Chapter Text
gojo satoru never expected to be a single father of three at the age of 18.
okay, that sounds really bad for him. technically he isn't their father, the higher ups just threw them at him and ran off because they're spineless cowards who leave teenagers to die.
and take care of parentless children, apparently.
he almost destroyed the room he was in when they told him that he was getting another kid, you know. he already has megumi and tsumiki because he killed their dad, but we can talk about that later, and megumi's a handful (its okay though, because it's megumi!).
ah, well, that's not the point here.
where was he going with this?
oh well, it doesn't matter
all he knows is that:
- he does not like kids(except for megumi and tsumiki <333 his angels!!!![not megumi, that little fucker ate the last custard tart and gojo will never forgive him])
- hes getting a third kid assigned to him by the stupid jujutsu higher ups. what is he, an orphanage?
- mysterious third kid's parents are fucking dead due to a freak accident with a third grade curse, and the mysterious third kid somehow kept themselves alive with reverse cursed energy.
that's kind of crazy.
—
you never expected to get orphaned at the age of 9 .
it was just a regular day. you were crying as your parents attempted to drag you to yet another tutoring center, insisting that you must get your math foundation polished and reinforced until there are no gaps to be seen.
you thought they were being incredibly picky and unreasonable, and that if you were to ever have kids, you would never make them go to supplementary classes and let them stay up until 22:00 to watch movies and eat ice cream. they wouldn't even have to go to school.
now, you were crying extra hard today, because the disgusting foul creatures that for some reason- only you could see - were looking extra big and disgusting and foul. everyone you tried bringing up these little abominations to always brushed it off, the adults simply dismissing it with a chuckle and a comment about overactive imaginations, and your classmates either making fun of you or acting like you were sick with an unnamed illness(you weren't, they really do exist. honest.).
well- 'little' abomination or not, this one wasn't exactly little. as you approached the white stairway to your new hell for the next three hours, there was an absolutely putrid energy that surrounded the steps- you had just successfully convinced yourself that a new tutoring center is nothing, too. you could see legs alike to a centipede's lurk on the walls, curling around the railing and moving along the wall, its countless legs contorting and slithering on the white paint.
you felt sick.
you immediately planted your feet into the ground, refusing to go anywhere near that staircase. utilizing all your dead weight so your parents don't manage to pick you up. crying, sobbing, not screaming though- you had an image. you pulled away from the grasp of your mother, trying to run away.
but alas, as a puny third grader, your father just simply cursed under his breath and caught you in his arms, successfully trapping you.
you kicked at him, cried even harder- incoherent phrases of 'let me down!' 'i wanna go home!' 'don't make me go!' were all you could think to say. you punched at his shoulders, but he didn't relent, heading directly into the staircase. you could hear your mother scold you about your unsightly behaviour, but you tuned it out, reducing it to background noise.
you were too distracted by your view of the ugly ass centipede that was haunting this stairway. absolutely wonderful. your eyes widen, before hiding your face in your father's shoulder. you had a death grip on his shirt, which he throws you an exasperated look for.
"[name], it's only tutoring. it's not the end of the w-"
you never hear the end of that sentence, a burst of red splatters onto the white walls and your skin. the stench of metal invades your nose. your father slowly collapses to the ground, taking you with him. you hit the back of your head on the stairs, and the world rings- you can't seem to hear your mother's scolding anymore- or did she stop? you're not sure.
you can't seem to remember what happened after that.