you were naïve, unaware of who or what he was to the Jujutsu world. But you quickly proved him wrong when you asked him about his eyes.
“So those are the six eyes? They’re really pretty.”
He nodded, “you think so?”
“Yeah.”
You met his gaze, leaning a little closer than was proper for someone you’d only just met. He didn’t seem to mind. And why should he, when his eyes were just as fixed on yours?
Your focus shifted between his left and right eye, taking in each beautiful swirling shade of blue. They appeared even more magical than they had before.
“They look like they have whole galaxies inside them,” you smiled ever so warmly. “Sooo cool~”
He’d never been around someone so genuine, so…sweet? Was that the right word? He hadn't ever used it to describe a person before. He didn’t know how to respond or handle it, handle you.
“Never heard that one before, but thanks… I think?” he awkwardly responded, finally leaning away from you.
You laughed lightly at his reaction, moving back and giving him space—you could tell he needed it.
“You are very welcome. I’m sure I’m not the only one thinking it.”
“No way. I really doubt that,” he stressed.
“Maybe they're just not brave enough to tell you,” you retorted.
“And you are?”
You shrugged, flashing him a playful smile.
“Maybe I am.”
He scoffed and shook his head.
“You sure are…something.”
‘Was that supposed to be an insult?’ you thought, raising your brow. If it was, you had heard much worse. And not from strangers.
So, rather than respond to his possibly offensive comment, you continued on.
“Well, something is better than nothing,” you laughed at your own expense.
After a beat, your curiosity got the better of you.
“Why are they so special, by the way?”
“No one's told you?” He was surprised.
“They have, but they don't have them. Only you do. So who better to tell me than you? ”
He couldn't argue with your reasoning.
“They let me see the flow of cursed energy. Even in people. That's how I knew your sister was moving in on us earlier.”
“Oh wow, so that's how you knew?”
He nodded.
“Wait, does that mean you can see mine? Or can you turn it off and on?”
“I can. There's no turning this off.”
You let out a small, sad breath, shoulders slumping at the thought of him knowing your shame.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad?” He echoed, needing clarification.
“My cursed energy. It must be really low compared to my sister.”
He tilted his head, studying you for a moment before answering. You had been so truthful with him; he saw no point in lying to you now.
“Compared to hers, it is, but I've seen much worse. You're quite average, really.”
You looked away from him, smiling pitifully to yourself. You were trying so hard not to cry. Not out of sadness, but because being called average by someone strong like him was more than enough for you.
“Average? Hah…that’s not so bad, I guess. I'll take it.”
You fiddled with your hands in your lap, focusing your eyes on them rather than him.
He took note of your change in demeanor, but wasn't quite sure how or what to say that might…help you? Oh, crap, should he have lied?
Before he could decide on any words or actions, you spoke up with another query of your own.
“Do they…does it hurt to have them?”
He was taken aback by such a personal question. No one, not even his family, had ever bothered to ask him that. He answered honestly, though his ego got the best of him in the end.
“Not hurt exactly, they're just overwhelming sometimes. But, uh, it's nothing I can't handle.”
Ah.
‘He's pulling the ‘tough guy’ act like Ren and Bo do,. ’ you thought.
Even at your young age, you were no stranger to the overinflated ego of men. Past experiences with your elders and older brothers had already taught you that lesson many times over. Your brothers were the future of the family, and as such, they felt the need to pretend like nothing ever bothered them—which was exactly the front Gojo was putting up now.
Should you confront him about it? Did an average person like you have the right to? The echoes of your grandparents' voices told you to keep your mouth shut and mind your own business.
But…maybe this was one of those perfect times to rebel against their teachings.
“Hah, you sound just like my brothers when they try to act tough.”
“How?”
“They like to pretend that nothing ever bothers them, too. But things totally do.”
“I’m not acting. They really aren't that bad. Besides, the stronger I get, the less annoying they are.”
You smiled, looking over at him.
“So they're annoying, too?”
A heat crept up to his face, one he couldn't remember ever experiencing before. He was the one feeling bothered now.
“That's not what I- I mean, I'm still just figuring out how to use them better.”
You noticed his blushing cheeks and decided to back off a bit. He needed reassurance now after your teasing—that's how your brothers and sisters balanced it for you. And you were more than willing to extend him the same kindness.
“Don't worry, I'm sure you'll get a good handle on your sky blues, Gojo.”
You beamed at him.
“Just don’t burn yourself out, okay? You don’t always have to pretend everything’s fine.”
He wondered if your words were out of kindness? Or worse, pity?
The thought of you feeling sorry for him was unsettling. It was a foreign concept that he found unnecessary, odd. And the more he thought about it, the more it annoyed him, even sparking a flicker of anger he didn’t quite understand.
But why? Why did it bother him so much that a girl he'd just met might be pitying him? He just didn't get it.
To avoid saying something he might regret in the moment, he crossed his arms and went quiet instead. Only giving a short nod after your last words.
It had only been a few seconds of silence before you broke it, refusing to let its deafening ring settle in.
“Oh! I saw a TV in one of the rooms at the estate. Do they let you watch Pokémon on it? The newest episode was so good!”
He laughed at the absurdity of this conversation. One second you’re commenting on his eyes or teasing him, and the next you’re asking about something like that? You’d casually moved onto another topic that was so trivial, so normal for a child.
Oh.
That was it—you treated him like a normal, human being. More than that, you treated him like any other kid, with interests someone his age should have.
That's why it was a breath of fresh air talking with you, being around your sweet genuineness—unlike everyone else in his life who expected too much of him.
The realization made him feel as if he’d been suffocating for years now before meeting you.
The annoyance and anger he'd felt earlier dissipated into the void, replaced with a sort of peace and comfort instead.
He’d never had a conversation like this before, but he was more than willing to have it with you—even if he wasn’t used to talking to kids his age, and especially not about things like this.
“Sometimes, but I’m more into Digimon. Do you watch that one too?”
You laughed in reply. “Mmhm. I prefer Pokémon, but I also watch Digimon. Who’s your favorite?”
“MetalGreymon. You?”
“Hmm, let's see,” you tapped at your lips in thought, “I like Gatomon and Gabumon. Anddd Patamon is pretty cute too~”
‘What a hopelessly girly response,’ he thought, staring at you and uncrossing his arms.
“Is that how you choose your favorites? On cuteness?” he chided.
“No, but what's wrong with liking cute things? You gonna tell me MetalGreymon isn’t cute?”
“Uh, yeah. He’s got metal all over his face, and he’s way too strong to be considered cute.”
‘What a bratty boyish response,’ you thought, sighing.
“Who says he can’t be both? When I look at him, all I want to do is give him a biiiiiig hug,” you teased, speaking those last words in a tone you might use for a toddler.
He rolled his eyes, “Now I know you’re just messing with me.”
“Maybe just a little, but I still meant everything I said.”
You didn't have to tell him that. He already knew you weren't lying.
“So what’s your favorite Pokémon then, Jigglypuff?” he taunted.
You narrowed your eyes at him in annoyance at his assumption.
“It's not, but I still like that one. And I asked first, sooo…” you gestured at him to provide his response.
Despite his earlier feelings, he had come to like that you weren't afraid to challenge him. It showed him there was a bit of fire, of rebellion in you. Good. You'd need that to survive in this world the two of you were part of.
“Charizard,” he answered without missing a beat.
“I’m not surprised by that since all you care about is power. Sucks for you, but I’d give him a big ol’ hug too. And with how grumpy he is, it looks like he really needs one.”
“He’d burn you alive before you ever got close, Morisato. ”
“You'd let your Charizard kill me over a hug, Gojo? How rude.”
“Hey- I never said it’d be my-”
“Doesn’t matter, that’s the point of both shows.” You waved your finger in the air, like a teacher giving a lesson to an unruly student.
“They’d be like our pets or companions. So, because of that, your Charizard just cooked me like fried takoyaki.”
His stomach grumbled at your words—he hadn't anticipated being out here for so long.
The sound was so loud that you happened to overhear, causing you to giggle at his expense. As your laughter subsided, you apologized for making him hungry.
He looked away, not wanting you to see his embarrassment.
‘Why am I even feeling this way? So what if I’m hungry?’ he wondered.
Was it because you had laughed at him? Was that it? He still couldn’t make sense of the emotions you were making him feel today—many he’d never experienced before.
Sensing his discomfort and feeling bad for being the cause, you decided to answer his original question.
“It’s Butterfree, that's my favorite Pokémon. I know it's not the strongest or the cutest even, but,” you paused for a second before continuing, “I kinda have my own reasons for really liking that one.”
He couldn't keep himself from prying, and curiosity got the better of his tongue before he could stop it.
“Like what?”
“I don't know if I should say...”
There was that same reluctance you had shown him earlier when he offered you his hand to exit the rock’s hidden space. But he wasn't a stranger anymore, and you really could trust him. He hoped you knew that.
“C'mon, please? It's the least you can do after laughing at me,” he insisted.
You snorted. “How was I supposed to know what I said would make you so hungry?”
“Well, it's your fault I'm out here, skipping my usual mealtime. So c'mon. Out with it.”
You sighed, but he could tell he'd won you over.
“You never told me if you had seen the newest episode of Pokémon this week. Did you?”
“I did.”
“Okay then y'know what happened with Ash's Butterfree?”
“Yeah, he let it go off with that pink version, right?”
You nodded.
“What's that got to do with it being your favorite?”
“Because…well. Because it got to do what I wish I could—to spread its wings and leave with everyone's praise and approval.” Your voice shook as you uttered those last words.
Almost immediately, you regretted it. You’d shared a bit too much of your real feelings.
‘I shouldn't've said that,’ you thought as your eyes darted to the ground.
Now it was your turn to feel embarrassed.
His eyes shifted back to you, and the hurt was written all over your face.
He could tell you had more to say—and, for some reason, he really wanted to know what it was.
So, with his limited experience, he tried his best to gently encourage you to continue.
“Uh...was there anything else? If there is, you can keep going. I can- I’m great at keeping secrets, so you don't have to worry.”
Despite your feelings, his reassuring words were the permission you needed to let go.
Shutting your eyes, you took a deep breath before continuing.
Your voice cracked as you spoke.
“And just like a silly cartoon character, I-I wanna be free to choose who I love and marry, and, and… and do what I want with my life. No matter what my family demands of me.”
It got quiet then. Not for any negative reason, no—he was just giving you a moment to breathe after letting something so emotionally charged out.
Unfortunately, you didn’t take it that way. You felt even more regret for rambling on and oversharing.
Before he could say anything, you started up again.
“This must sound so dumb to you. Sorry, Gojo. I don’t know why I said all that-”
He cut you off, “But it's not dumb at all. Remember what you told me earlier? I don’t have to pretend everything’s fine. And neither do you.”
He shifted, scratching his neck. “I won’t tell anyone your secret. And… if it makes you feel better, I know what that feels like, kinda. Just for different reasons.”
“Does your family have expectations of you, too?” you asked softly.
“All of jujutsu society does,” he answered honestly.
“That must be so hard…”
“It can be.”
He didn’t want the focus to stay on him, so he quickly asked you another question.
“So who does your family want you to marry?”
“Was it that obvious after spilling my guts?”
“A little,” he replied.
A small, forced laugh escaped your throat before you replied.
“A strong sorcerer since I can’t be one myself, like my older sisters and brothers. I don’t think it matters who to them,” you paused and sighed, “but it does matter to me.”
“How would marrying you off help?” he asked.
“Connections and continuing bloodlines. My parents are an example of that. It's one of the reasons there's five of us.”
“They expect you to have five children?” He was baffled.
“I don't think there's a set number, but yeah…”
“What if you just refuse to go through with it?” he asked.
You tilted your head. “Can you refuse your family?”
“Never have...” He admitted, almost begrudgingly.
“Exactly. I can't either.” You let out a long breath.
He sighed along with you.
“Sounds like both our families are kinda messed up, dumping all this stuff on us, Morisato.”
You smiled at him softly, almost apologetically. “I guess you’re right, but... mine feels so small compared to yours. I mean, what I’m dealing with is nothing compared to being responsible for-”
Just then, you overheard your sister’s voice, calling for you to come out, admitting that you had indeed won, like Gojo said you would.
“Guess that’s our cue.”
“Yeah,” you nodded.
You started to climb out of the hideaway spot Gojo had brought you to.
“Hey, Gojo?”
“Hmm?”
“Thank you for listening. It helped to talk about it.”
“Anytime.”
“You always this serious?” you joked.
“Sometimes.”
You laughed as if he had just said the funniest thing ever.
He enjoyed being the cause of your laughter, but it didn’t erase the way you’d brushed off your struggles, as though they didn’t matter next to his.
He really hated that you had done that.
Abruptly, his footsteps came to a complete halt. Noticing this, you glanced back at his still figure, slowing to a stop yourself.
“Everything okay?” you inquired, puzzled by his actions.
“Don’t-” he started, his voice soft but serious, “don’t downplay what you’re going through, Morisato. It matters too.”
You looked down, “I won’t, but only if you promise to take it easy every now and again. Life's not all about power. Or it shouldn't be.”
“Are you asking for another pinky promise then?” He rolled his eyes, still finding the ritual a bit too childish for his liking.
“Uh-huh~” you nodded, enthusiastically.
You raised your pinky towards him, and he intertwined his with yours.
The two of you continued walking after the agreement was made.
Before getting back to your family, you decided to give him one final thanks.
“I never thought I could win against my brothers and sisters. But I did, all thanks to your help, Gojo.”
He felt flustered by your words of praise, but he was glad to receive them. Even so, he tried his best to play it off.
“It’s not that big of a deal, Morisato.”
“Maybe not for someone as strong as you, but for someone average like me, it is.”
You'd brought back his own assessment and used it against him without knowing the impact your words would have on him. He'd replay them over and over in his head later, feeling guilty for ever calling you that even if it was the truth.
In reality, each of you lacked something the other had. You might not have been strong, but you were never lonely— despite your parents and elders, you had your sisters, brothers, and friends who loved you. Unlike you, he was the strongest, but he was alone, even in a room full of people.
The calls from your brothers and sisters got louder, and you picked up your pace, not wanting to worry them any more than they already were.
As they came into your view, you raised your hand to wave at them with a cheesy grin.
You’d looked over at him, one final time, before reaching your siblings, “I hope we get to see each other again soon, my new friend.”
You smiled at him brightly.
From strangers to friends in a little over an hour—how ridiculous.
But…
He wouldn’t want it any other way.
He grinned slightly back at you as he responded with, “me too.”
⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔
That night, lying wide awake in his room, your words came back to him again and again, incessantly echoing within the confines of his mind.
“Maybe not for someone as strong as you, strong as you, strong as you,
but for someone average like me, average like me, average like me, it is.”
Average. Average. Average.
You had said that line with a smile, like you’d already accepted it as truth. And the worst part was, he had been the one who'd given it to you.
He hated himself a little for it.
He couldn’t imagine how much worse it would’ve been if he’d called you weak, like he’d first assumed.
You'd never be a talented sorcerer, that much was true. He couldn't pretend otherwise. But, you had something else—something different that he didn't have.
You had an air of lightness, of calm, even with all your teasing and playfulness. He found himself missing it now. Your presence. Your way of talking to him. Making him feel normal.
He knew he wanted to see you again.
In fact, he'd make sure of it.
And soon, too.
Before he finally drifted off to sleep that night, he had one final thought.
If you weren't strong in the same way he was, then maybe… maybe he’d just have to be strong enough for the both of you.
⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂𐀔
It was unexpected and unplanned, your quick and close friendship with the Gojo clan heir—just like your birth had been.
Maybe you would prove worthy of your surname after all. At least, that’s how the elders of your kin viewed your newfound connection.
Your family seized every chance for the two of you to meet without drawing suspicion. They started by attending formal meetings and social functions they had hardly bothered with before, stringing you and your siblings along to ‘learn’ and ‘socialize’ with other members of the jujutsu world.
He, similarly, began showing up once he heard you’d been at the past three. In the past, he’d been allowed to skip many of these events.
But he wouldn’t do that now. Not when he could see his little friend more often this way.
His sudden change in demeanor didn’t escape his family’s notice. It was obvious that Gojo was happier than he had ever been in his life.
This emotional shift had rippling effects on every corner of his life, most notably, his training. He’d been working harder than ever, growing stronger at a much faster pace as a result.
It only took a more watchful eye to realize the source of his motivation was you.
Humoring the existence of this newly formed bond, the Gojo clan permitted Satoru his harmless little friend—but only after ensuring it was a genuine friendship. After all, they couldn't risk your family attempting to use this attachment to their advantage.
As part of their scrutiny, they questioned your parents, your siblings, your clan elders, and even outside sources. In time, they even arranged for Gojo’s parents to meet you personally, a test you passed with surprising ease.
Much like their son, they found themselves disarmed by your sweetness. Your openness and sincerity were a striking contrast to the guarded words and rehearsed manners they had grown used to since Gojo's birth.
They had expected someone ambitious, or at the very least, overly eager to impress. Instead, they found you refreshingly wholehearted, uninterested in currying favor or advancing your position—or your family’s, for that matter.
The only drawback they noted was your limited cursed energy—you’d likely never be able to reach beyond a grade 4 sorcerer, at best.
Despite your shortcomings in sorcery, the Gojo clan ultimately approved of you, acknowledging both the positive influence you had on Satoru and the motivation you provided for him to grow stronger, which, in the end, was all they truly cared about.
They weren’t naïve, though. His family knew the Morisato clan would someday try to use your connection to Gojo to their advantage.
But until then, your friendship was permitted to continue and progress without their intervention.
Truthfully, even if they had disapproved, nothing could have kept him away from you.
