Just Saw Ur Fic Ideas Post .......... How Bout Semi Public Stuff With Gojo @ Some High End Jujutsu Event

just saw ur fic ideas post .......... how bout semi public stuff with gojo @ some high end jujutsu event and he just is SOOOO enamoured with how you look and takes you to the bathroom and ..... 😙

GOT A FETISH FOR YOUR LOVE !

ෆ note. sobs dies ressurects… im so weak… i had to write a full on fic… everyone thank T for this cuz i went crazy on this one and it’s super detailed for no reason. this post contains smut, proceed at own risk !

ෆ tags. (perv)dom!satoru x female reader. semi public, p in v — unprotected, bits of manhandling, corruption kink, breast play, premature ejaculation, cervix fucking, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, teasing, cum play, creampies, spanking, pussy slapping, mentions of masturbation, perv panty stealer satoru, implied cunnilingus, fucked against a wall, lots of dirty talk, satoru calls you ‘slutty’ once, satoru with the famous ‘just the tip’ beg, satoru sometimes turns whiny and subby so you get the best of both worlds (hes pathetic), he has a big dick ehem, pussy drunk satoru.

satoru couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw you climb up the stairs near the torii gates of the high school he teaches at; your appearance only increasing in beauty due to the candle lights placed all around the environment.

your face and body were glistening under the moon light as you made your way up. you were silently cursing yourself for wearing heels while knowing that jujutsu tech was situated on top of a literal mountain.

unbeknownst to you, your boyfriend had been waiting your arrival near the entrance since the first guests started pouring in.

with a sigh, you finally lift your head up as you notice the entrance to the main building come into view. there were lots of known sorcerers gathered around, chitchatting about recent business and changes in the jujutsu society.

you were too enamoured by the elegant decorations that hung around the school and the people who were dressed accordingly to the theme to even notice the white-haired man walking up to you.

which was unusual, since satoru’s tall physique could be easily spotted in any crowd.

“baby, you should’ve told me you had arrived!” satoru exclaims almost embarrassingly loud, waving at you without a care in the world of all the other guests that were giving him stares. his gaze was only on you, “i would’ve come picked you up.”

you wave back at him, eyes lingering on the tailored dark blue suit he was wearing, the waistcoat and dress shirt underneath being undeniably attractive. a bonus being that he was wearing his glasses and not his blindfold.

“it’s okay, love.” you reassure satoru as you walk a few steps towards him as well.

“ya sure? you didn’t hurt yourself or anything, right?” satoru pouts, immediately wrapping his arms around your waist and hugging you tight, “my poor, poor girl.”

you roll your eyes at satoru’s antics. his one and only desire in life is to give you the princess treatment you deserve and it shows at moments like these.

“it’s fine,” you murmur, voice muffled as you bury your face into the crook of his neck; getting drowned in his familiar scent, “you look handsome by the way.”

satoru chuckles, feeling a bit giddy on the inside from your compliment. he almost responded with a ‘i know i do’, yet he held himself back. today was an exception and he decided to save you from any more cheeky remarks.

“thank you, pretty.” satoru hums, “you look ethereal.”

you could feel the way your boyfriend hugged you even tighter after his comment, pressing your body against his. you normally wouldn’t mind it in the slightest, however you could notice a few people glancing over at you two.

satoru couldn’t give a single damn about it; the only thing his senses were hyper focused on were your breasts that were squished against his chest—the curves of your body being easily accessible to the sorcerer.

“god..” his breath was shaky a little. satoru was really trying hard to repress his urges, the event hadn’t even started yet and even so, he was way too lost in his perverted thoughts.

he couldn’t help himself. you were just too addictive; your perfume, your warmth, your body, your face, your glossy lips… your breasts, your ass—

satoru clears his throat and pulls back after a bit, “shall we, m’lady?”

he bowed a little to you, putting his hand out for you to hold on while a subtle smirk played on his lips.

with a giggle, you grab onto his hand and satoru wastes no time interlocking your fingers as he guides you to the entrance of the main hall.

the building was scattered with even more sorcerers from all kinds of clans; some admiring the scenery, some sitting and eating various delicacies.

like before, you were too caught up in the scale of the event to realise that satoru was ogling you. it was a great thing that his pitch black lenses were blocking most of his eyes from the outside;

his gaze lingered on your side profile, your lips that were slightly parted in amazement, your hips which swayed from side to side with each step and your ass which he tried not to grope in public.

satoru hadn’t even noticed that he started to ball his hands into fists out of pure self control. his hand that was holding onto yours tightening its grip as well.

“something wrong?” you ask your boyfriend once you noticed, tilting your head to look up at him.

“nothin’, baby.” satoru lies and flashes you a reassuring smile, “c’mon. let’s enjoy some food.”

without waiting on your answer, satoru guides you towards a free cocktail table and stands near it, serving you an appetiser that was set on the table cloth.

you gladly accepted it and took a small bite, looking around the place some more and taking in the details, “it’s really pretty. the decor and stuff.”

satoru hums in agreement even though he hadn’t taken a single proper look at the environment when you were the main event in his eyes, “yeah. i think so too.”

everything about you somehow drove him crazy today. on most normal days, he could wait until you were at home to show you how much he adores you. that was not the case at the moment since he was fighting with his own self on the inside.

he was absolutely whipped for your elegant look.

“very pretty.” satoru mumbles under his breath. he most definitely wasn’t talking about the interior or exterior of the place.

it was getting harder by the minute to not give in to his primal needs. the more you talked to him, flashed him your innocent smile and let him hear your voice, the more he was struggling to keep his (now hard) dick in his pants.

you continued rambling about something that you noticed around you and satoru took the chance to place his hand on your hip, pulling you closer. it wasn’t anything unusual, thus you kept on talking.

it started off by him rubbing the area around your hips to his fingers subtly sliding downwards, eventually reaching the hem of your dress. his index finger dipped under the fabric, caressing your upper thigh. that small skin to skin action made satoru’s breath hitch and his cock twitch in its restraints.

“fuck.”

“what was that?” you abruptly stop yourself as you heard your lover curse under his breath. you weren’t aware of all the lewd thoughts going on in satoru’s mind and that made it even better. your innocent confusion wasn’t going to last long, however.

satoru lowered his head a bit until his lips were right next to your ear. the warmth of his breath made you shiver.

“i said,” he starts off in a low tone; one which he knows would make you weak for him, “i want you.”

it was as if time froze for you for a split second. you knew what satoru meant with that. you could’ve easily guessed the hidden meaning behind those three words just by his tone. the light but daring touches on your legs were your second hint.

“love, we’re in public.” you whisper back. satoru has a reputation to uphold as the strongest sorcerer in this entire building, yet there he was; implying that he wanted to take you right there and now.

a sigh left satoru’s lips, the air hitting your ear once again, “please, baby? for me?”

satoru was running out of patience. he could act out in the midst of the hall and disregard his image for all he cares. he just needed you. badly.

“promise i’ll be quick, yeah?” he adds, tone pleading but also a tad dominant.

you gulp and wanted to give in. you stood no chance to your whiny boyfriend, who always knew the right buttons to push to get you to comply to his requests.

satoru saw the hesitation in your eyes and he decided to plead more, “just the tip. i promise, sweets—tha’s all i need.”

a intrusive mental image of satoru fucking your brains out made him grip your thigh a bit harder; his voice suddenly growing deep and dominant, his expression filled with only lust.

“shit—please. have to feel your sweet pussy wrapped around me or i’ll lose it.”

his words were growing explicit and it was only a matter of time before he actually touches you improperly in front of everyone. you could tell by the way his long fingers inched closer to your clothed cunt.

“..fine. just the tip, like you said.” you breathe out shakily out of pure desire. though, both of you knew that it was going to be more than ‘just the tip’.

satoru grinned and immediately put down the appetiser he was holding onto, grabbing your hand and almost rushing out of the hall.

there were a few sorcerers trying to greet him on the way, yet he didn’t even glance at them once. his eyes were dazed with hunger as he swiftly made his way through the crowd—his thoughts being filled with the ways he’ll have you moan and beg.

satoru opens up the door to the nearest bathroom, pushing you against the wall the moment the door closed behind you.

his glossy lips crash against yours, the lipstick you’re wearing smearing on your lover due to the aggressive and almost sloppy way he kissed you. his tongue prodded against your lips before entering your mouth—strings of saliva and heavy breaths being exchanged between you two for what felt like minutes.

“ah, fuck. i wanted this so bad,” satoru moans against your mouth, sucking on your bottom lip, “..since the moment i saw you in that dress.”

his big hands were all over your body; groping and grabbing onto your flesh, from your ass and thighs to your tits.

“mhhh— ‘toru, god,” you sigh, feeling yourself get wet from just his confessions, “you can have me, all of me.”

your lover grunts at your words. they were exactly what he needed to hear. he roughly pulls the hem of your dress up, revealing your white panties. his all time favourite. a small, lustful grin instantly appears on his face. he always thought that you looked extra innocent in those; and that by ripping those off, that he’ll corrupt that ‘pure’ image.

and don’t let him start on how many times he’s used that specific pair of panties to jerk off. he vividly remembers how his sticky cum covered the cloth afterwards.

“haah—fuckfuckfuck,” satoru curses repeatedly as his fingertips tremble out of pure desire, “can’t wait any longer. you’re gonna walk around the avenue with no panties later on, ‘kay?”

“sato-” your eyes widened and before you could even protest, you hear the fabric of your underwear tearing. the ripped off cloth falling down onto the cold floor.

“there we go,” he mutters in delight, his eyes gazed at your exposed pussy. his fingers rubbed over the skin, grazing the wet folds. a deep, breathy chuckle echoes throughout the bathroom, “this pussy’s just ready to be filled, don’tcha think?”

you nod feverishly and nibble on your lower lip at the way satoru was teasing your clit. his hand slowly cupped your slippery cunt, his palm covering the area entirely before slapping the velvety flesh. three small smacks, each making your limbs tremble.

“ya hear that?” satoru hums, completely overtaken by his desire for you as the squelchy sounds ring in his ears, “so ready to be stretched out and fucked.”

“hnnnh, ah, baby—please just, just fuck me.” you whimper; feeling the pressure of his hand’s thenar against your clit while his fingertips traveled across your vulva.

“oh, i definitely will.” satoru responds with a grunt as he undoes his belt and zipper with his free hand. his trousers and underwear fall down to his ankles, revealing his cock to you.

your mouth watered at the sight as it slightly slapped against his lower abdomen due to the speed at which satoru took his boxers off. the moist drops of thick pre-cum coating his pink tip, the slight curve of his big shaft and the veins covering it—you needed to have him in you.

when satoru thinks that he prepped you enough to take his cock, he removes his hand from between your legs. of course, he isn’t going to waste a chance of tasting your slick that gathered on his skin.

“turn around,” he orders after licking off his fingers and you do as said, “ass back towards me, pretty.”

one of satoru’s hands was on one side of your hips to hold you steady against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, the other occupied with stroking his cock. satoru was already contemplating on where to cum; in or on you. he’s obsessed with spurting his sticky cum on your plump ass, however he also loved stuffing you full of it.

“deep breaths,” your boyfriend reminds you as he prods the swollen tip of his cock at your entrance—despite the prep, it was always almost impossible to avoid a slight discomforting sensation in the beginning. that man’s length was no joke.

“ahhhh, fuuuck! satoru!” you hiss and your fingernails try to dig into the wall you were pressed against. you felt your folds being forced apart to fit his cock inside of your small cunt.

“shiiit.. you’re fuckin’ tight.” satoru grits his teeth. no matter how many times he breaks your pussy in, you still feel as tight as ever, “..mmh—relax, princess.”

satoru pushed in, inch by inch, until he bottomed out and you both took a deep breath. a sloppy kiss was placed against the back of your neck as reward for taking him in. it was his habit of doing so every time the two of you get intimate.

“‘m gonna start moving. that alright?”

a simple nod coming from you was plenty to let satoru begin with slow, soft thrusts which soon enough turned into deep and firm thrusts—the pounding sounds echoing in the bathroom, “there we go—ahh, yeah— fuck!”

“mhhhg, s’good! ngh!” you slur your words a bit as satoru started to speed up the tempo, feeling his heavy balls slap against the skin near your clit every time he drove his thick cock into you, “mmph! more, wan’ more!”

neither you nor satoru could care anymore if your desperate mewls or the harsh skin-to-skin sounds were heard outside of the dimly lit bathroom.

satoru was slowly losing his mind as he gazed down at your ass and the way you moved your hips back to meet his rough thrusts—he never got enough of you in that position. his hands held onto your hips before moving to your lower back to deepen your arch a little. his eyes were in a trance; he needed to see more of that chubby ass and the recoil of it.

“i swear—you’re gonna make me,haah, cum already,” satoru moans as he tried to find a way to distract himself from the pleasure building up to a breaking point. he decides to gently bite onto your shoulder, running his tongue over the slight mark he left and then continues to suck on the flesh.

“hmmmh, haah, yes! need- need your cum in me, please- please, ‘toru!” you beg in such an erotic tone that satoru can’t help but bite down harder on your shoulder.

“princess—y-you can’t say that-” he swallows a lump in his throat as he forces his cock so deep that you felt it hit your cervix repeatedly, “please- don’t say that.. don’t, oh god—“

satoru was the one begging this time; his voice sounding more whiny than it had ever been during your little session. he can’t help it when it comes to you. he had desired to fuck you since he saw you and now that he was finally doing it, his senses were utterly overwhelmed.

“nonono,” you hear your boyfriend curse as the strokes inside your tight cunt turned harsh and quick, like he was on the verge of his climax, which he didn’t want. he didn’t want to cum in under two minutes, but he’s just so weak when it comes to you. so damn weak.

“ahhh, fuck— s-sorry, baby— can i cum? can i cum in you? please?” he bites his lips, shutting his eyes so tight that he could see colors.

“please, please, let me. mnghhh, please let me cum in you. wanna fill you up.” satoru repeats his words like a chant in your ear. you were as lost in the feeling of ecstasy as your lover was and just nodded at his whiny pleas.

“mhmm, yes, do it—cum in me!”

your permission was all satoru needed and not a second later, you felt ropes and ropes of hot cum flood your cunt and some drops gush out of your pulsating hole.

satoru was quivering slightly as he kept moving his hips in slow pumps, fucking the cum deeper into you. you were full of surprises; he didn’t know he could cum in under two minutes until right that instant. you really had him wrapped around your finger.

and the best thing? he was already starting to get hard once again.

satoru slowly pulled his dick out of you and only let the tip stay a few centimetres in you. one hand went to grab onto the base of his length and he started to tap and move the tip in tiny circular motions in your cum-filled pussy—making sure every single drop is dumped where it belonged.

“fucking greedy, ain’t ya?” satoru hisses as he feels you clench onto his tip like you were doing to his cock earlier, “your pussy just wants to milk me dry.”

you whine and push your hips back a little in attempt to push his cock further into your needy cunt again, “wan’ more.. please, ‘toru?”

gojo satoru was a weakling.

he slammed his cock fully inside of you again and didn’t care if you expected it or not; he was fucking you like there was no tomorrow. his hands were kneading the flesh of your ass, spanking it every now and then to feel you tighten up more around him while his hips were working full time.

“yeah? gonna take another load in your slutty cunt again?” satoru groans as he feels your pussy gripping onto his throbbing cock like it was pleading to be stuffed, “haaah—you’re incredible, nhh, never had anyone make me cum this quick and hard before.”

your body squirmed and shivered each time you felt satoru spank you, ending up in a repeated cycle of you tightening up around him and him smacking the fat of your ass, “yes, yes, yes! want it, please!”

it was incredibly difficult to hold back your own orgasm when satoru was whispering filthy things in your ear, pounding into your creamy pussy while also stimulating your clit.

satoru instantly caught onto the fact that you were nearing your climax. you always started to get more noisy whenever you were close, “aah, mhm—cum on my cock while i dump another load inside of you. c’mon, you can do it.”

satoru’s words made your stomach fill with butterflies, the coil inside of you threatening to finally snap.

“‘m gonna.. gonna cum! gonna cum!” you cry out between ragged breaths, eyes rolling into the back of your head once you reached your long-awaited climax.

the sight of you arching your back even more while you came was the hottest thing satoru’s seen. he rushed his thrusts, becoming more precise to hit your cervix over and over again.

“mhm, jus’ like that—tighten up more.” your lover hisses and his nails dug into the flesh of your hips while he felt your pussy throbbing from overstimulation, “milk me dry, pretty—fuck!”

your mind was foggy with that euphoric feeling after reaching your orgasm. but also due to satoru continuing to bully his thick cock all the way in you, seemingly needing to drain his balls inside your cunt.

“mhhhhnn, ‘m gonna fill ya up again,” he whimpers a bit into your ear from behind while sweat drips from his forehead, “take it all like a good girl, yeah? don’t—haah— waste a drop.”

and with that he spurts and squirts strings of cum into your womb once more. it felt like there was no ending to it as his semen just continued to pump out of the tip.

“fuckkk! got more for you,” satoru almost sobs out, his tongue peeking out from behind his lips as his muscles tense up. he came so much into you that even more of the liquid drizzled down on the floor beneath you, “take it—yeah—jus’ like that.”

a few more deep and chaste strokes and satoru was done. he exhaustedly rests his chin on your shoulder, white locks clinging onto his forehead and his cheeks colouring a reddish hue.

“haahh.. that was amazing.” satoru sighs deeply, trying to catch his breath while wrapping his arms around your waist. he buried his face into your neck, leaving small pecks there while mumbling about how good you were for him.

your eyes were closed as you rest against the wall, enjoying the affection from your lover while you feel his dick go limp inside you. satoru slowly pulls out afterwards, biting his lip as his gaze lingered on all the fluids leaking down your trembling thighs.

“hold on,” satoru murmurs gently, “gonna clean you up, princess.”

his own legs were shaking slightly as he quickly put his boxers and pants back on. your boyfriend grabs a few tissues from a nearby dispenser, kneeling behind you afterwards.

your eyes followed his fingers as they held onto the wipes and started to clean you up slowly. the comfortable silence—excluding the muffled sounds of chatter and music from outside the bathroom—was perfect for you to catch your breath.

satoru was diligently sliding the tissues over your skin, making sure to not be too rough.

as much as he tried telling himself not to get turned on again from the sight of your ass and sopping cunt in front of his face, he just couldn’t.

your lover was breathing heavily and stopped cleaning you up for a second. he really tried his best to stop himself over and over, though the title of being the strongest didn’t apply to his self control.

his large hands came up to hold onto your ass, spreading the cheeks apart which made your lips part in shock. you looked over your shoulder at him and sensed the resurfacing lust in the air. not only that: his warm breath hit your sensitive pussy as he panted in a hungry way.

satoru lifted his head up to meet your eyes, flashing you a (not so) apologetic grin;

“sorry, pretty. i need to get my dessert.”

he’s healing

actor!satoru headcanons

ft. gojo satoru x reader

content warnings: fluff, slightly suggestive, implied gojo satoru x reader

wc: 573

nanami version, toji version

as an actor:

when he became a rising actor, many people found out that his parents' names were also big in the acting industry 

people immediately assumed that he's just a nepo baby with no talent and only got to where he is due to his parents' wealth and fame

but boy did he prove them WRONG

he's actually so good at his craft that his acting captivated many people

people are also shocked that he studied and actually has a bachelor's degree in fine arts

so yeah, this man is EDUCATED 

a fun fact that many didn't believe is that he wasn't actually even supposed to be an actor and only wanted to help produce and even create his own films

but when he helped producing a film, the director thought he would be a good eye candy on screen and encouraged him to try acting

he first landed some minor roles until more and more people paid attention to him, which helped him unleash his full potential as an actor

if you think he's goofy and silly in jjk, you best believe he is even MORE silly and goofy irl 😭

but he's literally the sunshine of the set so his goofiness really helps in easing the stress of his co-stars and the filming crew

if nanami's the one bringing drinks to the set, he's the one who brings TOO MANY sweets, specifically mochis

it's also ones that are really expensive too like 

doesn't drink coffee because he hates the bitter taste of it, maybe he'll drink one if it's sweet enough (aka doesn't taste like coffee at all), so nanami only buys him fruit teas and frappes LOL

he's also a detail-oriented man so his acting is really GOD TIER and is really keen on nailing every subtle detail whenever he is on screen

definitely very active on ig LOL acts like it's a dump account and is very interactive with his fans in the comment section

his ig composed of various selfies, photo dumps, promotions, his s/o, and definitely a lot of foods

i'd like to think that he also has his youtube channel as well

he posts vlogs and some behind the scenes when he's shooting a drama or magazine shoots 

tries, keyword: tries, not to show spoilers

pls save the directors from him for almost having heart attacks

as a boyfriend:

he really likes to tease you by making you help him practice his lines that needs him to use his hottest voice like bae, FOCUS 

he also practices the fight scenes with you btw 

but he's REALLY annoying about it please

remember that jogo scene? no, the one in shibuya

yeah, he made you feel his entire length like WOAH THERE DUDE? that ain't on the script for sure 😭

also comes home really late but makes up by cuddling you extra longer in the mornings

borrows your lip glosses and takes them to the set because he refuses to buy one and that "it makes your bond as a couple grow stronger" istg

now you know why his lips always look like that on screen LOL

puts them on right before going to the shoot so he can kiss you good with his glossy lips

ding!

. . . inarizaki second-year trio. convince, convince.

“um.” rintarou clears his throat, taking a deep breath.

atsumu and osamu nod in his direction as they warily glance at your mother, who looked at them with a neutral expression on her face.

“good morning, mrs. l/n.” he says, his usual composed exterior coming back to him. “today, we have prepared a powerpoint to convince you to let y/n tag along on our outing tomorrow morning.”

the presentation changes to the following slide. “why you should agree to let your child join our simple outing: a powerpoint presentation made by suna rintarou, miya atsumu and miya osamu.”

your mother smiles quite a bit, and rintarou takes this as a sign from those who heard his silent pleas the night before.

“one. it would help build social connections, specifically memories with friends.” silly pictures of the twins bickering and even ones where you’re included in the background at school are what’s displayed.

“two. it helps with stress.” the next slide has a huge picture of atsumu’s face being absolutely red from eating an extra spicy dish that you and osamu dared him to eat. “according to a few studies, the company of friends would lighten one’s mood and overall performance throughout the day.” wow, they even had it cited properly—in the format of a true professional presentation.

“three. please, mrs. l/n. i can’t handle another outing with the twins; my brain cells are dropping at an alarming rate whenever i’m around them.” he sighs playfully, shaking his head. “fortunately, your child carries most of the brain cells our friend group has.”

the twins stare at rintarou with disbelief. atsumu was about to retort something when osamu held him back. they had to act on their best behavior to win your mother’s favor, after all.

one mistimed step, and she’ll surely refuse.

“four. we’ll be sure to have them home before the sun sets.”

“five. if anything happens, we’ll have atsumu to blame.”

that caught atsumu by surprise. “huh? why me?” he practically yells at rintarou, though he manages to keep his voice down.

“because it was your idea to actually wear formal suits just to deliver this presentation,” he replies.

“hey! it adds flare, don’t it?” atsumu reasons. “ya would’ve worn somethin’ else that doesn’t look professional at all, suna!”

osamu sighs to himself. “keep it down, you shits.” he quickly covers his mouth, realizing his language in front of your mother. “i– i am sorry for my language, mrs. l/n. i swear– ‘m not always like this, swear. i’m not a bad influence on your child, promise.” he tries to reassure her.

the other two looked at you and then at your mother; they were silent.

you, on the other hand, were holding in your laughter. you honestly didn’t expect osamu to use such language in front of your not-so-impressed mother.

she pinches the bridge of her nose, a small smile on her lips. “there’s no need to apologize. i can tell that you and your friends really are persistent to have y/n join you, even going as far as wearing these presentable suits in this hot weather.” atsumu nudges rintarou with a look that says ‘see? it helped!’ “creating a powerpoint presentation and bringing a projector in our home—” rintarou had an eager glint in his eyes as he listened, “made an honest attempt in showing your best behavior in front of your friend’s mother,” osamu smiles sheepishly.

“i’m delighted to know that you are y/n’s friends. what you showed me convinced me well enough.” the three, along with you, cheer as she says this.

“you may have y/n join you three whenever or wherever you want, as long as you tell me or their father beforehand.”

rintarou nods. “thank you, mrs. l/n. fuck, we actually did it. it’s like when we did our thesis defense.”

“rintarou!” you chuckled, and the twins happily thanked your mother.

the three could definitely say they had a knack for convincing and really put in the effort on rare ocassions, especially when it came to you.

noomon © 2023. do not copy, modify, or translate my work.

This is for your y2k!

“Photograph” by Ed Sheeran for Toji Fushiguro - angst

We keep this love in a photograph, we made these memories for ourselves.

Read Part Two - Make You Feel My Love

Pairing: Toji x f!reader

Word Count: ~3.1k

cw: implied family abuse, angst, some fluff, modern day-au, no curses au, a kiss, time skip

Summary: Toji Zenin is scary; he’s the most intimidating boy in your class. When you’re paired with him for a group project, you’re nervous that he’s as bad as he seems. However, you learn that behind that hard exterior is a person yearning just to be normal. 

Author’s Note: The first story for the y2k karaoke party! Inspired by “Photograph” by Ed Sheeran. Thank you @gojoshooter for submitting this song/request! I hope you like this one! Divider created by @/cafekitsune.

You meet Toji in high school, when you’re paired up randomly for a project during your last semester of senior year. He’s a transfer student, having just joined a month ago, introducing himself briefly with a scowl on his face, uninterested in anything. Aside from his obvious stature, the evident scar running across his mouth stands out. Most of your peers avoid him, intimidated by his overwhelming presence. He’s bigger than everyone else, both in height and muscle; he looks like someone you don’t want to mess with. Even teachers do their best to evade him, leaving him to his own devices in the back corner of the classroom. At least he isn’t disruptive; most of the time, he keeps to himself. 

Of course, in a school as small as yours, gossip spreads like wildfire. They say he comes from a prominent family, the “Zenin’s”. You’ve never heard of them; apparently, they are notoriously elitist and filthy rich. So, it surprises you that a son of the Zenin clan would attend a public school like yours rather than a private institution. Maybe he’s different. 

Everyone dreads group projects, let alone randomly assigned group projects. Everyone is on pins and needles, waiting to hear who their partner is. When your name follows his, your heart sinks into your belly. Sighs of relief wash over the rest of your classmates, thankful that they aren’t you. Taking a deep breath, you get up from your seat, slowly walking towards him. When you’re by his desk, he doesn’t look up. You clear your throat to say, “Hello. I guess we’re partners for this project.”

He scoffs, twirling a pen between his fingers, brows furrowed, irritated already. “Great,” he mutters, sarcastically. 

Okay, maybe he’s not different.

~~~

Your teacher calls this project “A Week in the Life”. Basically, you’re tasked to capture your partner’s daily routines throughout the week in the form of photographs. Each student is given a disposable camera, loaded and ready to use. Once developed, you’re supposed to put them together into a collage, decorating it however you desire. A short essay is also required, describing what you will learn about the other person after spending this time with them. You have an entire month to complete everything. Weekdays are repetitive, considering most of the day you’re in school; it’s the afternoons, nights, and weekends that set each person apart from the other.  

“I’m not inviting you into my house,” Toji says, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“But that’s part of the project. I’m supposed to see what you do on a daily basis.” You resist the urge to sound equally as annoyed, not wanting to start off on the wrong foot.

He glares at you, hunched over his desk. “I avoid going home as much as possible. That’s what I usually do.”

You swallow hard, unsure how to respond. Eventually, you murmur, “Well then, you can do me first. We’ll just figure yours out later.”

He shrugs, unenthused. “Whatever.”

You pull your phone out of your pocket, sliding it towards him. “Let’s exchange numbers so we can coordinate our schedules. We can start next week.” He doesn’t argue, pushing his cell to you to do the same. 

As planned, the following Monday, Toji begins taking random photos of you during the school day. It starts off in class when he captures you working at your desk. Other students are doing the same, so it isn’t as awkward as you expect it to be. Still, it feels odd being watched by Toji through the lens of the camera.

At lunchtime, he sits with you and your friends in the cafeteria, his big body smushed next to yours as you munch on your meal. You notice that he hasn’t brought anything to eat except for a protein bar and sports drink. Not thinking anything of it, you split your egg salad sandwich into two triangles, handing him one. He glances at it, then at you, confused. “What?”

“Eat it.”

He makes a face, taking it reluctantly, having the audacity to sniff it before taking a bite. When he doesn’t say anything, expression relaxing, you smile to yourself, satisfied. It’s gone two bites later, and from your peripheral, you see him lick the excess off his thumb. Mouth still full, he mumbles a brisk, “Thanks,” snapping his drink open to take a swig. 

After school, you attend a book club meeting that’s hosted every Monday by your friend. Toji snaps a photo of you and your group posing with your book for this month. Before you leave for dinner, a few of the girls whisper to you about how hot he is, how lucky you are to be paired up with such a hunk. How scary he comes off with his scowls and glares. They’re so loud, you’re certain he can hear, but he doesn’t mention anything about it. That is, until you’re alone with him, walking home together. 

“So, do you think I’m scary?” He has his hands in his pockets, looking down at the ground where he walks besides you. 

The question catches you off guard. “Huh?”

“Do you think I’m scary?” he repeats, looking at you now, smirking. 

You grin. “Maybe a little bit at first. Not so much anymore.”

“What changed?”

“I saw you inhale that sandwich. The tough guy act disappeared in that moment.”

“Hey, that thing was tiny. I could have swallowed it in one bite,” he chuckles, kicking a pebble on the ground. “And I’m not putting on a tough guy act. This is just who I am.”

You giggle softly, smiling at him. “Well, I’m looking forward to getting to know you better, Zenin.”

“Toji. Call me Toji.” 

~~~

Dinner with your parents goes by smoothly. You’ve prepared them for this special visitor, urging them to be on their best behavior and not judge a book by his cover. Naturally, your mother is startled when his big frame enters through the doorway, but when he bows to her, introducing himself respectfully, she eases up. After a quick tour of your house, Toji snaps shots of you helping your parents in the kitchen. With the whole spread laid out on the table, he takes another photo before you all gather around to eat. 

Much like earlier in the day, Toji scarfs his meal, mumbling out compliments to the chef. Your parents are thrilled, dropping more servings onto his plate, watching with pride as their cooking is devoured. You can’t help wanting to capture this memory, so you retrieve your own disposable camera from your backpack, taking his picture. He doesn’t seem to mind. 

The two of you eat ice cream sandwiches in your backyard while your parents wash the dishes. The sun is setting, beautiful golden streaks shining from the horizon. Your classmate takes a candid of you sitting on the patio chair, staring at the last moments of daylight. “Do your parents cook like that every day?” he asks, finishing off the last of his dessert.

“Nah, they just wanted to impress you.”

“Well, I am thoroughly impressed. That was the best meal I’ve had in a long time.”

After just one day with him, you feel comfortable enough to ask, hoping that it isn’t crossing the line. “Do you dislike eating at home?”

He doesn’t respond right away, thinking of his answer carefully. “Yeah, I do.”

“Why?”

He smirks, running his thumb along the scar on his lips. “Dinners at my house don’t always end in dessert, if you know what I mean.” 

Your jaw drops, unable to contain your reaction. “You’re saying…”

He leans back into his seat. “Yup. Got a knife thrown at me.”

“What?!” 

Laughing, he nods. “After that, I didn’t like having dinners there.”

You’re tempted to ask for the whole story, but you know it’s pushing it. Instead, you offer, “Well, you’re always welcome here.”

It’s a simple comment. To you, it’s nothing. Maybe it’s because you’re used to offering kindness to others; it’s what you were raised to do. It’s what the people around you do. It’s common. Second-nature, really. 

But as Toji stares at you, wearing an expression you’ve never seen before, one of genuine gratefulness, you realize that to him, it’s not nothing. It’s special. 

Throughout the remainder of the week, Toji spends practically his whole day with you, morning, noon, and night. During this time, you learn that his family is wealthy, though he chose to attend this school on his own will, just to spite them. He considers himself an outcast, the black sheep of the Zenin clan, so much so that he even refuses to associate himself with the family name. And while he’s sure he’s better off away from the snooty rich kids of the school he would have attended, his intimidating appearance and less-than-friendly attitude has made him an outcast amongst your peers. You feel guilty being part of the problem, judging him before getting to know him. He’s actually easy to talk to. It helps that he’s an open book about his personal life. 

Saturday, you plan to go to the aquarium with your family, inviting him to tag along for the project (and for fun). Toji is at your doorstep right on time, dressed in a tight black tee shirt and grey sweatpants, accentuating his chiseled figure. There’s no denying it; he’s very attractive. You’d be lying to yourself if you said it hasn’t crossed your mind. But Toji doesn’t need people to be attracted to him; he needs a friend. And that’s what you’ll be to him. 

It’s a fun day, observing all the fish and aquatic creatures swimming in their tanks. He takes pictures whenever it’s appropriate, covering the flash with his finger as to not disturb any of the animals inside. You eat lunch together in the cafeteria, Toji offering to pay for it as thanks for all the kindness he was shown this week. Near closing time, you take one last stroll through the jellyfish section, marveling at the wonderfully bizarre invertebrates floating in the water. 

“I’ve never been to an aquarium before,” he admits, quietly admiring them beside you. His eyes twinkle with the glow of the iridescent jellyfish swimming in front of him.  

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

You nudge him playfully. “So, what do you think?”

He smiles, rubbing the spot on his arm that you touched. “Better than I expected.”

~~~

The following week is his turn. The closest you get to his mansion of a home is on the outside, not even through the gates. 

“This is for your own good,” he warns, throwing a twig aggressively between the spaces of the iron bars. 

You snap a quick photo with your disposable, not questioning it. When you’re finished, he smirks. “So, ready for some real fun?”

Toji spends his days after school at various locations. Basically everywhere except his own home. The public library, the gym, arcades, shopping malls, cafés, you name it. He’ll eat dinner at whatever restaurant his stomach fancies at the moment: Ramen, Takoyaki, steak, even instant ramen, depending on his mood. And while his life seems fun from the outside, like a kid in a candy store, it’s lonely. Except for when he’s with you.

Saturday is different from the other days. On the weekends, he goes to the beach, bag packed with his favorite books and snacks, ready to relax on the sand with the waves crashing against the shore. He sets up a large umbrella to cover both of you as you settle into the big blanket laid flat. He passes you one of his books, a volume of his favorite manga. The two of you read in a comfortable silence, sharing a bag of chips, fingers brushing against each other’s whenever you reach at the same time. 

Out of the blue, he comments, “This is nice. It’s normal.”

Laughing, you reply, “What do you mean?”

He sets his book down, looking at you. “Nothing about my family is normal. It’s just nice to feel like a human instead of a failure.”

Your eyes widen, uncertain how to respond. Before you can say anything, he murmurs, “Sorry. I didn’t meant to kill the mood.”

You close the manga, smiling gently at him. “Don’t be. I can’t imagine what it’s like. My life is very normal.”

“That’s what I like about you, though.”

Heat rushes into your cheeks at his statement, and maybe it’s your imagination, but you see him blush. You’ve taken enough pictures to complete your project, but there’s still a bit of film left. “Let’s take a picture together,” you suggest, holding the camera in your hand, trying to lighten the mood.

“Seriously? Why?”

“To celebrate being normal, even if it just for a day.”

He grins, scooting closer to you. “Okay.”

You lean against him, both of you smiling, capturing the moment with the click of your finger. 

~~~

Toji doesn’t stop eating lunch with you. Even with your photos at the lab, being developed, he remains by your side, eating the extra sandwich you always pack for him now. Occasionally, he’ll stop by for dinner, always welcomed by your parents. On the other days, you accompany him to whatever restaurant he’s craving. 

When the photos are complete, you pick them up together, not wanting to share them yet, hoping to be surprised on the day they’re displayed in the classroom. At home, you compile the pictures into a stylish collage, decorating the borders with fun stickers, smiling as you gaze at each photo of him. One at the arcade, holding a toy guy in his hands with the high score flashing in the background. Another at the gym, where’s he’s kicking a punching bag, making it look far too easy. Finally, there’s the last photo you took at the beach, the two of you posing for the camera. It’s a cute picture, one that shows two people who live very different lives happily enjoying their time together. You tape it right in the middle. 

When everyone’s posters are hung around the classroom, many people flock to Toji’s, desperate for a glimpse in his mysterious life. Many gawk at the mansion behind the gates, unaware of the dark secrets it holds. The girls ogle the gym picture, while the boys admire it, asking for workout tips. Toji looks pleased with how his collage turns out, especially intrigued by the photo in the center. “You included the one of us, huh?” 

“It’s too cute, isn’t it? I had to include it.”

He smiles at you. “I totally agree.”

He walks you home that afternoon, a usual part of his routine now. Curious, you ask, “So, what did you write about me for your essay?”

“I wrote about how nerdy you are, going to class and willingly going to clubs after school. For fun,” he emphasizes, rolling his eyes, teasing you.

You poke his arm playfully. “And…?”

“I said that you and your family are really nice. And that your parents should be chefs,” he adds, grinning.

You laugh, hooking your arm around his. “That’s more like it.” 

Before you know it, you’re at one of the parks he frequents, sitting side-by-side at his favorite bench. “What did you say? About me?” he asks, staring at his hands in his lap. 

Without thinking, you rest your head on his shoulder. “That you’re not actually scary. You’re just you. And who you are is pretty great. Really great, actually.” 

There’s a pause while he processes what you said. Afraid that it’s too far, you attempt to back away from him, but he catches you first, pulling you in for a kiss. It’s hesitant, like he’s unsure if this is okay. And when you place your hand on his chest, feeling his quickening heartbeat race against your fingertips, the kiss deepens, his lips parting open to slide his tongue inside your mouth. Before it gets any further, he pulls off quickly. Electricity hangs in the air, buzzing on your lips, tingling on every inch of your skin.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, throat heavy. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just thought – ”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t have,” he spits out, jaw clenched, avoiding your gaze. It’s a harsh voice you haven’t heard the entire time since the start of your friendship.

“But I thought you liked – ” 

“You’re wrong. I don’t. I – ,” he swallows, struggling to get the words out. “And I never will.” He stands up, turning his back towards you, leaving you alone with tears streaming down your face, embarrassed, confused, and heartbroken. 

It’s the last time you’ll see of him. He doesn’t come back to class after that incident. Rumor has it that he came in early the next morning to gather all his belongings, which wasn’t much to begin with. There’s more gossip about it, of course, ridiculous chatter. Eventually, they fade, and his name is no longer uttered by anyone, including you. Months pass, and gradually, new memories overtake the old ones. Life goes on without him. You don’t notice the center photo of your collage is gone until you collect it at the end of the schoolyear. 

He’ll never tell you that it’s for your own good. That turning his back on you is the best option to keep you safe. No matter how much he opens up to you, his reality is much worse than you can ever know. Hurting you is his way of protecting you. Because loving you is too dangerous, especially for someone like him.  

~~~

Ten years later, you’re an elementary school teacher in your hometown. You planted yourself right where your roots grew. There is nothing but grand memories in this place you’re lucky to call your home. The only exception is the abandoned plot of land where the Zenin mansion was demolished a few years ago without any explanation. You preserve its memory in the form of a tattered photograph, forgotten somewhere in your closet.

Today, there’s a new student transferring into your kindergarten class; an adorable little boy with jet black hair and long eyelashes named Megumi. He reminds you of someone from your past, someone you kept buried in the back of your mind a while ago, for your own sanity.

Little do you know that on the other side of the door, Toji Fushiguro leans against the wall, listening carefully to your familiar voice introducing yourself to his son. He smiles to himself, the month you shared together all those years ago fondly replaying in fast forward in his mind. He’s no longer a Zenin, unleashed from the cruelty of his ancestry, liberated from the life he was cursed with from birth. Free to love who he wants without fearing that their life is in danger by the hands of his wretched family. 

He sticks his hands in his pocket, fingers brushing along the corners of the withered photo of the two of you smiling at the beach. With a deep breath, he grips the handle of the door, finally ready to face you at long last.

my love is mine all mine ch 1 | toji fushiguro x female reader

part one of to the girls who are failed by the narrative series.

series summary:

'the glorified womb', 'the heir bearer', 'the blessed flower of the jujutsu society' — they are just some of the titles given to the women of your mother's clan, and all of them eventually fell to you, the prodigal firstborn who has the misfortune of birthing someone who will be stronger than their predecessors. with the fate of someone's clan on your shoulders, there are only a handful of things told to you while growing up; be as demure as you can be, never open your mouth and squash your thoughts, sit with a posture befitting that of a lady wearing an invisible yet heavy diadem. but the one that rings the most goes like this: your only purpose in this world is to be a silent wife to a man who will give you the opportunity to carry the next generation of powerful sorcerers. you remember all of these as you walk toward zen'in ogi in your uchikake, the constricting material around your waist akin to the gripping hold of your cursed technique.

and in fate's funny little ways of fabricating legacies and stories, you forget them when you are spirited away by the man who always welcomes the coming of the seasons with you without fail.

chapter title: their redness talks to my wounds

warnings: objectifying women, misogynistic beliefs, pregnancy, miscarriage, stillbirth, death, sexual assault/r*pe (but not to reader)

Each time a girl is born in your mother’s clan, a festival is held — flower lanterns drifting in the inky sky, bells ringing each passing second, and rhythms of geta filling in between the beats of the taiko. It is believed that your mother’s family was kissed by the deity of fortitude and fertility; very much like how the Mother and Father of the Shinto gods created the islands of Japan and brought forth a new wave of deities, the womb of the Hanamo clan will bring an heir to a dying clan. When the inheritance of The Glorified Womb is successful, all of the clans gather to get a glimpse of the future Lady of their estates and bid on who would welcome her to their gates. The festival is both a moment of celebration and sending off.

It’s the start of a new era and it is all ignited by the birth of a little girl whose body is blessed by a flutter of Izanami’s forefinger. 

You were told that your festival was the grandest of all the events thrown by your family. No one anticipated the weight carried by your first cry. You weren’t there to witness it but the maids who brush your hair constantly tell you that when you announced yourself to the world like the coveted little Lady that you are, all of the flowers coloured the grounds of the estate with the reverse cursed technique innate in your mother’s bloodline and the utilisation from your father’s. They said that it was the moment the entire Jujutsu world stood still, holding their breath; offers were made, compromises were presented on the table, bounties continued piling on your little fragile head — and you weren’t even a day old. You were the product of a fruitful union between the Hanamo and Joushou clans, they said, a little doll to flaunt and to cradle until a worthy man comes to take you away as his young bride.

You don’t understand it until you accidentally nick yourself while marvelling at the beauty of the blossoms in the gardens of the main family’s house.

The blooming red on the tip of your finger fascinates you, the drops nourishing the soil underneath the carnations intermingling with the short redbud trees. Pain doesn’t even come to you as you tilt your head to follow the trickle of blood on your forefinger, the lines on your palm seeping with the most perfect shade of red you’ve ever seen. The flowers speak to you with the more time you spend letting your blood escape through your skin. You can hear them more — all asking the same set of questions that you pay no heed to. Are you alright, young Lady of the House of Purity? Do you need us to carry you in our petals? Does it hurt you? Who dares soil the most-yearned young Lady? They deserve to shrivel. You don’t notice the foliage of the shrubs going past their trimmed appearance to engulf the bundle of roses right in front of you, threatening to swallow the poor plant whole for hurting you. You’re about to place your bleeding finger in your mouth, curious about the taste of it, when the maids shriek behind you.

“Ojou-sama!”

Your hair follows the movement of your head as you turn around to meet their frantic mannerisms. “Hmm?”

“Oh, my Lord!” One of them swoops down to where you are, unravelling a ribbon from her yukata to wrap around your wound. She then scoops you from the ground, her hand holding the back of your head as gently as possible. “What are we going to tell Yoshiki-sama?”

You place your head on the maid’s shoulder, your eyes catching the retreating shrubbery trying to touch you with their fingers. Slowly, you lift your head to get a good look at them, opting to just wave your small, pudgy hands at the leaves and the twigs and the bark. Curious; they almost waved back. But you discern that it is a product of the gentle breeze entering the large gardens. After all, plants do not talk, at least not in the storybooks the caretakers and maids act out for you. The women around you keep on talking as if you aren’t there nestled in between them.

“Is it bad of me to think otherwise?”

“Mari, his daughter is injured!”

“But he will punish us if he finds out!”

The maid carrying you tightens her hold around you. “Even if the heavens ring malice over us peasants, I would gladly inform the head of this house of anything regarding his prized kin. Mari, I thought you were better than that. We are hired to protect Ojou-sama with every inch of our being.”

A hitched breath comes from the other maid. “Don’t you dare drop my name when you speak of this to Yoshiki-sama!”

“If he brings up the subject of the witnesses, I would speak with utmost honesty.”

The maid whisks you away. It is only when she passes by Mari-san that you take a good look at the troubled countenance wrapping around the worried maid. You don’t know the hierarchy around the household but you definitely know your father is the highest-ranking person here, judging from how people speak of him. You surmise that the maid holding you as if you’re the most fragile thing on the planet is higher in rank than Mari-san and that probably makes her sad just like now. Intending to make her smile a little bit, you raise your hand over the maid’s shoulder to wave at Mari-san, your smile beaming and crinkling the corners of your eyes. The lower maid notices it and her entire demeanour shifts into that of a person endeared. She feels better and you also feel better now.

“Ojou-sama, let’s get you cleaned up, yeah?”

“What about Papa? Aren’t we supposed to go to him?”

The maid stiffens. “Right after we clean the wound and put some cute bandages on it, Ojou-sama.”

“Can I pick the pattern?”

The woman chuckles under her breath. “Of course; as long as it is in the box Ritsuko bought the other day.”

Ritsuko must be one of the maids as well. You think long and hard about the design you want, the image of cute cartoon characters filling your mind. With a little pout, you suggest, “I want Sanrio.”

“Let’s see if there’s any of the Sanrio characters in the bandages, then, Ojou-sama. Just a little more and—Mutsuki-sama!”

“I’ll take it from here, Aida-chan.”

The most beautiful woman who puts the flowers to shame — your mother. She was once the most desired bride, even threatening to break the close relationship of the oldest sons of the current head of the Zen’in family in hopes of finally giving birth to the sorcerer who will possess the Ten Shadows Technique they are praised for. Because of your father, the current head of the clan bearing a reverse cursed technique so notorious, that civil war was prevented and the Zen’in married other women from lower clans as a way to swallow their shame. All the funnier it was to the adults having meetings in your house when after marrying their chosen brides, the Zen’in sons weren’t blessed by Lady Luck — the eldest son’s children were never that exemplary (one didn’t inherit the Ten Shadows Technique and the other was an anomaly to your society) and the younger one’s wife experienced miscarriage and false positives.

Judging from the stories you’ve heard of that Zen’in dispute so many years ago, you understand with your little brain that your mother embodies the word pretty through and through — pretty enough to bewitch the young head of the Gojo clan, who is roughly around the same age as her. In the end, it was your father she chose and they were married as soon as she reached the age of eighteen. You graced their life four years after their marriage and she told you in hushed whispers behind a thin shoji that they prayed for your creation — that you are loved way before conception because there was not a night that she didn’t wish to the stars for your existence.

Your mother stands in the middle of the hallway, her maids lowering their heads behind her. The kimono wrapping her figure is anything but simple, one of the many gifts showered to her by your father. Her hair is cascading down her back and her smile is demure yet exuding with so much warmth that it compels you to reach out for her. Her glittering eyes shine ever more at your silent plea to be transferred into her arms.

“Oh, come here, my little petal,” she murmurs while taking you from the maid and in her frail arms. She huffs at the unexpected weight. “Aren’t you getting bigger?” Her voice is soft, almost like she is talking to an easily frightened kitten, even leaning forward to lightly brush the tip of her nose to yours. You giggle at the ticklish sensation and your mother hums a little amused laugh.

You place both of your hands on her cheeks. “Hello, Mama.”

“Hello, little petal.” Her gaze drifts down to the hastily wrapped ribbon around your finger, the red is still vibrant against the muted colours of the material. “Did you hurt yourself while playing in the garden?” Mother tuts under her breath. “We can’t have that now, can we?” The crinkles around her eyes harden into that expected of a Mistress of the house and all the maids present straighten their postures, all the while facing the ground. When the younger women keep their silence, Mother returns to gazing at you with that lovely look she usually has while trailing her eyes over your features. “I suppose it’s expected of children to have a little scratch here and there while enjoying life. After all, my little petal gets her love for nature from me. Isn’t that right, my darling?”

“The flowers talked to me in the garden, Mama.”

“Did they?” Mother glances at the maids before walking toward her room. “What did they say?”

You place a hand on your chin, tucking your head in the crook of her neck. “They were whispering about many things.” You gasp in realisation. “I think they found a little bunny!”

She adjusts you in her hold, her breaths deepening the more she carries you. “We’ll ask someone to fetch that rabbit for you.”

“Will Papa say yes?”

Mother pauses for a moment. The words coming from her throat are carefully crafted to never dim that enthusiastic gleam present in your irises. “Your father is weak when it comes to you; I’m sure he’s going to grant your wish no matter how bizarre it is. A bunny doesn’t even create a dent on anything he holds.”

“I’ll call it Melody.”

“Why the name, little petal?”

“Because it’s the only bunny in Sanrio.”

You watch the long corridors depict the opulence of the gardens of your father’s estate, all of the flowers arranged in a way that is akin to the traditional art of ikebana, making the lifeless plot of land alive. The previous head of the Joushou family decided that for their heir to win the heart of the flower of the Jujutsu society, they have to plant different species of flowering plants to the bland greenery they have in their backyard. It most certainly impressed the standing head of the Hanamo clan, who agreed to give their prized daughter to the man who would least harm her. Now, the garden is a testament to the love sprouting between your mother and father and many maids and butlers say that it is still revered by those who have heard it, all wishing for a love like that to save them from the fate given to them by the higher-ups.

A little honey bee drapes itself on one of the flowers, its wings fluttering rapidly against the purple petals. The flower sneezes though it doesn’t agitate the bee buzzing to get a taste of its nectar. You giggle at the incessant complaints brought by the flower, only to be met by the satisfied buzz of the bee.

“Look, Mama, the flower is talking so fast!” You point at the still-rambling flower, Mother following your finger with her hooded eyes. 

“It’s reassuring to know that I’m not the only one to hear them now.”

You lean back from Mother’s shoulder, her hand immediately flat on your back to prevent you from toppling. “Careful,” she mutters under her breath. The crease on her eyebrows vanishes at the sound of your twinkling laughter.

“Sorry, Mama!”

Mother shakes her head. “It’s alright, petal.”

“Mama says she can hear the flowers, too!”

She sighs at your manner of speaking. “You said you can hear flowers, too,” she corrects without looking down at you, the door of her room right at her reach. “You can easily replace the nouns with pronouns, little petal. It’s not appealing to the ears once you get older. Best to remember to stop referring to yourself from a third point of view as well. It is unbecoming of a little lady of this house to have such impaired speech.” Mother hears nothing from you, so she takes a little peek at you before letting out a huff at the deflated posture you carry. “Your father won’t like it, petal.” She heaves another sigh. “And yes, I can hear the flowers because of our family’s cursed technique.”

“What’s a cursed technique, Mama?”

Once you enter Mother’s room, she pads on the tatami and gracefully lowers herself on one of the zaisu with you on her lap. You don’t see any first-aid kits anywhere that can help her clean and dress your small wound. Instead, Mother unravels the ribbon around your finger and holds it up for her to see. The blood has dried now, the wound stark on your skin. You never realised that the nick made by the roses’ thorns travelled from the tip of your appendage down to the line bordering your first knuckle. Mother remains quiet as she rubs the tip of her own finger over your own, making you flinch at the sting. She glances at the harsh movement of your little body and tuts, the sound echoing through the walls of her minimalistically decorated room. With the tenderness only a mother can have, she keeps on brushing her finger against your open skin, her breathing becoming laboured with each passing second.

The feeling that washes over you is ticklish in every sense. Something is coming from Mother’s touch that has you looking over at your joined hands. There is a pulsating glow emanating from between you two — blinding and warm. It travels from her fingertips to your wound, stitching it together like how she sews the tapestries displayed on some walls of the estate. The pain you felt earlier can be a figment of your imagination because when Mother wipes your finger with a clean napkin on the low table in front of you, the magic she did erases any sign of your injury. And right when she finishes doing her magic, the flowers in the ikebana around her room continue flourishing until more than one blossom can be seen. It’s only then that you realise they are singing in a chorus so heavenly that you have no problems hearing them all at once.

With a rugged pattern of breathing, Mother answers your hanging question, “That … can be classified as a cursed technique.”

You lift your hand to your eyes, blinking every so often and examining it for any scar. “Whoa,” you breathe. “That’s so cool!”

“That,” she catches her breathing, “is the reason why you should never be hurt.” She cups your face with her palm, cradling it like the world that you are. “Our very existence, our cursed technique, the way we were born, is proof of how special we are. They are the reason why your father is quite protective of you. Believe me when I say that you lit up the entire compound when I gave birth to you. In this generation, you are considered to be the most valuable possession of the Jujutsu society. There may come a time when a strong sorcerer will be born, but for now, the world will fall to its knees at the sound of your name. Because you have my blood in you and you know what they say about my family?” You sheepishly shake your head and she takes that as a sign to continue, with a knowing smile on her glossed lips, “Men would go to war just to have us. The near downfall of the Zen’in and Gojo clans hundreds of years ago says it all.”

“I don’t want that,” you murmur, now forlorn at the possibility of wreaking havoc in your world.

“It is the way of the world for us, petal,” Mother says, like an afterthought she always kept ever since.

“I want to watch Sanrio all day and look at the flowers and play,” you pout.

“That doesn’t exactly work for us in the future.”

“Then maybe I should run away!”

Now, both of Mother’s hands trap your head in place. Your eyes take her in — the franticness coating her features, the disbelief in the form of the sneer on her lips, and the underlying glint underneath her pupils. Your little heart starts pounding in your chest. Did you do something wrong to elicit such a reaction from her? Your mouth is about to form an apology when she cuts off your train of thought, “Never think of that again. You are the current flower of the Jujutsu society; running away is something that will have you executed. Do you understand me?” You nod, only jumping when that response rings unsatisfactory to Mother. She grits out your name before repeating, “Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Mother,” comes your quiet response.

“Now, that’s a good girl,” her words are soft but they carry a weight enough to wilt the smallest of buds. “If you run away, you might as well be a dead woman crawling.”

You’ve always wanted a younger sibling.

You don’t particularly long for a brother to dote on or a sister to frolic in the garden with, all you want is someone to share this loneliness wrapping around every room you venture into. And you have reached an age where you wish you had someone to play with, being eight and now more aware that the attention people give you is devoid of genuine emotion. Father is busy with whatever adult thing he occupies himself with (as usual) and Mother has started becoming ill, staying in her room more than going out to get a dose of fresh air. You’re left in the company of maids, butlers, butterflies, and flowers. With so many festivals that have been postponed, you have lost hope that you will get that adorable little sibling in your dreams — until the spring of 1988 when news spread that Mother is with child and you will finally have the younger sibling she wishes for.

“Congratulations, Lady Joushou,” a passing visitor jovially cheers, their smile reaching the heavens as if it’s their wife who is pregnant with the next heir of the clan. “I hope it’s a boy!”

“Oh, imagine the joy Yoshiki would feel if a boy comes out,” an elderly lady from the branch family gushes with her mouth carefully covered by the sleeves of her kimono.

Mother simply passes them a smile, one that can’t be hidden by the products on her face. Her hand is carefully perched on her protruding belly, just two months away from giving birth.

Father decided that the announcement of the possible heir of the Joushou clan should come at a later date, with the news making an impact on the higher-ups and would eventually give the clan an edge compared to the others. Especially now that the Zen’in clan has failed to produce another child from the oldest couple of the current head, their last child still an odd specimen but a survivor of a room full of cursed spirits. Father said that wasn’t enough for them to be boastful about their prowess, you remember (he adds something along the lines of the entire Jujutsu world would bow before the boy who will carry his Nullification). But you never cared about clan politics or who has the more exceptional children, you just want your baby sister to be out into the world. You want to show her the storybook you created for her eyes and ears only, a story of a little princess in the flowers.

“You should eat more seaweed, dear,” another old lady pads over to suggest. “It would help with milk production if you plan on breastfeeding the future heir.”

“What are you talking about? Of course, Lady Joushou is going to breastfeed the future heir. Breastfeeding is vital for the relationship of the mother and the child after all.” One of the official elders of the clan swatted the lady from the branch family before taking the rein on the conversation, her smile making her eyes crease into lines. “Try some cucumber juice as well! It worked when I was carrying my last child. Your skin will glow when you drink it, too.”

“Dear, now that I see it,” the old lady from the branch family starts while placing her hand on her cheek. “You have been glowing lately.”

“That is wonderful news!”

Mother chuckles ever so slightly. “Why?”

“It confirms that you’re carrying a boy!”

“A boy?” Something lights up Mother’s eyes. “Are you sure?”

The elder of the clan hums, “When a woman looks decayed, it means that they’re pregnant with a girl because all of the mother’s beauty is being sucked by the baby. If the opposite happens like the mother getting prettier by the day, the baby is a boy because beauty is not something he needs.”

Mother blinks out of her stupor. “That’s … informative, Shizuka-sama.”

“But I remember that everyone thought he was carrying a boy when the little flower was born. You had the most noticeable case of pregnancy glow with her that we thought we finally had our heir. Turns out it’s even better — a little lady to carry on the mantle of being the glorified womb—!”

“Enjoying yourself listening to the elders, little petal?” Father’s voice makes you jump from the shoji. You look behind your shoulder to see him standing with his back straight, his long hair that was tied in a low ponytail hanging over his shoulder, and his smile gentle yet firm. Father is a man who commands attention wherever he's placed. You don’t see him without his usual stoicism. Even when he smiles, you feel as if he’s never within your reach. Father was once Papa and when Papa decided it was better for him to long for a child he could pass his technique to, he became Father. When you keep staring at him, Father lightly laughs, something that sounds more like a scoff than anything. “Come here, petal,” he softly says, letting his hands be free from the confines of his kimono to gesture you into his arms. He carries you once you reach him, releasing a playful huff, “You’ve gotten big, huh?” He noses your hair before opening the shoji.”

“Oh, Lord Yoshiki!”

“Did you have a good meeting, Lord Yoshiki?”

“You must be pleased to hear about the possible gender of your child!”

“Finally an heir to celebrate!

“We’ll definitely fix a festival that’s more extravagant than the Hanamo’s—!”

“Ladies,” Father cuts through, his smile glacial enough to make the elderly women freeze. “Can I have some time with my wife? Our precious daughter is asking for her mother and I can’t have our little petal deprive her of it simply because we have a party outside.”

The one from the branch family bows her head in front of the head of the clan. “Oh, right away, Yoshiki-sama! We deeply apologise for taking most of your wife’s time.”

You don’t fail to notice the look of disdain she gives your direction.

“Nonsense,” the higher in position among the ladies tuts.

“Shizuka,” comes from the weak admonition of the lesser lady.

“The girl has her maids, am I right?” The words are like poison on her tongue and her eyes are daggers that pierce through your little bubble. Ever since they didn’t get the heir they wanted the first time around, they find you lowly just like Mother. At the tender age of eight, you already grasp the reason why some of Father’s family look at you in a way that someone looks at an uncoordinated ikebana — with disappointment. Coming from a clan that’s purely known for their blessed wombs, it is easy for the other clans to assume that is all that the Hanamo clan is worth — bearing children with otherworldly looks that can make the entire world weak. The woman continues throwing her daggers, “The child your wife is carrying has more priority than the one you have now. This unborn child may be the next one to inherit our technique—”

“I appreciate the concern,” Father says without saying the name of the elder woman. “But I would like to dismiss you now.”

“Well, I—”

“You have said enough.”

The woman squawks like a chicken and you giggle at the sound. She meets your laughing form and the glare on her face can curdle milk. Your laughter ceases but Father places a hand on the back of your head as if to shield you from her. She chooses to save her life by tidying up her kimono and exiting the room, the other ladies following her like ducklings. Once the room encloses only you three, Father walks to where Mother is and sits at the end of the chaise lounge she is reclined on.

“How is the boy?”

Mother lets out a little laugh. “Not you, too.”

“Is there a problem?”

She shakes her head. “Nothing.”

Father hums, the conversation ending there.

You look at them like a tennis match.

Once upon a time, you longed for a younger sibling, not caring about the sex of the baby. Now, with the weight of the elder’s eyes on your useless form, you start to think that you don’t want a little brother, one that can be a godling among mortals. You want someone to play with and at the same time protect from the harsh realities of the elders — not someone who will take everything from you. It may sound selfish when you let it sink into your brain. You resort to twiddling with your fingers the more silence seeps through the cracks of the room. 

“I don’t want a brother,” your little mouth runs faster than your head. You pout as you fiddle with the material of your expensive kimono, embroidered with the different flowers that stand for your late grandmothers and aunts who married into other clans just like Mother. You don’t know what they mean but you figure that since they look pretty to be placed in a ceremonial robe, they might stand for something beautiful as well. While following the outlines of a chrysanthemum with your finger, you continue, “Brothers are going to be mean even if they’re little. I’ve seen my cousins and they’re rowdy — I don’t want my kimono to be dirty. Once, they threatened to push me off the bridge of our garden.”

“Well, that’s too bad,” Father replies, adjusting you on his lap until he can face you while looking down. It’s genuine — the smile on his face; only reserved for his close family members, most especially you. He caresses the fluff that is making your cheek protrude with his thumb, his gaze seeing something that only he can envision. You may be imagining it but Father pulls you closer to his chest. He says nothing for a moment, instead leaning down to press a soft kiss on your hair inhaling that flowery scent your cursed energy pulsates with. “You will have a younger brother, petal. But fret not, your brother won’t be like your cousins because he has us. He will grow up to be sensible and kind and strong. He will carry on our name with him and you will be there as his guide.”

You tilt your head at him. “Won’t the elders do that instead?”

Father chuckles, his eyes fond as he keeps on rubbing circles on the apples of your cheeks. “I know he’d rather have you than those old people. The bond of siblings is something akin to an unsaid binding vow yet there are no conditions to be met because you are connected.”

You turn to Mother and all she does is smile. Looking down on Father’s rather plain kimono, you think it through.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, petal,” she tells you. “I, myself, have a brother and it’s not the end of the world. Every worry you have will vanish when he’s here with us.”

Your tentativeness comes in the form of reaching for Mother’s belly, curious to feel your potential younger brother. It’s almost like beckoning the bunny in the gardens to your hands four years ago; fur as white as snow and eyes as red as the red spider lilies decorating the inner corners of the foliage and shrubs (bad luck, the gardeners say). Confidence pools in your tiny hands upon finally touching the rough texture of Mother’s kimono under your skin because this time, you know that your younger brother would outlive any of you, unlike the bunny four years ago — the red of its eyes matching the blood pooling from its white coat, maggots squirming from its insides and onto the grass. The bunny died but your brother will live.

At least that’s what you constantly tell yourself when the entire estate is ablaze with the news that the baby boy Mother has been praised for for carrying, comes out pale blue as a stalk of delphiniums.

When your little brother never reached a full day of life and was placed with the ancestors the day after his birth, everything died in the Joushou compound. There is a lingering scent of rotting flowers in the breeze, encompassing the entire protective circle wrapping around the compound’s protective barrier. Mother won’t stop crying during the kokubetsushiki (where everyone says their farewells); not even your comforting tugs on her black kimono can quell the distraught her entire body racks with. Father looks forward as the son he prayed to the gods for will be burned — so tiny and so unfair, an image of a perfect clan head. You see the other clans wearing black like your family does but they don’t cry like Mother does nor grumble in disappointment like the elders do. You look over your shoulder at the clan with sharp eyes and you feel the flowers beside them squirm at their malintent, except for one. It’s a boy already staring at you, the deep green in his eyes reminds you of early spring when the greenery is at its most beautiful. The scar on the side of his lips is stark against his skin, so twisted that even without a smile on his face, it is prominent. He keeps on staring at you with so many emotions that you can hardly pick them out until your name is called.

“Yes, Father?” You look up at him.

Without returning your gaze, he says, “Let’s go.” You follow him through the door but Mother doesn’t. “Wife,” he announces, causing Mother to flinch.

“I-I’m going to say g-goodbye to hi—”

“Come.”

Her breathing hitches, having no choice but to always be obedient in front of so many prying eyes. “O-Of course, husband.”

The world carries on but Mother has never come out of her room ever since.

Nobody has ever entered it except Father, stoic but tumultuous, and the screams that follow are enough to give you nightmares at night — bone-chilling and grating.

“What were those screams, Aida-nee-san? It sounds like Mama is in pain.”

The maid finches at your question one morning while rubbing your skin with a soft sponge.

“For there to be blessings, one must suffer first, Ojou-sama — they were just making your baby brother. Your mother will be praised if the union becomes fruitful once again.”

You wish you never wanted a baby sibling at all.

You are nine when you are introduced to members of Mother’s family.

Your uncle, Hanamo Hatsugu, stares at you from across the table with eyes glistening with expectation. The table is painted with a variety of sweets from all parts of Kyoto, some intricate with their decorations (candied sugar moulded into swans on top of whipped cream) while others are the simple desserts that you see in catalogues (nothing but fruits as their jewellery, though also glistening with melted sugar). You have never owned a sweet tooth in your life, courtesy of the maids who think of your health, constructing nutrition charts for each day of the week, something that has to do with preparation. You think through all the possible things you can say to your uncle and all of them lead to him dejected or angry for your lack of enthusiasm at the spread he prepared. The most you can do is sit straight and let nature do its singing outside the window. Hopefully, it will drown out the silence you’re causing. 

“So,” your uncle drawls out like a child, his eyes never dimming — they’re the same as Mother’s, which means they’re the same as yours, too. “Do you want the panna cotta? The roasted strawberry crumble? Ooh, ooh, the black forest cake from this cafe is absolutely divine, one bite and you will see heaven, I would say!” At your wide-eyed reaction to the chocolate-coated frosting on the cake, he pauses with a smile before brandishing a saucer of a smooth cake topped with berries. “How about some angel food cake? No one can resist a slice of good angel food cake!” You make no move and you think he finally reaches his final straw because he leans back and groans in frustration. “Come on, sprout, you have to eat something! It’s been hours since you’ve been here.”

Oh, so, that’s what it is. You look down at the desserts he arranged on the table (at least from what he boasts about earlier, saying that it’s something he comes up with like flower arrangement). There’s nothing displayed here that’s not overly coated with sugar or drizzled with too much syrup. You might as well accept your fate.

You pick the dessert that you assume to be the least sweet of everything here — a dark chocolate glazed doughnut with dried blackberries on top. The eyes drilling on your forehead can be quite imposing but you take a bit of the confection nonetheless. You carefully chew on the bittersweet piece of candy, letting it melt on your tongue until you get a taste of it combined with the blackberries. You can’t even deny that they complement each other.

“Huh,” comes from your uncle.

You raise an eyebrow at him.

“You can look like a kid your age,” Uncle Hatsugu muses with his chin supported by his hand, “I’m glad.”

You don’t understand, tilting your head to the right.

“Now that’s downright adorable,” he points at your scrunched-up nose, furrowed eyebrows, and jutted lip. “I understand why some of our relatives spread the word that your father can never refuse you anything. You are like a tiny mouse.” He reaches out over the table and the display of desserts to pinch your cheek but you evade the possible harmful gesture. “And a flighty one at that. You know, that’s useful when harnessing our cursed technique. Do you know a thing or two about it?” While he speaks, he waves at one of the maids stationed at the shoji of the room before signing something that awfully looks like a drink.

With your mouth nibbling on the doughnut, you nod in response. At the sight of you still eating the dessert, Uncle Hatsugu brightens like a child witnessing their first rain of fractals on a chilly, grey day. 

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

At that, you knit your eyebrows even more.

“Hah, you’re so much like Onee-chan when we were young.”

You gulp down what you’ve been chewing. “Mama?”

He grins when he finally makes you speak. “Yeah, Onee-chan is a curious individual. I never quite grasped what she is like but,” he emphasised the word, “she is the most adept at utilising the healing potential of our cursed technique — actually every woman who earned the title of Heir Maker has the ability to do that. You may be too young to be told this but I guess it’s better than later.” The mirthful air surrounding Uncle Hatsugu disappears and what is left are heavy lines making up his sharp face. “You and all the women before you are considered to be anomalies in the Jujutsu system made by the old gaggle of men who call themselves the higher-ups and because of that, you are unofficially given the title of Special Grades.”

“Special?”

“Yes, little sprout is special,” he forces himself to smile. “And it is because of our family.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“Have you ever felt like the plants around you talk or relay their thoughts?” You nod and he puffs his chest in satisfaction. “Perfect, then, that means you inherited it. Our cursed technique lies in continuously seeing the world in a positive light, which means you will always have the opposite of cursed energy.” He flicks his hand to let blue flames cover his entire appendage, right to his elbows. You gasp at the hostility coming from Uncle but he only laughs at that and erases any sign of the flame from sight. “That is regular cursed energy. This, however,” this time, he cups both of his hands in front of him, putting more concentration than before, and instead of the blue flames from earlier, his hands carry white flames edged with green, “is the pinnacle of our cursed technique — the reverse of cursed energy.”

“Woah,” you gape, forgetting the doughnut in your hand and leaning forward to catch a glimpse of the white flames that only seem to grow brighter the more Uncle looks at you with fondness.

“Yeah, remarkable, isn’t it?”

You can’t help but nod in awe. “Mama healed me with it once when I got myself hurt from the gardens.”

“I heard from our elders that Onee-chan possesses the highest output of our cursed technique in centuries but she can only heal instead of attack,” Uncle Hatsugu ruefully smiles. “Too bad she is pushed to marry first before pursuing a career of fighting and protecting. But now,” his eyes that he shares with Mother gleam and you swear you see flowers bloom in his irises, “this is my chance to teach you how to use our cursed technique — Floral Anima.”

Only the men in the Joushou clan have the right to be sorcerers, that is if they successfully inherit the Nullification. As of now, you recall that there’s not a single woman sorcerer in your family. Being a sorcerer—no, wielding a cursed technique at most—is a figment of one’s dreams. 

“But there are no girls in my family who can do cursed techniques,” you supply with your eyes on the crumbs on your saucer. 

“The Joushou clan is not the only family you have, sprout.”

You peer at him through your unbound hair, trepidation still lingering in your limbs. You can’t even begin to think how Father would react to you dabbling in something only men can do. But then again, Mother has a cursed technique, some of the Hanamo women have cursed techniques, Hell, even the kinder old ladies you passed by earlier in the extensive gardens have cursed techniques (they made some of the flowers extra flourishing as a welcome to the Hanamo compound). All your life, you never wanted anything. Maybe this can be it — the one thing that will carve out who you are. Learning a cursed technique will give you the identity that has long since been stripped from you. The Joushou clan is not the only family that you bear the blood of. You’re a Hanamo as well — the known shepherds of the forests and blossoms of Japan.

With a deep breath, you lift your head and say, “What do I have to do?”

Uncle Hatsugu has that blinding smile again. You can smell the amalgam of floral scents in the air wafting from outside the engawa. “Come here!” He pats on the zabuton beside him.

You stand up and plop yourself next to him, making your hair bounce before framing your face. You look up at Uncle Hatsugu, who sits carefully to face you.

“Now, hold your hands together like you I did.” You do so and await his next instructions. “I want you to close your eyes,” you close them, “and think of what makes you happiest—it doesn’t matter when, whether it will be in the future or stuck in the past; it’s up to you.”

You think of making your own garden, with flowers that you have planted and cultivated yourself. You think of Mother healthy again, skin glowing like she did so many years ago. You think of the baby brother you once wanted, running around the cut grass on his stubby feet. Lastly, you don’t think of Father and his family. Yet nothing happens. You open your eyes and blankly look at your uncle in disappointment.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You huff. “But it didn’t work.”

Uncle Hatsugu pushes on your forehead with his forefinger, making you cover it up with a glare. “You’re not trying hard enough.”

“Then what am I supposed to think about?”

“I don’t know,” he admonishes. “Happiness is subjective to every person.”

“What makes you happy? What do you think about while making that white fire?”

His eyes glazed over as if he were watching a scene only he could see. A smile painting an arrangement of periwinkles and forget-me-nots creates itself on his lips, blues and purples shifting around each other and creating a sentimental mess. It takes him a moment to reign himself back to the present, with you patiently trailing your eyes over his face. “It’s always about simpler times. Like Mom cutting watermelon slices on summer days, growing my first flower for the first time, or,” he trails off, “wishing for a memory that is impossible to happen because you are here, the proof that it did happen.” His face contorts into a rueful smile, reaching out to pat the crown of your head. “I always imagine my sister never getting married, staying right here in our estate, and not having children — she is—”

“The happiest you’ve seen her,” you finish for him and he pales. “I know.” You look down at the kimono you have, a miniature copy of Mother’s. “I sometimes wonder what it would be like if Mother is not the mother I’ve grown to adore. Maybe I could be a different child.”

“Hey, I apologise for putting that thought in your head—”

“It’s alright, I’ve grown quite used to them.”

“What do you—”

You quickly lift your head. “Can you help me now?”

“U-Uh, sure,” Uncle Hatsugu stutters. “Try another memory. If you don’t mind me asking, what was the first one you used?”

You pout. “Mother being healthy again and my baby brother being alive.”

He nods in understanding. “How about this? Can you think of a place where you feel like you can breathe more easily?”

“I can try.”

“You will,” he fixes you with a playfully stern look, “and I won’t take no for an answer.”

You nod in determination. “Okay.”

“Okay! Now, do it all over again.”

You close your eyes and this time, you’re calm. Suddenly, you feel a gentle breeze covering your hands. The sensation urges you to open your eyes. On the palms of your hands is almost like that heart-fire demon in a movie you once watched. You expect the fire to burn your skin off but you’re thrown back to the memory of Mother healing your wound — that ticklish thing travelling through the lines of your skin. You did it.

“Oh, gods, you did it,” Uncle Hatsugu breathes. “You did it, sprout! What did you think of this time?”

Still mesmerised at the white fire, you say, “A forest. An evergreen forest that seems to know both everything and nothing. It’s like that forest I’ve seen in a movie with cute spirits, filled with life and a possibility of a blight inside.”

Again, you never want another sibling.

The Joushou clan is in an uproar.

Another boy went to the depths of the earth. Fingers pointing at the useless Hanamo clan whose only worth comes in getting bred by strong sorcerers. Your uncle nearly grows poisonous vines at the baseless accusation. Father stoically faces the storm. The Zen’in clan, especially a man with a bottle of sake for an accessory, laughs at Father for bearing the irony of possessing The Glorified Womb yet never having a son—an heir.

Yet one thing remains in your mind.

An image of Mother crumbling to her knees with a pool of blood for a moat surrounding her.

You’re ten when Mother finally departs from the world in a flurry of red spider lilies, leaving behind a younger sister instead of a brother. Both disappointments and blows to your father’s family. Everybody is clad, once again, in mourning black but you feel as if you’re the only one who genuinely grieves for Mother. Her family is not even present at the funeral services, purposefully banned from ever entering the Joushou clan’s gates for sullying their name by introducing their failure of a daughter to their head. You can feel the tension in the wooden panels of the house, the harsh whispers of the elders, and the animosity behind closed doors.

All of the flowers in the estate withered with her, you notice. It is only when you step out to the lifeless gardens that with each barefoot step you make the colours bleed through. You stop in front of the carnations that once made you bleed. They were the flowers you’ve seen Mother plant without using her cursed technique. She talks to them, you once saw, whispering sweet nothings as if they were her children just as much as you are. You realise that you have your younger siblings all along but the role of the protector fell on them.

“Watch over my little petal, alright? She may be reckless but she is kind and understanding, worthy of being the flower who will tend to this garden once I pass.”

You blankly stare at them now while lowering yourself to the ground, sitting like you were once on the engawa watching the butterflies jump from flower to flower, never realising that tear tracks start to form on your cheeks like the trails of fallen stars. With each tear that drops on the soil, a sprout pierces through the soil, growing and growing until a solitary carnation comes from a carefully tucked bud and brushes the tears on your left cheek away. That only makes you cry even harder.

You don’t know how long you’ve been there while the services are still ongoing in the estate but you startle when the carnation squeaks at you to look behind you.

Heartbeat lodged in your throat, butterflies making your stomach queasy, and time standing still, you find yourself staring at a black-haired boy at the entrance of this part of the gardens — his eyes wide, chest too still to indicate any breathing, and scar a sharp contrast to his pale skin. He’s dressed in black and only one colour is standing among the dreary coldness of the once vibrant foliage.

A pair of evergreen forests for eyes.

additional notes:

Joushou — Reader's last name; Mainly from the term shoujou since reader is almost like a protagonist of a shoujou manga (born to be in a shoujou, forced to be in shounen rip). Kanji: 浄聖; 浄 (clean, pure, beautify, unsullied) + 聖 (holy, sacred, imperial); Prides themselves for possessing a CT named Nullification, which stems from their constant renewal and flow of reverse cursed technique, even going as far as creating a barrier that can render any cursed energy attack useless or to break a domain expansion, hence, getting the moniker of the House of Purity.

Hanamo — The maiden name of Reader's mother; Kanji: 花茂; 花 (of the flowers) + 茂 (lush, abundant, thriving, outstanding, diligent); The women in this clan are most known to be Heir Makers since the Golden Age of Sorcery, having possessed the Glorified Womb after being blessed by the goddess of creation.

Floral Anima — comes from the Greek term anima, which means the soul or the irrational part of it. Its principle comes from the belief that all life possess a soul, even plants. By having this CT, those in the Hanamo clan can manipulate the anima or souls of the flora to their liking, with them only influenced if there is a constant output of reverse cursed technique (positive). This allows the sorcerer to grow plants in varying degrees, make them burst forth from spots of cursed energy, and create safety spots or prisons when absolutely necessary. They can also make use of the type of plant they have around them to create a multitude of attacks than can be gentle but highly offensive as well.

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