══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

In Hanakotoba the Japanese form of the language of flowers, Daisy symbolizes Faith.

══════ ∘◦❀◦∘ ══════

"How have you been?" He asks.

He thought he knew how this would play out, memorizing the scripts for all the worst case scenarios that he had made in his head while walking to the temple. He counts them in his fingers: one is when the mikos would stop him from going further; two is when the priest calls the elders; and three is when the elders get involved. Yet in his heart, deeply in these trembling bones, he knew the worst would only be his beloved (y/n) turning him away with hatred and disgust, in those (e/c) eyes that once brightened with even the thought of him.

"I've been well, how about you?" You answer with a smile.

You knew even before he reached the gardens, the mikos whisper of the prodigal son's return. They welcome him with open arms, because the goddess loves even the damned and pardons those who repent, your love is immense and this heart knows no hate. You note how tall he has become, despite the young age of 16, gone are the childish features he once held and there stood before you was a growing man, renowned through the shaman world.

Satoru gulps, he doesn't know what to answer, "I've been well, too, what have you been up to all these years?"

He didn't know if he was dreaming. If in reality he was still in bed, asleep and dreading the visit the way he did that afternoon before everything came crashing down for you and him. Everything he had ever thought, every scenario that he had come up with never happened, like a sweet dream. Instead, the mikos graciously invited him and led him to the garden where (y/n) was having tea; they served him a cup and served him desserts, daifuku. The head priest never came running through the halls to scorn him, nor any one of the elders came present to over watch this interaction. Then there's (y/n), who smile and talk to him like he had never been gone at all.

If he was to confess his sins at this moment, he would say that this scenario felt more like a worse nightmare, than her turning him away. He could feel the bile rise up to his throat and the shortness of breath, that he masked with his annoyingly fake laughs and sips of this tasteless tea. He didn't know what he wanted, and even that was a lie.

Dee[ down, he knew he wanted to be punished for the transgressions he made to you, being openly accepted just doesn't sit right in his heart.

"I've finally started learning how to manage a part of the church. Only so I can better take care of my beloved acolytes." You look at the six mikos that stood, ready at your command, to smile and wave at them softly. You hope with all your might that he doesn't see the way you itch to run away from this awkward situation; that deep in your heart there is a festering hatred that boils only for the very man who sits in front of you. "And you?"

"I perfected my technique and is branded as the strongest shaman." He wanted to say sorry, beg on his knees and clasp his hands for forgiveness, like all the dirty sinners and devotees that have come before you. Yet he does not move, rather he looks down on the tea, staring at his reflection with a smile on a face that he couldn't even recognize. Is this really Gojo Satoru? He wonders with disgust, because he loathes it with his every being.

"I see, so I guess everything's good for you then?"

"Yes. It looks the same for you, did you get what you wished for?"

The silence continues, both parties fully aware that there was nothing more that they can talk about. What separated them wasn't merely a table filled with pastries and tea, neither the mikos who listen to their every breath. Rather, it is the years of separation from his very own sins of trying to abandon her, breaking promise after promise and pilling up transgressions then running away from it. He had made her a past that he buried six feet under, out of crushing guilt and yet here he is the way he was 3 years ago; still loving you with all his heart.

By the end of the day, you watch him leave, waving a hand with that well practiced smile, like the tears you shed for the people who pray on their knees and beg for an inch of your empathy. Unaware, that you cry in pity for these people who will never be saved, and that you are dragging them into despair, the way they did to you.

He promises to visit after another mission, only permitting himself to see her after success.

When the wind has slowly turned cold, and September approaches the calendar.

Satoru's visit has become a frequent weekend visit, he comes like a child who was too excited to be back from school and charms you with his stories of another successful mission. He jokes and laughs and talks about the other people that he has worked with; it waters the resentment that was once was nothing but a sapling but you keep your mouth shut and let him talk.

The teas have been served warmer in the garden, he laments that the flowers are slowly dying as everything is lulled to sleep by the oncoming winter. "I've started learning about flowers, it's regretful that they have to die but such is the beauty of life." She tells him as those fingers that he was sure to fit in his hand if he holds it once more, brushes the petals of the wild daisies.

Again, Satoru hopes that summer never ends, but thinks that maybe by next year he can take you to a private beach, so you may see for your own eyes the ocean that he once talked about.

He imagines you in a white dress and straw hat, hair unknot and blowing in the wind as you play in the water to your heart's content. You may run to the sand, till you are out of breath and build cathedrals with those hands.

He takes notes of all the things that he will have you experience when you are free, and the locations that he may close off for the weekend. Heaven forbid, that you are surrounded nor seen in the public ever again. He walks to the garden, when he hears a familiar voice, deep and old like a rickety wood.

"Do you understand the position you are in?" It is hushed, a poor attempt of a whisper. The mikos bow their head and are unmoving, while your (e/c) dull and lose its life, like that one doll he once saw in a toy shop. So pretty, you sit there in an elegant orange kimono, lips in a permanent smile and eyes dead as the head priest, your father, talk in a way that steps out of his lane. Satoru boils, how dare he speak and look at her, the reborn goddess and patron saint of the jujutsu shamans, like a mere human?

He watches her (e/c) dull like that of a doll's, so pretty yet dead. Her lips are in place with a permanent smile and she sits quietly like the priest is stepping out of his lane when he speaks to a goddess. To you the man looked nothing more but a child on tantrum.

He lifts your hand to kiss. "Please beloved goddess, I'm only doing for the good of you. I only have the best of interest in my heart."

When Satoru came out, fully aware of his presence since the beginning, you try to make as if nothing happened. (y/n) speaks pleasantly, the way she did yesterday and the day after. You ask about his mission, while the mikos serve desserts and the usual tea in this small table in the quiet secret garden, reserved only for them.

Satoru wonders how one can eat with such elegance, and walk like they are on calm waters in those heavy clothes that make her so ethereal that he could only come to compare her to a porcelain statue of a saint crafted by the greatest artist in history.

It is near November, when he wonders what he should offer on her birthday. He couldn't care less for the day he was born, when he knows that he is only alive because of her. He browses shop to shop: books, desserts, kimonos and hair pins, he contemplates asking shoko but the woman isn't a devotee, rarely does he see her pray even when he jokingly reminds her of damnation. He doesn't even think that Shoko would know what normal girls would like, at all.

Getou seems to be overworking himself, going from mission to mission despite Yaga's advice to breath. They barely talk with his weekends and free time is spent on the temple, he knows that the failed mission months ago still weighs heavily between them yet he doesn't know how to comfort his own best friend.

In the end, he simply decides to ask you what it is that you wish for, had you asked for the world then he would lay even his whole being so it be given at your feet. He walks with happy thoughts flooding the halls, led by a young miko. She knocks on the shoji door that is left unanswered after a minute of waiting, he hears hushed voices from inside that he doubts she can hear. "I'll wait here you may go," he tells her with a smile that he had regained in the short time of being with you, and the young woman scurries away with her head down.

He slides the door open with a smile and breaths.

The head priest stands before your kneeling form. Harsh, bitter age old wrinkles line his face as he breathes heavily like a dog conquered by anger, looking down on her small frame on the floor. For the first time in his life, not even when his father shouts abuse with that thundering like storm voice, not even the realization that it was his beloved Kiku had made it hard for Satoru to control himself. The wood of the shoji door cracks under his hold, and he breaths.

Breath deeply.

In and out, he tells himself.

Breath. He repeats in his head like a mantra.

In his mind eyes, he sees the tears and dead eyes that she might have shed, when she was a child without him by her side to wipe them away, simply because he was a coward that ran away when you needed him most. He imagines all the abuse that you might have hid between those soft smiles, and the heartbreak of abandonment that he promised to never make you go through the way he did.

The guilt makes it harder to breathe.

There are rocks, lodged from his throat lined up to his chest.

It's hard to breath.

So hard to breath and see.

He doesn't even remember it, everything was static from his sight to the very tips of his fingers.

Did he accidentally use the infinite void or not? Confusion. Everything was confusing, because life seemed to flash before his eyes, overwhelmed by memories of her bright smile and warm hands like a morning sun; the cacophony of her laughs, that of a ringing bells and song of the birds after rain overwhelming his senses. Every millisecond of her memory flashed before his eyes, as he held the man, no he was beyond forgiveness, the high priest has turned into a demon that was sent from the pits of hell to hurt (y/n). He made her cry, worst put her on her knees, so Satoru held him down by his flimsy neck.

So easy to break, to snap like a stick under his tremendous strength.

Blunt fingernails scratched at his arms, choked sounds filled the room as this creature tried to further harm her, his goddess, his love and his very reason for life by trying to escape the very arms that hold him down. Spit runs down the old man's mouth as it tries to scream, but he holds on tighter. Tighter. Tighter.

Stop breathing.

Stop Struggling.

Tighter. Tighter. Tighter he holds this devil with both arms, until there is no breath left of him.

He turns to you, shocked and wide eyed simply watching Satoru choke your father to death in the corner. The tea on the table is turning cold, like the unmoving body that he is on top of. Everything is so numb, as the white haired man turns to you with a proud smile. "Are you going to kill me too?"

He doesn't answer, simply takes you into his strong arms whispering how you are safe now that he has banished the demon.

That you are safe now that he is here and he'll never stray from your side again.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of this." He'll stay by your side even if it meant traversing hell itself and burning his or a million others souls to cinders, so long as you never cry.

This time, for sure, he'll keep his promise.

Keep on smiling.

Please smile for Gojo Satoru.

Yet each night, even as he holds her hand. "Don't ever leave me okay?" She whimphers, looking at him through teary eyes. He doesn't answer, simply kisses her forehead and brushes her flushed cheeks. Sweet dreams, only for his beloved, even if before he closes his own eyes the screams and struggles, the lives that he has taken for her flashes before his eyes. The elders barely bat an eye at every death, they brush everything under the carpet, as long as it is her voice that tells them it is an act of protection.

At this point, Satoru has reinstated himself at the very temple he once ran away from. The shaman uniform for ancient intricate silk kimonos, missions of slaying curses traded for monopolizing your time with an excuse that he is simply helping recover from the traumatic event. That he is performing, what is asked of him as he is your betroth.

"How long has it been?" He asks himself, looking at the window where the outside had turned into a harsh winter that keeps them inside.

"If you leave me again, I wouldn't know what to do with my life."

"Ahh is that so? Then I can never leave your side, can I?" He pats her head with a chuckle as they wait for tea to be served, the kotatsu warm and comforting. Like glue, you stick to him the way he first began. Selfish, you are a selfish child that demands his every waking moment.

Turning away prayers to hold him by your side, and rest under his wings. He permits this, he too doesn't want to ever let go and would rather bask in your presence for all his life.

The mikos leave at his command, you are granted peace to attach yourself even further to him. Your hands intertwined throughout the day, you began to wonder when your soul will be intertwined with him.

On your birthday, he gifts you a silver band with a purple gem in the middle that fits your finger perfectly. The engagement ring forged only by the best artisan, simple yet elegant just the way it would fit your image.

By Christmas, the harsh winter continues yet the talk of marriage to be held in four years warms his heart like a furnace. It is enough to endure all the sins and make him believe that he is not beyond redemption, at all. She is simply spring that eternally blooms and gives him life as all things around her.

You glow ethereal each day, in his eyes. How do you even do it? To simply hold his heart in your sleeve. "I'm so happy right now, I could die at this very moment and have no regrets." You tell him, head in his chest as you watch the snow fall from the window at night when the world is asleep and only the two of you are awake drinking your favorite tea.

Breaths intertwined, as is his hand. He cups your cheeks and takes your first kiss with a shy peck, blush hidden by the dark. "Merry Christmas." He whispers in your ears, voice low and comforting like a candle. Ahh your heart is so overjoyed, you couldn't possibly imagine a moment as beautiful as this in your whole life time.

When the glory of morning wakes him, she is by his side asleep with a smile for the first time in his life. He goes to the kitchen with a hum, surprising the chef and the staff, and takes the time to meticulously cook her breakfast; today he'll serve you omu rice with a mochi dessert in bed.

There was a dance in his step when he walked to your room, a joyful good morning when he opens the door but you were still asleep.

Ahh you were sleeping in today, but he'll let you because the days are monotonous and yesterday must be so tiring. He slides by your side and puts your head on his chest, the sheets situated to your preference due to the cold weather. Long fingers brushes your (h/l) (h/c) hair, out of the intricate knots and heavy ornaments.

Today is beautiful, maybe he'll sleep next to you.

Yesterday was nice, he'll let you sleep in for as long as you want like snow white.

He wouldn't trade your peace for the world, the breakfast will be cold when you wake up, but that's okay. Satoru can cook you another one when you wake.

By afternoon, you're still fast asleep.

By night, you continue to slumber.

By morning, you're still peaceful in bed.

(Y/n) never woke up.

Author's Note

Yes "never woke up" translates to dead.

Fun fact: While Sukuna's story talks about ascension to sainthood. Satoru's story is about humanization of divinity.

To everyone who told to just think about retelling the story of my Uncle Gojo and aunt reader-san. I wanted to joke about it for as long as I can but I, the author, knew from the beginning how it would end and that made me really sad Q w Q