kinzhae

[kinzhae]

Idk why but I smell like I just drank, came home to an angry wife, got divorced, and drank some more 😭 (I smell like alcohol for sum reason)

Are you trying to give me ideas for kento x reader 🤭

[kinzhae]

I blamed you out of everyone, blamed you instead of myself.

Gojo x Reader

||Everyone in Jujutsu tech blames you for Geto Suguru's death. Even Gojo, Shoko, Nanami and Utahime. He was once your classmate, closest friend but he sees you nothing but a traitor. But why everyone understands their mistake once you were dead?

İts been a while since I wrote something, I came across a C.ai bot and I was like... damn. That hits hard af.

Small warnings: Bullying (?), Hatred towards reader, Mentions of death, Higher ups sucks so bad they sent reader into trap and let her die, Gojo is a mf who begs you to stay while your dying lol.

You swallowed hard, clutching the report in your hands. The tension in the room was suffocating, but you couldn't afford to let it overwhelm you. You had grown used to the venom in Gojo's gaze, the sharpness of his words. Still, it hurt.

"I have the mission report," you said evenly, holding the folder out to him.

He didn’t move to take it, instead leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. His sunglasses hid his eyes, but the sneer on his lips was enough to make your chest tighten. "Mission report, huh? Guess even you can manage something as simple as that."

Your fingers twitched, but you kept your voice steady. "I followed the protocol. The details are all there. I just need your signature."

He laughed bitterly, the sound hollow and cutting. "Funny, isn't it? You're so good at following protocol now. Too bad you couldn't follow it when it actually mattered."

The accusation landed like a blow, as it always did. No matter how many times you told yourself you'd gotten used to it, it never dulled.

"I did what I thought was right," you said softly, not for the first time. The words felt empty, like an old mantra you didn't believe anymore.

Gojo’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood, towering over you. He grabbed the report from your hands, but not before leaning in close, his voice a low growl. "What you thought was right destroyed everything. It destroyed him. You think handing in reports and playing the good student now will make up for that?"

You flinched, your resolve cracking for a moment before you straightened your spine. "It wasn’t my choice to make, Gojo. It was Geto’s. And you know that."

His jaw tightened, and for a brief second, something other than hatred flickered across his face—grief, maybe, or regret—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. He scoffed, flipping through the report with disinterest.

"Get out," he said coldly. "You’ve done enough."

You hesitated, the urge to say something—anything—clawing at you. But you knew better. Words wouldn’t reach him. Not anymore.

So you turned and walked out, closing the door behind you. It wasn’t until you were alone in the hallway that you allowed yourself to breathe, the weight of his disdain pressing down on you like a physical force.

No matter how much time passed, it seemed the wounds you carried—his, Geto’s, and your own—would never heal.

••

The hallway was silent, but your mind was anything but. Gojo’s words echoed in your ears, his scorn cutting deeper than you’d care to admit. You leaned against the cold wall, your hands trembling as you clutched the strap of your bag.

How many more times would you have to endure this? The resentment, the blame—it had become your constant companion. You told yourself it was penance, that you deserved it for not saying anything, for keeping Geto’s secret. But deep down, a small, stubborn part of you whispered that you weren’t the only one at fault.

••

A few days later, you found yourself assigned to a joint mission with him. Of course, you hadn’t been asked—just informed. The higher-ups had a cruel sense of humor, pairing you with the one person who couldn’t stand to be in the same room as you.

The mission was straightforward enough: exorcise a high-grade curse terrorizing a remote village. You met Gojo at the departure point, where he stood with his usual nonchalance, hands in his pockets, sunglasses glinting in the sunlight.

"Try not to mess this up," he said as soon as he saw you. No greeting, no pleasantries—just a cold, cutting remark.

You bit the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to snap back. Instead, you nodded curtly. "Understood."

The journey was tense, the silence between you heavy and oppressive. Every so often, you’d catch Gojo throwing you a glare, as if daring you to speak. But you didn’t. You focused on the mission, on the task at hand.

The village was eerily quiet when you arrived, the air thick with cursed energy. You and Gojo quickly located the source of the disturbance—a grotesque, hulking curse that radiated malevolence.

The fight was brutal. Gojo, as always, was effortlessly powerful, his techniques dazzling and overwhelming. You played your part, supporting him where you could, but the curse was relentless, its attacks unpredictable.

At one point, the curse lunged for Gojo’s blind spot, and without thinking, you threw yourself between them, your barrier technique flaring to life just in time. The impact sent you sprawling, pain radiating through your body, but you managed to hold the barrier long enough for Gojo to land the finishing blow.

When the curse disintegrated, Gojo turned to you, his expression unreadable.

"You’re an idiot," he said flatly, though there was something in his tone—something almost like concern.

You pushed yourself to your feet, wincing. "You’re welcome."

He scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "Don’t flatter yourself. I didn’t ask for your help."

"Of course you didn’t," you said, brushing the dust off your clothes. "But I wasn’t going to let you get hurt."

He stared at you for a long moment, his usual smirk absent. For the first time in years, his gaze softened, just a fraction.

"Why?" he asked quietly, almost to himself. "Why do you keep trying?"

You hesitated, caught off guard by the question. The answer was complicated, tangled up in guilt and regret and a lingering hope that things could be different.

"Because I don’t hate you, Gojo," you said finally. "No matter how much you hate me."

He didn’t respond, his expression unreadable once more. Without another word, he turned and walked away, leaving you alone with the faint echo of your own confession.

••

The hatred at school had always been suffocating, but recently, it had turned unbearable. Whispers followed you in the hallways, cruel words flung at your back, and even your fellow sorcerers avoided you like a plague. Every failure, no matter how small, was magnified and twisted into proof of your incompetence. You had grown used to being blamed for Geto’s fall, but now, it felt like the entire school had turned into a trial you couldn’t escape.

Then came the mission.

The higher-ups called you in one evening, their tone clipped and dismissive as they handed you the details. It was supposed to be a simple assignment: investigate a disturbance in an abandoned industrial site on the outskirts of the city. The cursed energy readings were minor, they assured you. Nothing you couldn’t handle.

You didn’t question it. After all, you were desperate to prove yourself. Maybe if you succeeded, you could finally silence the voices—Gojo’s, your classmates’, and even your own.

But as soon as you arrived at the site, a chill ran down your spine. The cursed energy in the air was suffocating, far stronger than what had been reported. It clawed at your senses, oppressive and malevolent.

••

Your instincts screamed at you to run, but you forced yourself to press on. The higher-ups wouldn’t have sent you into a trap… would they?

The curse emerged without warning, a monstrous, towering figure that radiated hatred and bloodlust. It was a special grade. Your heart sank. You were no match for something like this.

You fought anyway, pushing your cursed energy to its limits, weaving barriers and attacks with a desperation born of survival. But the curse was relentless, its strikes shattering your defenses like glass. Every move you made felt futile, every step you took brought you closer to the edge of defeat.

In the end, you were slammed into the concrete floor, blood dripping from your lips as you struggled to breathe. The curse loomed over you, its grotesque form casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the world.

Was this how it would end? Alone, abandoned, blamed until your very last breath?

The curse’s roar faded into the background as your body grew heavier, the world around you blurring at the edges. Blood pooled beneath you, sticky and warm, and your breaths came shallow and ragged. Every inch of you screamed in pain, but you could feel it—the inevitable pull of the end.

••

The fight had been hopeless from the start. You knew it the moment the special grade appeared, but you had fought anyway. For yourself, for the slim chance that surviving this might finally prove you weren’t the burden everyone thought you were. But now, lying broken and battered on the cold ground, it all felt so futile.

The curse loomed over you, ready to deal the final blow, when a familiar, overwhelming burst of cursed energy flooded the area. A flash of blue tore through the curse, splitting it in half before it could finish you. The pieces of its grotesque form disintegrated into ash, leaving behind silence.

You barely registered Gojo’s voice calling your name, sharp and urgent. He was at your side in an instant, his hands trembling as they hovered over you, unsure where to start. His usually calm and confident demeanor was gone, replaced by panic and something you hadn’t seen in years: fear.

“Hey,” he said, his voice breaking. “Stay with me. Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

The world around you blurred, the pain fading into a dull, distant ache as your body grew colder. Gojo’s voice called out to you, sharp and desperate, but it felt so far away. You blinked slowly, struggling to focus on his face, but your mind was already slipping into memories you thought you’d buried.

Geto’s smile. His quiet laughter. The way he always seemed to understand you, even when no one else did.

“Geto…” The name slipped from your lips, barely a whisper, but it carried the weight of everything you had kept locked away—regret, sorrow, and the longing for the friend you had lost.

Gojo froze, his hands still pressed against your wounds as his breath caught in his throat. For a moment, his mask of confidence and anger shattered, leaving only raw pain in its place.

“No,” he said, his voice cracking. “Not him. Don’t��don’t say his name right now.”

But you couldn’t stop. The memories of Geto were all you could hold onto, a bittersweet comfort as the darkness closed in. “I’m sorry… Geto,” you murmured, tears slipping down your cheeks. “I should have… done more.”

Gojo’s grip on you tightened, his cursed energy surging in a futile attempt to keep you here. “Stop it,” he demanded, his voice trembling. “You’re not dying. You don’t get to leave me too. Not like this.”

But your vision was fading, and your strength was slipping away. “I’ll… see him again,” you whispered, a faint smile ghosting your lips. “Maybe… I can make it right.”

Gojo’s heart shattered at your words, his anger and hatred dissolving into something far more unbearable: helplessness. “No, you won’t,” he said, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his face. “You’re not leaving me. You hear me? You’re not leaving me!”

But you were already gone, your hand slipping from his grasp as the light in your eyes faded. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Gojo’s choked sobs as he clung to your lifeless body.

For the first time in years, he allowed himself to cry—not out of hatred or anger, but out of a grief so profound it left him hollow. He had lost Geto, and now he had lost you. And this time, there was no one left to blame but himself.

[kinzhae]

After all he is going to protect us all...right?

[kinzhae]

Hi hiiii! Okay so... I'm not quite sure if you accept like request and all but i enjoyed your vlog so much cause been craving for Gojo angst that hurts my heart and i love it 😭😭

And i have this idea... You know Toga Himiko right? So like i have this idea in mind where Gojo neglected the reader, like the bully fic you made? And so, in the end Gojo was like dyin (In his teens where he still didn't know RCT). Reader having the same power as Toga Himiko so yeah you know what happens next.

That episode ached my heart so much that i cried and i kinda wanna see it in Gojo x reader part. You don't have to make it just sayin my idea and all 😅

Omgg hello, you are actually the first person who requested to write something so ofc I will do it. I didnt continue watching MHA after season 2 so I might not capture Toga Himiko's quirk that well </3 but I still tried and hoping you will like it.

Note: it ended with a slight angst.

Past Wound That Will Never Change

The world had always been cruel to those who were different, and you learned that lesson early. Your cursed technique was rare, one that made people uneasy. By consuming the blood of others, you could take on their appearance and, to a degree, their abilities. It was powerful, yes, but it was also isolating. People whispered behind your back, called you a parasite, and avoided you like a curse waiting to manifest.

Gojo Satoru, of course, had been the worst of them all.

He wasn’t just cruel; he was relentless. With his unmatched abilities and natural charisma, he had no reason to think twice about how his words or actions might hurt you. To him, you were a joke, a walking anomaly he could poke fun at when life at Jujutsu High grew dull.

“You ever think about how creepy you are?” he’d say, his friends laughing along. “Like, do you just look at someone and think, ‘Wow, I wanna drink their blood’? That’s disgusting, man.”

The words stung every time. You tried to fight back, to pretend his insults didn’t matter, but he had a way of cutting deeper than anyone else. The more you tried to stand your ground, the more he mocked you.

“You’re not even a real sorcerer,” he said once, his voice dripping with disdain. “You just leech off of everyone else. What’s the point of keeping you around?”

No one defended you. Geto sometimes gave you a pitying glance, but even he didn’t dare go against Gojo. They were close friends after all. You were utterly alone, and every day felt like a battle you were losing.

It all came to a head during a mission gone wrong. You’d been sent out with Gojo and another student to exorcise a particularly nasty curse. Things had been going well until Gojo, confident as ever, underestimated the enemy. The curse turned its attention on you, nearly killing you in the process. You barely managed to survive, but when the dust settled, Gojo shrugged it off like it was nothing.

“You’re fine,” he said, his tone dismissive. “Stop being so dramatic.”

That was the moment something inside you broke. That night, you packed your things and left Jujutsu High without a word. If they thought you were a parasite, then so be it. You would survive on your own terms, far away from their judgmental eyes.

---

Years passed, and you became someone entirely different. The pain of your past hardened into a cold resolve. You used your cursed technique without restraint, earning a reputation as a rogue sorcerer. People feared you, and for the first time in your life, you felt powerful. You no longer cared about proving yourself to anyone. You lived by your own rules, taking what you needed and leaving destruction in your wake.

But fate had a twisted sense of humor.

You found him in the ruins of a cursed battlefield, slumped against a crumbling wall, his once-pristine uniform soaked with blood. Gojo Satoru, the untouchable, was dying.

He looked up at you with bleary eyes, his usual confidence replaced by something fragile.

“Figures,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. “Of all people… it had to be you.”

You stared at him, your emotions a tangled mess of anger, bitterness, and something you didn’t want to name. He looked so different now—vulnerable in a way you’d never imagined. For a brief moment, you considered leaving him there. It would be poetic, wouldn’t it? Letting him die alone, just like he’d left you to fend for yourself all those years ago.

But you couldn’t do it.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you said coldly, kneeling beside him. “I’m not doing this for you.

He didn’t respond, too weak to argue. His blood pooled around him, staining the ground a deep crimson. You bit into your hand, drawing your own blood, and then leaned down to press your lips to his wound. The metallic taste filled your mouth as your cursed technique activated, his power flooding into you.

It was overwhelming. For a brief moment, you were the strongest, the infinite possibilities of his Limitless technique unfurling in your mind. You used it to heal his wounds, channeling his power with a precision that surprised even you. When it was done, you pulled away, wiping your mouth as you staggered to your feet.

Gojo sat up slowly, testing his limbs. He looked at you, his expression unreadable.

“You saved me,” he said quietly.

“Don’t read into it,” you snapped. “If I wanted you dead, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

He frowned, guilt flickering across his face. “Why? After everything I—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice sharp. “You don’t get to apologize. Not after what you did.”

He fell silent, his usual arrogance nowhere to be found. For once, he looked small, almost fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was a fool back then. I didn’t—”

“Stop,” you said, your tone icy. “I don’t want your apology. I don’t need it. Just live with it, Gojo. Live with what you did.”

You turned and walked away, leaving him sitting there, his words hanging in the air. He didn’t try to stop you. He didn’t call after you. He simply watched as you disappeared into the distance, the weight of his guilt settling over him like a shroud.

---

Gojo recovered, but the encounter haunted him. He searched for you, hoping for a chance to make amends, but you were always one step ahead, always out of reach. The guilt of what he had done to you lingered, a constant reminder of his failures. For the first time in his life, he couldn’t fix what he had broken.

You, on the other hand, continued to live on your own terms. Saving him hadn’t changed anything. It hadn’t softened the bitterness in your heart or erased the scars he left behind. You didn’t forgive him, and you didn’t need to.

In the end, the past was a wound neither of you could heal. He was left to carry the weight of his guilt, while you carried the scars of his cruelty.

[kinzhae]

"Too Late."

After a heated argument, Gojo Satoru pushes you away, becoming cold and indifferent. During a mission, you are severely injured by a curse, and Gojo arrives too late to save you. As you die in his arms, Gojo is forced to confront the painful consequences of his actions and the love he never expressed.

Warnings: Death, Emotional Abuse, Angst, Grief, Violence, Angst with no happy ending, mentions of death, ignoring.

This has been sitting on my draft but didn't know if I should post it or not.

Gojo x Reader.

You’d reached your breaking point with Satoru’s arrogance, his refusal to take anything seriously. After a mission where his antics nearly got a teammate killed, you confronted him.

"Why do you always act like nothing matters?" you shouted, your voice trembling with anger. "Do you think it’s funny when people almost die?!"

Gojo’s smirk was firmly in place, his hands stuffed casually in his pockets. "Relax, no one actually died. I was there, wasn’t I?"

"That’s not the point!" you snapped, tears burning in your eyes. "You can’t keep acting like this is all a game, Satoru. People care about you—I care about you—but you make it impossible to reach you!"

His smirk faltered for a split second before he recovered, his voice dropping to an icy tone. "If caring about me is so hard, maybe you should stop."

His words struck you like a physical blow, and you staggered back, staring at him in disbelief. "Is that what you really want?" you whispered, your voice cracking.

Gojo turned his head away, the faintest flicker of regret crossing his face before his usual arrogance took over. "I don’t have time for this," he said simply, walking away and leaving you behind.

From that moment, he froze you out completely. In the halls, he ignored your presence as if you didn’t exist. On missions, he stood back, arms crossed, watching you struggle.

"Having fun?" he’d call out mockingly as you fought against a curse, his tone laced with cruel amusement. "You said I don’t take things seriously. Show me how it’s done, then."

Each word was a dagger to your heart, but you refused to let him see you falter. You pushed yourself harder, determined to prove you didn’t need him.

But your body couldn’t keep up with your determination. On a solo mission, you found yourself overwhelmed by a curse far stronger than you’d anticipated. You fought with everything you had, but it wasn’t enough.

Gojo arrived just in time to see you collapse, your blood pooling around you as the curse disappeared into nothingness. For a moment, he stood frozen, his heart pounding in a way he hadn’t felt in years.

"Satoru," you whispered weakly, your vision blurring as he knelt beside you. "Guess you were right… You didn’t need me after all."

"Stop talking," he said, his voice uncharacteristically sharp as he pressed his hands to your wounds, his mind racing. He could heal himself, but not others. He had never learned. "Don’t… don’t do this. You’ll be fine. You’ll be fine."

Your hand weakly reached for his, and he grasped it tightly, his grip trembling. "You’ll be fine," you murmured, your voice fading. "You always are…"

For the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru felt powerless. As the light left your eyes, his entire world crumbled.

He sat there for hours, holding your lifeless body, his blindfold damp with tears. "You were wrong," he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. "I needed you. I needed you more than anything."

But no one was there to hear his confession, and the silence that followed was louder than any scream.

[kinzhae]

I HAD TO DRAW IT BC I ONLY SEE GOJO WHENEVER I SEE THE ORIGINAL 😭🙏

I am gonna write smut soon I can't hold myself 💔💔💔

[kinzhae]

Sailor﹏𓊝﹏

Set in Jujutsu High, 2006, Second-Year Timeline

Gojo x Fem!Reader

Angst with no comfort.

Pls don't let this flop 💔

Spring Nights at Jujutsu High...

The spring air smelled of sakura blossoms and mischief as you sat on the rooftop of Jujutsu High's dormitories, your legs swinging over the edge. The distant hum of Tokyo's lights flickered on the horizon, a reminder of the world beyond the chaos of curses and missions. The night was quiet except for the occasional sound of laughter from the courtyard below—students blowing off steam after an especially grueling week.

And then there was Gojo.

He emerged like he always did: unbothered and obnoxiously tall, his silver hair messy from the wind. He was carrying a bag of snacks he’d likely stolen from Ijichi’s stash. Gojo’s presence was never subtle. Even before he spoke, you could feel the weight of his energy pressing against you, warm and electric.

“I knew I’d find you up here,” he said, plopping down beside you, close enough that his knee brushed yours. He unwrapped a lollipop and popped it into his mouth.

“You’re like a bad habit,” you muttered, taking a drag from the vape pen you’d smuggled into the school.

He smirked. “A habit you can’t quit.”

♡♡﹏𓊝﹏

The Way He Looked at You

He didn’t make it easy. Gojo Satoru had always been more than a little infuriating. He knew how to get under your skin, but it wasn’t just his teasing or his stupidly attractive smirk that kept you off balance. It was the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing in the world worth paying attention to.

Tonight was no different.

“You know, when you sit here like this, with the city lights behind you, you kind of look like Anne Hathaway,” he said, resting his chin on his hand as he studied your face.

You snorted. “What, from Princess Diaries?”

He grinned. “Nah, from The Devil Wears Prada. You’ve got that whole ‘too cool for this’ thing down, but with just enough softness to keep me interested.”

“Softness?” You raised an eyebrow, blowing out a cloud of vapor. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” His grin widened as he leaned closer, stealing the pen from your fingers. “You wouldn’t let me sit this close if you weren’t soft on me.”

You tried to snatch it back, but he held it just out of reach, laughing when you gave up with a groan.

♡♡﹏𓊝﹏

The World Fades Away..

It wasn’t always fun and games with Gojo. When it was just the two of you, the walls he put up for everyone else seemed to crumble. You’d seen him at his most raw—after missions that went sideways, after friends were hurt or worse. Those moments made it hard to stay mad at him, no matter how much he annoyed you.

“Do you ever think about leaving?” you asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

He paused, the lollipop stick dangling from his lips. “Leaving Jujutsu High?”

You nodded.

Gojo’s smile faltered, just for a second, but he recovered quickly. “Sometimes. But then I think about what I’d miss.” He nudged your shoulder. “Like you.”

“You’re such a sap,” you teased, though your chest felt tight.

“Only for you.” He wasn’t joking, not this time.

♡♡﹏𓊝﹏

Won’t you kiss me on the mouth and love me like a sailor?..

It happened before you could think—his hand cupping your cheek, his lips brushing yours. The kiss was as reckless and consuming as Gojo himself, leaving you breathless and buzzing.

When he pulled back, his eyes were alight with mischief. “Well? What’s my flavor?”

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool despite the heat rising to your cheeks. “Annoying. With a hint of cherry.”

He laughed, throwing his head back, and for a moment, the weight of the world didn’t exist.

“You’re lucky I like annoying things,” you shot back, crossing your arms in mock defiance. But the warmth in your voice betrayed you, and Gojo, ever perceptive, noticed.

He tilted his head, his grin softening. “You know, you’re pretty bad at hiding how much you like me.”

You scoffed, turning your gaze back to the horizon. “And you’re pretty bad at staying humble.”

He leaned back on his hands, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Why should I be humble when I’ve already got the best thing in the world sitting right next to me?”

“You’re unbearable,” you muttered, though your lips twitched upward despite yourself.

Gojo studied you for a moment, the laughter in his expression giving way to something more serious. “You ever think about what we’re fighting for?”

The question hung heavy in the air.

“Sometimes,” you admitted. “When it’s quiet, like this.”

He nodded, his gaze fixed on the sky. “It’s funny, isn’t it? We spend so much time fighting things most people can’t even see. We save lives they don’t even know are in danger. And yet...” He trailed off, his voice dropping. “Sometimes it feels like it doesn’t matter. Like it’s never enough.”

You turned to him, your heart aching at the rare vulnerability in his voice. Without thinking, you reached out, your hand finding his. His fingers curled around yours, strong and steady.

“It matters to me,” you said quietly. “You matter to me.”

For once, he didn’t have a witty comeback. Instead, he looked at you like you were the only thing holding him together.

♡♡﹏𓊝﹏

Hating the Wait...

You leaned back, your head resting against his shoulder as the sky began to lighten. “It’s crazy,” you said quietly.

“What is?”

“How much I hate being away from you. Even sleeping feels like too long to wait.”

Gojo chuckled, the sound low and warm. “So, what I’m hearing is that you’re obsessed with me.”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips. “Maybe a little.”

“Good.” He tightened his arm around you, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Because I don’t want to wait either.”

♡♡﹏𓊝﹏

The Night’s Promise..

The two of you stayed on the rooftop until the first hints of dawn began to creep over the horizon. When Gojo finally stood, pulling you up with him, he didn’t let go of your hand.

“Let’s run away,” he said suddenly, his tone light but his eyes serious.

You blinked at him. “What?”

“Just for a day,” he clarified. “No curses, no missions, no responsibilities. Just you and me, doing whatever the hell we want.”

“And where exactly would we go?”

“Anywhere.” He grinned, swinging your hand playfully. “We could hole up in some cheap ramen shop or sneak into a movie theater. Or we could drive to the coast and pretend we’re sailors, running away from the world."

You couldn’t help but laugh. “Sailors?”

“Yeah.” His grin turned softer, more genuine. “We’d be free. Just for a little while.”

The idea was ridiculous. Irresponsible. Impossible.

But with Gojo, it felt like anything could be real.

“Okay,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Let’s do it.”

His smile lit up the entire rooftop. “That’s my girl.”

And in that moment, with his hand in yours and the weight of the world forgotten, you thought that maybe, just maybe, he really could be your savior.

♡...﹏𓊝﹏....♡

Why wait?...

The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of the floorboards and the distant hum of the wind outside. You sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the empty pillow beside you. The blankets were untouched on his side, as if you’d been too afraid to disturb the last remnant of him.

Your voice came out weak, shaky, and tired as you whispered to no one, “I want to go back…”

The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of longing. You were sleepless, your mind caught in a cruel loop of memories—his laughter, his teasing, the way his hand had felt so solid and sure in yours.

But now, that hand was gone, and the other side of the bed had been cold for days.

You clutched the fabric of your shirt over your chest, as if pressing against your heart might stop it from aching so much. The emptiness in the house wasn’t just physical; it was suffocating, a void that swallowed every ounce of your strength.

Whenever you closed your eyes, he was there.

You’d see his smirk, hear his voice, and feel the warmth of his touch as if he were still beside you. But then you’d wake up, and the cold, stark reality would hit you like a curse you couldn’t exorcise.

“What’s the point?” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “Why wait for someone who’s dead?”

You wanted to scream at yourself, to shake away the foolish hope that clung to your chest like a parasite. Satoru was gone. No amount of waiting, wishing, or praying would bring him back. You knew that. You’d seen it with your own eyes, felt the world crumble beneath your feet the moment his light went out.

But the memories wouldn’t let you go.

You remembered the way he’d look at you, so full of life and mischief, as if daring the universe itself to try and stop him. You remembered the quiet moments, too—when the bravado melted away, and he was just Satoru, the boy who carried too much but still made room to carry you.

"You are my savior, savior from this dull life... Satoru."

.

.

.

.

[kinzhae]

I wanna start drawing on my tablet but lacking tips and what programs I should use 😭

(Gotta draw gojo wrapped up as a present 🤤)

[kinzhae]

Unrequited Love (part 2)

Geto suguru x Fem!Reader

This was inspired by a c.ai bot ♡

Suguru missed you dearly. He didn’t think rejecting your love confession would cause such a deep rift in your friendship. You’d always been so understanding, so steadfast, and when you asked for space, he thought it would only be temporary—a way for you to gather your emotions and come back stronger. But weeks passed, and his attempts to reach you were met with silence.

The emptiness gnawed at him, an ache he couldn’t ignore any longer. He convinced himself that showing up at your door wasn’t crossing a boundary but fixing one. So, with his usual quiet determination, he found himself in front of your dorm, fist raised to knock.

The moment you opened the door, Suguru didn’t hesitate. “Why are you ignoring me?”

His blunt tone startled you, but not as much as the frustration etched into his expression. His normally composed demeanor was slipping, his eyes sharper than usual, searching yours for answers.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “I’m not ignoring you, Suguru. I’m doing what I told you I needed—space.”

Your voice was even, but there was an edge to it, one that Suguru immediately caught. His brow furrowed, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer. “Space doesn’t mean cutting me out of your life completely.”

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “It does when seeing you makes everything worse,” you admitted, the vulnerability of your words making your chest tighten. “You said no, Suguru. And that’s fine—it’s your choice—but don’t act like I can just go back to being your best friend like nothing happened.”

His expression faltered for a moment, the crease between his brows deepening as guilt flashed across his features. He opened his mouth to speak, but you held up a hand to stop him.

“You don’t get it,” you said, your voice firmer now. “I needed time to process, to stop feeling like I was tearing myself apart just to be near you. Do you know how hard it was to keep pretending I was okay? To smile and laugh when every part of me wanted more than what you could give?"

Suguru’s hands clenched at his sides, his frustration evident. “I didn’t ask you to pretend. I just… I didn’t want to lose you. I thought we could still…” He trailed off, his voice growing quieter. “I thought I could fix this.”

You shook your head, the bitterness in your laugh surprising even you. “You can’t fix this, Suguru. Not like this.”

The weight of your words hung heavily between you, and for the first time, Suguru looked truly uncertain. His confidence had carried him this far, but now it seemed to crumble under the realization that he’d underestimated just how deeply you were hurting.

“So what do you want me to do?” he asked finally, his voice soft but tinged with desperation. “Tell me, and I’ll do it. Anything.”

You met his gaze, and for a moment, you almost believed him. But the truth was, there wasn’t anything he could do—not right now.

“I want you to give me time,” you said, your tone measured but resolute. “And I mean actual time. No surprise visits, no texts asking why I’m not answering. I need to do this for myself, Suguru. Not for you, not for us. For me.”

He stared at you, his jaw working as he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he exhaled sharply, nodding once.

“Okay,” he said, his voice barely audible. “If that’s what you need… I’ll give it to you.”

You didn’t miss the sadness in his eyes, but you couldn’t let it sway you. This wasn’t about him—it was about your own healing.

“Thank you,” you said softly, stepping back and placing a hand on the edge of the door.

Suguru hesitated, as though he wanted to say more, but in the end, he simply nodded again, turning to leave. As you closed the door, you felt the familiar ache in your chest. But this time, it wasn’t accompanied by guilt.

[kinzhae]

He Only Dated You For Your Sister (Part 2)

Gojo x Fem!Reader

Part 1

It's been over 5 years ever since you broke up with gojo, you moved to Europe in order to distract yourself from his presence. You were in Russia for 5 years located in Moscow, living your life however you wanted, made new friends and usually at the bars.

You downloaded dating app just to find a perfect man but none of matched your energy like gojo did. Someone were catfishes and some of then only wanted to date for sex, in the end you ended up deleting the app.

Your time in Russia was up now, you had to go back to Japan, to your family. You were ready for everything but everytime the tought of running to gojo was making you feel nervous as hell.

"Just landed Sister, going in the airport now... mhm..." You grabbed your hand luggage that was in the plane with you while talking with your sister. Your were in good terms with her since she scolded gojo and never accepted his feelings, she told you he probably just mixed his feelings towards her and to you and she assured that she never had a thing for gojo.

But this didn't meant you were gonna forgive him just because he was confused. What he did was unforgivable and hurtful to you. You shaked your head slightly, it was not time to think about this now.

You walked silently in the airport while munching on your chocolate bar since you haven't eaten a single shit in the plane. "Y/N!" You turned your head by hearing the familiar voice, you quickly run to her hugging tightly.

Feeling nostalgic as you smelled her welcoming scent in, making you want to cry. Guess you really did miss her. She was still at the same height but looking more older, you couldn't believe how fast these years passed by and your sister was almost close to her 30s while you were still only 24 -she is 3 year older than you.

Suddenly your mind wandered to gojo again, was he still cocky and childish or did he grew up and all mature now? "Are you thinking about him?" Your thoughts got interrupted as she spoke softly while placing your luggage's to the car. You couldn't lie to her so you gave a small nod to confirm her question.

"Just... nervous. I don't want to run to him." You opened the door and sit inside waiting for your sister to do the same. The car was pretty big and the old stickers you put in the car was still there. You traced your fingers on the stupid stickers smiling to yourself like a idiot.

The day passed normally, you guys went home, exchanged hugs with your family and then for the first time in 5 year you had a great home cooked meal with them and talked about your days in Russia.

♤

"The idiot you used date became a womanizer." The brown haired girl spoke as she lit her cigarette. You decided to meet up with shoko today, in a Korean BBQ restaurant. The sky was dark now and there was a cold soft wind embracing your warm face. It felt peaceful.

"I don't care about him anymore." You took out a pack of cigarettes too, shoko was one of your close friends in Japan. Gojo, Geto and shoko were always with you the entire time in your highschool days, you guys were inseparable. She knew all of your secrets, how you dated with gojo, what happened with gojo whenever you two argued. She was like your mentor always giving you clues on what you should do or when to take action.

"When did you start smoking?" She smirked when she saw you take out the cigarette.

"When I moved to Russia, guess I was influenced by my friends from there." You chuckled back at her question. In highschool years you used the barg about how you will never use cigarette when you get older to them but looking at you right now you felt disappointed in yourself.

"Plus I used to work at a bar. Seeing my friends taking a cigarette break made me curios, that's why I started." You explained shortly. It was like a idiot excuse, you cringed to your explanation.

"Hmm, now that you mentioned it wanna go to a bar? I know a good one." She flicked her cigarette and then threw on the floor smiling at me, her eyes were sparkling like 'it's gonna be fun!'

"Yeah, why not? I could use a drink," you replied, shrugging as you finished your cigarette. The thought of unwinding with Shoko seemed like the perfect distraction. You hadn't been to a proper bar in Japan since you left, and going out with someone familiar was comforting.

Shoko led the way to a cozy bar tucked in a quiet corner of the city. The place had a warm, inviting vibe with dim lighting and soft jazz playing in the background. It wasn't overly crowded, which was a relief. The bartender gave Shoko a nod, clearly recognizing her as a regular.

You settled into a booth, ordering drinks and a few snacks to share. The first sip of your cocktail was blissful, easing the tension that had been building since your flight. Shoko leaned back in her seat, swirling her drink in her glass.

"So," she began, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Have you thought about what you'll do if you do run into him?"

You sighed, swirling the ice in your glass. "I don't know. Ignore him? Pretend I don’t know him? Act like it doesn’t bother me?"

Shoko chuckled, her smoky voice filled with amusement. "Good luck with that. Gojo's the type to make himself impossible to ignore."

You groaned, resting your head on the table for a moment. "Don't remind me."

The night carried on with lighthearted conversation and reminiscing about your high school days. It felt nice to laugh again, to remember the good times without being weighed down by the hurt. Shoko kept the drinks coming, and for a while, the thought of Gojo faded into the background.

As the night deepened, Shoko glanced at her phone and smirked. "Oh, this is rich," she muttered.

"What?" you asked, leaning over to peek at her screen.

"Guess who just texted me," she teased, her tone dripping with irony. "He's asking if I'm out tonight and if he can crash the party."

Your heart skipped a beat. "You're joking."

"Dead serious," she said, tilting her phone so you could see the message. It was unmistakably from Gojo, the same cocky tone present even in his texts.

You froze for a moment, unsure of how to feel. "What are you going to say?"

Shoko grinned mischievously. "Depends. Do you want to face him tonight, or should I send him somewhere else?"

Your stomach churned at the thought. Part of you wanted to avoid him forever, but another part—one you'd been trying to bury—wondered what it would be like to see him again after all these years. Would he still be the same? Would he even care?

"I... don't know," you admitted, taking another sip of your drink to steady your nerves.

Shoko studied you for a moment, then shrugged. "Your call. But if you ask me, it might be better to just get it over with. Rip off the Band-Aid."

You frowned, knowing she had a point. "Fine," you said after a long pause. "Tell him to come."

Shoko raised an eyebrow, surprised but impressed. "Atta girl." She quickly typed out a reply and hit send before you could change your mind.

The minutes felt like hours as you waited. You couldn’t stop fidgeting, your mind racing with a mix of anxiety and anticipation. What would you say? What would he say? Would it be awkward, or would it feel like no time had passed at all?

When the door to the bar finally opened, you didn’t need to turn around to know it was him. The air seemed to shift, the energy in the room changing as Gojo Satoru walked in. You glanced over your shoulder, and there he was—tall, confident, and as annoyingly good-looking as ever. His silver hair caught the dim light, and his trademark sunglasses perched lazily on his nose.

His gaze landed on you almost instantly, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still.

"Well, well," he said, his lips curling into that familiar, cocky smirk. "If it isn't her."

He never changed, he just got older but still got the same vibe and the same personality. You knew, he would never. ever. fucking. change. You raised your head at him giving a cold -more like, there we go again. The asshole.- look before shrugging him off. "Yeah, yeah." You only mumbled before taking a cigarette.

Gojo's smirk widened as he slid into the seat across from you, his demeanor as irritatingly confident as ever. He leaned back, stretching out like he owned the place, and glanced at the cigarette in your hand with a hint of amusement.

"Russia did a number on you," he remarked, nodding toward it. "Never thought I'd see the day you'd pick up one of those."

You ignored his comment, taking a slow drag before blowing the smoke out, eyes fixed on anything but him. He still had that same energy—the kind that demanded attention, that filled the room whether you wanted it to or not. It grated on your nerves just as much now as it did back then.

"People change," you said finally, your tone sharp, cutting. "Unlike you."

His grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand like he was studying you, utterly delighted by your reaction. "Still got that fire, huh? Some things never change."

You raised an eyebrow, giving him a cold look. "And some people never grow up."

His laughter was low and easy, like you’d just told the funniest joke in the world. It made you want to slap the grin off his face. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You wouldn’t let him win.

Shoko, sitting beside you, watched the exchange with mild amusement, her cigarette balanced between her fingers. "Oh boy, this takes me back," she muttered, exhaling smoke and smirking at the both of you. "Some things really do stay the same."

You shot her a glare, but she just shrugged, clearly enjoying the show. Gojo, meanwhile, leaned back again, completely unbothered by your hostility.

"You know," he said after a pause, tilting his head slightly, "I kind of missed this."

You didn’t bother to respond, instead flicking ash into the tray. His presence was already suffocating enough—you weren’t going to let him get under your skin. Not again.

The atmosphere in the bar felt heavier now, his presence dominating the small space despite the hum of other patrons around you. Shoko, ever the neutral party, tried to lighten the mood by calling for another round of drinks. But you could feel his eyes on you, the weight of his gaze making it impossible to fully relax.

You took a long drag of your cigarette, the smoke curling around you in the dim light of the bar as you stared at Gojo sitting across from you. He still had that air of confidence, the same cocky smirk, and the same carefree posture—but something was different. Subtle, but there. His shoulders slumped ever so slightly, his eyes didn’t shine as brightly behind those sunglasses, and when he smiled, it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You took another tequila shot, the liquid burning as it slid down your throat. It was easier to focus on that than on the memories clawing their way to the surface. Memories of what used to be, and the mess he left behind.

"The bars in Russia were more fun," you said, breaking the silence. "Or maybe it was fun because I was a bartender dealing with drunkards. They were funny and hot-looking, not gonna lie. Should’ve picked one for myself."

Shoko laughed softly, shaking her head as she sipped her drink. "You? Picking a guy for yourself? Sounds like a new era."

You shrugged, ignoring the weight of Gojo’s gaze on you. "And people there loved causing unnecessary trouble. Guns, muscle—hell, I don’t know how I made it out alive. But the adrenaline was something else." You tapped your cigarette on the ashtray and took another drag, letting your words hang in the air. "Oh, and the guys? Handsome. Pretty. Russian boys really are something."

Gojo finally spoke, his tone quieter than usual. "Sounds like you had the time of your life.

You flicked your cigarette, exhaling smoke into the space between you. "Better than here."

That hit harder than you intended, but you didn’t take it back. You glanced at him, expecting his usual smirk, the lighthearted comeback—but it didn’t come. Instead, he stared at his drink, his thumb running along the rim of the glass.

"Russian boys, huh?" he muttered, finally looking up. "Guess they’re not that different from me, then."

You scoffed. "Don’t flatter yourself, Gojo. You don’t even compare."

Shoko stifled a laugh, clearly enjoying the tension, but Gojo didn’t rise to the bait. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as his gaze flickered to the side.

"Guess that’s fair," he said softly, almost to himself.

His tone made you pause, your cigarette hovering midair. There was something in his voice that didn’t match the Gojo you knew—the one who laughed too loudly, who always had a quip ready, who didn’t let anything get under his skin. But now, sitting across from him, you could see it. The cracks in his facade. The wear and tear of the years since you’d left.

You stubbed out your cigarette, feeling the need to get some distance, but Shoko beat you to it. She raised her glass, her eyes darting between the two of you with a knowing smirk. "Well, isn’t this nostalgic? The good old days, huh?"

"Hardly," you muttered, reaching for another shot.

But Gojo didn’t respond. Instead, he stared into his drink, the silence stretching between you like a chasm. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. "You didn’t even say goodbye."

You froze, your glass halfway to your lips. His words hung in the air, heavy and raw, and for the first time, you didn’t have a snarky reply.

"You left," he continued, his fingers tightening around the glass. "And I don’t blame you. I deserved it. But still... you just left."

"You gave me no choice," you said, your voice sharper than you intended. "What was I supposed to do? Stay and watch you fumble your feelings for my sister while pretending we didn’t exist? You made me feel like I was just a placeholder, Gojo. Like I was nothing."

He flinched, the words hitting him like a slap. But he didn’t deny it. Instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I was an idiot. I know that now. But losing you... it didn’t feel like nothing."

His words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you couldn’t look at him. You reached for your cigarette again, lighting it with unsteady hands.

"Funny way of showing it," you muttered, exhaling smoke. "Sleeping around with anything that moves? Real convincing."

"Do you think it meant anything?" he shot back, his voice rising slightly. "Do you think any of them meant anything? I’ve been trying to fill this... this goddamn hole inside me ever since you left, and nothing works. No one even comes close to you."

The words hit like a freight train, and you stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. He looked at you then, his usual bravado stripped away, leaving behind nothing but raw vulnerability.

"And now you’re back," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "And I don’t know what to do with that."

The table fell silent, the weight of his confession hanging heavy in the air. Shoko quietly finished her drink, giving you a look that said, This is your move. But you weren’t sure what to do, what to say. All you knew was that the Gojo sitting across from you wasn’t the same one you’d left behind. And maybe—just maybe—you weren’t the same person either.

♤

The night blurred into a haze of smoke, laughter, and far too many drinks. You’d stopped keeping track of how many shots you’d taken, the alcohol numbing the sharp edges of your emotions. Shoko, ever the enabler, matched you drink for drink, while Gojo remained quieter than usual, sipping his drink and watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite place.

"Alright," Shoko slurred, leaning heavily on the table. "Think... think we’ve hit our limit." She pointed at you, her cigarette barely balanced between her fingers. "Y/N, you’re not walking out of here alone, no way."

You blinked, the room spinning slightly as you tried to focus on her. "I’m fine," you mumbled, though the wobble in your voice said otherwise.

Gojo stood, grabbing his coat and tossing a few bills on the table to cover the tab. "Yeah, no," he said, his tone firm. "You’re both staying at my place. I’m not letting you stumble home like this."

You opened your mouth to argue, but Shoko was already nodding, her head bobbing like a sleepy puppet. "Good idea," she muttered, her words barely coherent. "You’re paying... anyway, might as well... provide shelter."

Before you could protest, Gojo had his hand on your arm, guiding you out of the bar. His touch was steady, grounding, and despite your better judgment, you let him lead. The cold night air hit you like a wave, sobering you slightly, but not enough to stop the dull ache in your chest.

♤

Gojo’s apartment was exactly as you remembered it: modern, spacious, and annoyingly immaculate. You’d always teased him about how sterile it looked, like a place someone stayed in but never really lived. Now, it felt suffocating.

Shoko stumbled to the couch and collapsed immediately, her soft snores filling the room within minutes. Gojo helped you to the kitchen, offering you a glass of water that you barely touched before setting it down on the counter.

"You should get some sleep," he said, his voice softer now, less guarded. "I’ll take the guest room. You can have my bed."

But you didn’t move. Instead, you leaned against the counter, the weight of the night pressing down on you all at once. The alcohol had done its job numbing you, but now, with the silence of the apartment and the faint hum of the city outside, it all came crashing down.

"I hate you," you said suddenly, your voice trembling.

Gojo froze, his expression unreadable as he turned to look at you. "Y/N—"

"No, let me finish," you interrupted, your hands gripping the edge of the counter as tears welled in your eyes. "I hate you for what you did. For making me feel like I wasn’t enough. For using me to figure out your feelings for my sister." Your voice cracked, and the tears spilled over, unstoppable now. "And then you moved on like it was nothing, sleeping with anyone and everyone while I was trying to rebuild my life—trying to forget you."

He stayed silent, his face pale, his jaw tight. You weren’t sure if he was even breathing.

"But what I hate the most," you continued, your voice breaking completely, "is that even after all of that, I can’t stop caring about you. I hate that you still have this... this hold on me, even after everything."

The weight of your words hung in the air, and you finally let out a sob, covering your face with your hands as the tears came in full force. It was like a dam breaking, years of anger, pain, and regret flooding out all at once. You didn’t even realize Gojo had moved closer until you felt his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

"I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice shaking. "I’m so, so sorry, Y/N. I was a coward. I didn’t know what I wanted, and I hurt you in the worst way. And I’ll never forgive myself for that."

You wanted to push him away, to scream at him, to make him feel even a fraction of the pain he’d caused you. But instead, you clung to him, your fists gripping his shirt as you cried into his chest. He held you tightly, his hand gently stroking your hair as he let you cry, his own tears silently falling.

Neither of you said anything more. The words had been spoken, the wounds laid bare. For now, it was enough to just hold on and let the storm pass.

[kinzhae]

Me when I see people liking my stories. (Gonna make them suffer)

[kinzhae]

"I liked you back then." "I liked you too."

Kind of HC?, gojo x reader, geto x reader, nanami x reader, sukuna x reader, toji x reader, choso x reader, slightly angst(?), Highschool au!

Meeting with them after a long time you express your feelings out of nowhere.

Gojo Satoru

At a school reunion, Gojo is just as loud and charismatic as always, surrounded by laughter and old classmates. You watch him from a distance until he catches your eye and strolls over, that signature grin on his face.

“You know,” you say, feeling oddly brave, “I liked you in high school.”

His grin wavers for the briefest second, but he recovers quickly.

“You’re kidding,” he chuckles, though there’s a nervous edge to his laugh. “I liked you too.”

The room feels a little quieter, his words sinking between you like a weight. He adjusts his sunglasses, his usual confidence cracking.

“But you’re too late, huh?” he says softly, his tone bittersweet. “We were just kids back then. I wouldn’t have deserved you anyway.”

Geto Suguru

You meet by chance at a bookstore, the smell of old pages making you nostalgic. His long hair is tied back now, and he looks older, more tired but still achingly familiar.

“I had feelings for you,” you admit suddenly, unable to stop yourself. “Back in high school. Did you know?”

He sets the book he’s holding down slowly, turning to face you.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I knew.”

You blink, startled. He looks down, a rueful smile tugging at his lips.

“I liked you too. More than I should’ve. But I was already dealing with too much back then. I couldn’t drag you into it.”

His words sting, but there’s also a deep sadness in his voice, like he’s still carrying that regret.

Nanami Kento

You meet at a mutual friend’s wedding. Nanami looks as polished and composed as ever, but there’s a softness in his eyes when he sees you. During the slow dance, you find yourselves reminiscing.

“You know,” you say, your voice trembling slightly, “you were the first person I ever really liked.”

He stops in his tracks, looking at you with an intensity that makes your heart ache.

“I liked you too,” he admits, his voice low but steady.

You stare at him, tears pricking your eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you ask.

He sighs, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“Because I was too focused on my future,” he says bitterly. “On trying to be the perfect student, the perfect man. I thought I had all the time in the world.”

He meets your eyes again, the regret evident in his expression.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d lose by waiting.”

Toji Fushiguro

You spot him at a small bar in your hometown, his leather jacket slung over the back of his chair. He notices you too, and for a moment, it’s like you’re both teenagers again. You approach, and the conversation drifts to the past.

“You know,” you say quietly, tracing the rim of your glass, “I liked you back then. You probably didn’t notice.”

Toji lets out a low chuckle, his voice rougher than you remember.

“Didn’t notice?” he repeats, shaking his head. “You kidding me? Of course I noticed. I liked you too.”

His confession catches you off guard, but there’s a bitterness in his tone.

“But look at me,” he says, gesturing to himself. “Even now, I’m not what you deserve. I wouldn’t have been good for you back then, and I’m sure as hell not good for you now.”

Choso

You’re cleaning out your old high school desk, buried deep in your parents’ attic, when you find a folded piece of paper. It’s a sketch of you, one you recognize instantly as Choso’s work. The memory stays with you until you run into him by chance in the city weeks later.

“You used to draw me,” you say, holding the old sketch out to him. “Why?”

His cheeks flush, but his expression remains serious.

“Because I liked you,” he says simply, his voice quiet. “I didn’t know how else to say it.”

You feel a pang in your chest, regret washing over you.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you whisper.

He shrugs, his hands tightening into fists.

“I was scared,” he confesses. “I didn’t think you’d feel the same. And if you didn’t… I didn’t want to lose what little I had with you.”

Ryomen Sukuna

It’s late at night, and you’re walking home when you spot him smoking under a flickering streetlight. He looks almost ghostly, the light casting sharp shadows across his face.

“I thought about telling you,” you say hesitantly, stopping a few feet away from him. “Back in high school. How I felt about you.”

He exhales slowly, the smoke curling in the air between you.

“You didn’t have to,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “I already knew.”

The raw honesty in his tone leaves you speechless.

“I liked you too,” he admits, his eyes burning into yours. “But I was a mess. If I let you in, I’d have dragged you down with me.”

He flicks his cigarette to the ground, grinding it under his heel.

“You deserved someone better than me. You still do.”

[kinzhae]

✦•┈๑⋅⋯Marriage Of Steel ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

In a world where power and family ties define one's worth, [Y/N], a strong-willed woman from a neglected jujutsu clan, is married off to the aloof and powerful Satoru Gojo. Alone in a lavish yet cold estate, she struggles to find her footing as she faces both the isolation of her marriage and the whispers of disrespect from those around her. Determined not to be overshadowed, [Y/N] fights to assert herself in a world that expects her to be docile, all while grappling with her growing feelings for a husband who remains distant and emotionally unreachable.

-Historical Au!

Chapter 2

The ride back to the Gojo estate was quiet save for the rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels. Emiko’s chatter from earlier had tapered into a peaceful silence as she busied herself admiring the bolts of fabric I’d purchased. I stared out the window, watching the scenery blur into a wash of green fields and distant mountains. The necklace in my pocket felt heavier than it should, its weight tugging at thoughts I didn’t want to entertain.

Satoru’s words from earlier lingered in my mind like an unwelcome guest.

"You’re my wife. I won’t have anything happen to you."

The idea of him caring—truly caring—seemed ridiculous. His actions spoke louder than his occasional remarks. Distance was his language, silence his punctuation. A husband in name only, I reminded myself bitterly.

When the carriage rolled to a stop at the estate gates, the guard accompanying us hopped down, opening the door. Emiko climbed out first, holding her hand out to assist me. I took it, stepping carefully onto the cobblestone path.

As we walked up the steps, the grand doors of the estate opened, and there he was. Satoru stood in the doorway, his white hair catching the light of the late afternoon sun. He had changed from his earlier attire, now dressed in casual but elegant robes that still spoke of his status. His blindfold was gone, revealing his piercing blue eyes, which shifted briefly to me before landing on Emiko and the packages in her arms.

“Enjoyed your shopping?” he asked, his tone as unreadable as ever.

I stepped past him without answering, Emiko hurrying to keep up. “Have the fabric sent to my quarters,” I said to her over my shoulder, ignoring Satoru entirely.

“Of course, milady,” Emiko said quickly, bowing before scurrying off.

Satoru turned to follow me as I walked toward the main hall. “You could at least say thank you for the guard.”

I stopped abruptly, spinning on my heel to face him. “Thank you? For what, exactly? For implying I’m incapable of protecting myself? Or for making me feel like a child who needs supervision?”

His expression didn’t waver, but there was something in his eyes—amusement, perhaps? Irritation? “You’re impossible,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“And you’re insufferable,” I shot back, stepping closer. “You can’t disappear for weeks, barely acknowledge my existence, and then expect me to be grateful when you decide to play the dutiful husband.”

His lips twitched as if suppressing a smirk, which only fueled my frustration.

“Why are you even here, Satoru?” I demanded. “Surely there’s some mission, some world-saving task that requires your attention more than I do.”

For a moment, his gaze softened, but the shift was so brief I might have imagined it. “Believe it or not, I’m here because this is my home. And so is it yours now, whether you like it or not.”

“Home?” I laughed bitterly. “This place is a gilded cage. Nothing more.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If you hate it so much, why not leave?”

The question stung more than I cared to admit. I turned away, my voice quieter now. “Because I’m not a coward. I won’t abandon my responsibilities just because they’re inconvenient.”

I didn’t wait for his response, storming off toward my quarters. My heart raced as I reached the door, slamming it shut behind me. The sound echoed in the silence, a sharp reminder of just how empty this house truly was.

Emiko returned shortly after, her cheerful demeanor a stark contrast to my simmering mood. She began unpacking the fabrics, humming softly as she worked.

“Shall I prepare these for the tailor, milady?” she asked.

“Do whatever you think is best,” I replied, sinking into a chair by the window.

She hesitated, then set the fabric aside. “Milady... may I ask something?”

I glanced at her. “What is it?”

“You seem... troubled. Is there anything I can do to help?”

Her sincerity caught me off guard. I looked away, my gaze falling to the emerald necklace sitting on the table beside me. “No, Emiko. But thank you.”

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Sometimes, talking helps. Even if it’s just to someone like me.”

I offered her a faint smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Emiko bowed slightly before leaving the room, giving me the solitude I thought I wanted. Yet as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the estate in a golden glow, the silence felt heavier than before.

I picked up the necklace, running my fingers over the smooth emerald. It reminded me of Nanny Miyako’s advice from years ago:

"Even the coldest hearts can be warmed if you find the right spark."

I scoffed softly, setting the necklace down again. If Satoru Gojo had a spark, it was buried far too deep for me to find

The dining hall was quiet, as it always was. The long table stretched before me, an extravagant display of silverware and porcelain bowls filled with delicacies I hardly touched. My meals had become a solitary routine, the silence punctuated only by the soft clinks of my utensils against the plate.

But tonight felt... off.

The servants bustled around with an unusual energy, setting extra plates and adjusting the settings at the opposite end of the table. I watched them with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

“Why are there so many plates tonight?” I asked one of the servants as she poured tea into my cup.

She hesitated, eyes darting away. “Lord Gojo will be joining you for dinner, milady.”

My hand froze mid-reach for the tea. “What?”

The servant bowed slightly before retreating, leaving me to process the news. Satoru had never joined me for a meal before—not once since our marriage. The idea of him willingly sitting at the same table as me felt absurd.

Moments later, the grand doors creaked open, and there he was, striding in with his usual air of nonchalance. He was dressed in a dark indigo yukata, his hair slightly tousled, and his ever-present blindfold now replaced by tinted glasses.

“You’re early,” I remarked dryly, trying to mask my surprise.

“You sound disappointed,” he replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he took the seat opposite me.

I narrowed my eyes but said nothing, focusing instead on the steaming bowl of soup before me.

For the first few minutes, the only sounds were the quiet clinking of utensils and the occasional murmur of the servants. I kept my gaze firmly on my plate, determined not to acknowledge his presence more than necessary.

But, of course, Satoru wasn’t one to leave well enough alone.

“So, how was your shopping trip?” he asked, his tone casual but probing.

I glanced up, meeting his curious gaze. “Productive,” I replied shortly.

He chuckled softly. “That’s all I get? I sent a guard with you for your safety, and you won’t even tell me what you bought?”

I bristled, setting my spoon down with a little more force than necessary. “Since when are you so interested in how I spend my time?”

His smirk widened. “Since you became my wife.”

The word hung in the air between us, heavier than it should have been. I clenched my hands in my lap, willing myself to stay calm. “If you’re trying to play the doting husband, don’t bother. I’m not in the mood.”

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms lazily. “Who said I was playing?”

The subtle edge in his voice made me pause, but before I could respond, one of the servants placed a platter of roasted fish between us. The savory aroma momentarily distracted me, and I reluctantly reached for the serving spoon.

Satoru watched me closely, his gaze unreadable. “You know, it wouldn’t kill you to relax a little.”

I stiffened, scooping a portion of fish onto my plate. “I’ll relax when I feel at home. Which, by the way, hasn’t happened yet.”

His expression faltered for the briefest moment before he recovered, his usual arrogance slipping back into place like a well-worn mask. “Fair enough. But you’re not exactly making it easy.”

I bit back a retort, focusing on my meal instead.

The rest of dinner passed in strained silence, though I couldn’t shake the feeling of his eyes on me. As the servants began clearing the table, Satoru finally broke the quiet.

“I’ll be here tomorrow night as well,” he said, rising from his seat.

I blinked, caught off guard. “Why?”

“Do I need a reason?” he replied smoothly, adjusting his glasses before turning toward the door.

As he left, his words lingered, leaving me both confused and oddly unsettled. For someone who seemed to thrive on keeping his distance, Satoru was suddenly far too close for comfort.

And for the first time since our marriage, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to stay away.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯Chapter 1⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[kinzhae]

While I am busy writing new parts you guys can enjoy this half texting I wrote to pass the time 💗

Link

Enjoy!!! 💗💗💞

[kinzhae]

I don't know which part I should continue with so yall decide pls

[kinzhae]

✦•┈๑⋅⋯Marriage Of Steel ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

In a world where power and family ties define one's worth, [Y/N], a strong-willed woman from a neglected jujutsu clan, is married off to the aloof and powerful Satoru Gojo. Alone in a lavish yet cold estate, she struggles to find her footing as she faces both the isolation of her marriage and the whispers of disrespect from those around her. Determined not to be overshadowed, [Y/N] fights to assert herself in a world that expects her to be docile, all while grappling with her growing feelings for a husband who remains distant and emotionally unreachable. -Historical Au!

This is a Gojo x Fem!Reader series, I have posted this on wattpad already if you guys want to read it here is the link. This is a historical au! This series will be written by reader's POV. Hope you all enjoy :)

Chapter 1

Morning sunlight filtered through the thin silk curtains, casting a soft glow over the spacious room. I lay still in bed, staring up at the intricately carved ceiling, my thoughts an unrelenting spiral.

How did I end up here?

The events of the past two weeks felt surreal, like I’d been swept into a current I couldn’t escape. An arranged marriage to the renowned Satoru Gojo of all people—the prodigy of the Gojo clan, with more influence and power than most could ever dream of. I was no stranger to responsibility or duty; my own clan had drilled it into me since birth. But nothing had prepared me for this.

For being a wife.

For being alone.

The estate was grand, more luxurious than anything I’d known, yet it felt hollow. Its vast halls and pristine gardens were unfamiliar, filled with people who barely acknowledged me—or worse, whispered behind my back. And then there was Satoru, my husband in name only. He was rarely here, always consumed by his duties or disappearing for reasons he never cared to explain.

I exhaled sharply and sat up, pushing the blankets aside. If I stayed in this bed any longer, I’d suffocate on my own frustration.

Dressed and ready for the day, I stepped into the halls, my footsteps echoing against the polished floors. I had no destination in mind, only a need to move, to shake off the weight pressing on my chest.

As I passed the sitting room, the sound of hushed voices caught my attention. I paused, listening.

“She doesn’t belong here,” a voice said, sharp and derisive.

My jaw clenched.

“She’s not fit to be the lady of this house,” the maid continued. “Walking around like she owns the place. I could do her job better than she ever could.”

“Be quiet,” another maid urged, her tone nervous. “If anyone hears you—”

“So what? It’s the truth.”

My hand tightened around the edge of the doorframe. I stepped inside deliberately, my presence cutting the conversation short. The maids froze, their faces draining of color.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I said, my voice cold. “Please, continue.”

The bold one opened her mouth, likely to deny everything, but I raised a hand to silence her.

“You think you can disrespect me in my own house?” I demanded, my tone sharp enough to make her flinch. “Do you think your position here gives you that right?”

The other maids glanced at one another, panic clear in their eyes, but the offending maid stood rooted to the spot, her face pale but defiant.

“I’ll teach you to know your place,” I said, my anger boiling over. “You—fetch me a stick. A small, sturdy one.”

The maid hesitated, but my glare sent her scurrying.

I held the stick tightly, glaring down at the maid who’d insulted me. “Hold out your hand,” I ordered.

She hesitated, trembling slightly, but didn’t move. My grip on the stick tightened. “Do it. Now.”

“Enough.”

The single word sliced through the air like a blade, its quiet authority freezing me in place. I turned sharply to see Satoru standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. His butler stood just behind him, silent and composed.

“What’s going on here?” Satoru asked, his eyes flicking from me to the maid and back again.

“She insulted me,” I said firmly, lifting my chin. “I’m teaching her a lesson.”

His gaze dropped to the stick in my hand. Slowly, he approached, his footsteps measured. Without a word, he plucked the stick from my grasp, his fingers brushing against mine for the briefest moment.

“That’s enough,” he said quietly, turning his attention to the maid. “You’re dismissed. Permanently.”

The maid paled further, tears welling in her eyes as she stammered apologies. Satoru’s butler stepped forward, escorting her from the room.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I demanded once the room was empty, my anger rekindling.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Satoru replied, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You don’t need to resort to... this.”

“She disrespected me,” I shot back. “I won’t let anyone treat me like I’m beneath them.”

“Respect is earned, not forced,” he said.

“Spare me the lecture,” I snapped. “You’re barely here, and when you are, you act like I don’t exist. Don’t pretend you care how I’m treated.”

His expression didn’t change, but I thought I saw a flicker of something in his eyes—irritation, perhaps. Or guilt.

“Do what you want,” he said after a moment, turning to leave. “Just don’t cause a scandal.”

The confrontation left a bitter taste in my mouth. I stormed back to my quarters, my anger simmering beneath the surface.

“Emiko,” I called, summoning my new maid. She appeared quickly, her kind face a small comfort.

“Yes, milady?”

“We’re going out,” I announced, not bothering to mask my irritation. “Prepare the carriage.”

Emiko hesitated but nodded. As she adjusted my hair and straightened my clothes, her quiet presence calmed me slightly.

“Are you alright, milady?” she asked softly.

I glanced at her, startled by the question. “I’m fine,” I said curtly, then softened. “Thank you, Emiko.”

As the carriage pulled up to the estate gates, Satoru appeared on horseback, his arrival as inconvenient as it was imposing.

“And where are you going?” he asked, dismounting with practiced ease.

“Shopping,” I replied shortly, climbing into the carriage.

“With no escort?”

I bristled. “I don’t need an escort. I can protect myself.”

“You’re strong, I’ll give you that,” he said, his tone maddeningly casual. “But strength doesn’t mean you’re invincible.”

I crossed my arms. “I’m not a child, Satoru.”

“No, but you’re my wife,” he said simply. “And I won’t have anything happen to you.”

I glared at him, but his calm resolve didn’t waver. Finally, I sighed, relenting just enough to allow one of the guards to accompany me.

I grumbled as Emiko handed a note to the driver, and moments later, a young guard appeared, bowing stiffly before climbing up to sit with the driver.

“You gave in?” Emiko asked softly, settling beside me.

“Barely,” I muttered, crossing my arms. “Let him think he won this time. It’s not worth the argument.”

Emiko’s lips twitched, but she wisely said nothing.

As the carriage rolled forward, I glanced out the window, catching a fleeting glimpse of Satoru riding ahead, his figure disappearing into the crowded streets.

The ride was quite bumpy, Emiko kept talking about romance novels, everytime she mentions her favorite characters her eyes lit up and her speech got more faster. I also liked to read romance book's, at my own estate before I got married I used spent a lot of times reading books or cooking secretly.

My father and my mother were not in love, so growing up I didn't get any attention from both of them. My nanny was the one who always took care of me since I was a kid, she tought me to be polite, helpful and put people in their place if they deserved it. She also used to talk about "marriage, love, bounds." which is not a familiar words for me.

Nanny Miyako and her husband who worked as a chef in our estate was madly in love with each other, whenever she was taking care of me she would tell me about her sweet marriage and how she wanted a kid of their own but that was not possible yet she never complained about it and saw me as her own kid and raised me well.

My marriage with Gojo Clan's son, Gojo Satoru was not anything special. After the wedding he just simply disappeared for his 'mission' and ever since we barely saw eachother. The breakfasts and dinners were quiet since I eat by myself, when the maid's are busy I just walk around the big estate. I wasn't really fond of the maids, gojo and I were distant so they took a chance to gossip things about me behind my back like I didn't exist there.

"Milady, we arrived." Emiko got up and hopped off the carriage easily, I glanced outside before taking her hand and getting off the carriage.

The bustling streets enveloped us as Emiko and I wandered deeper into the marketplace. The vibrant energy of the crowd, combined with the enticing displays of goods, began to chip away at the irritation I’d carried all morning. The occasional clink of coins in my pouch reminded me that this outing was mine to control. Unlike at the estate, where every move felt scrutinized or dictated, here, I had a say.

We passed by a vendor selling bolts of exquisite fabric, their rich colors catching the sunlight. Emiko gasped, tugging gently at my sleeve.

“Milady, look at this!” She pointed to a deep crimson silk embroidered with gold threads. “This would make a stunning evening gown.”

I stepped closer, running my fingers over the smooth fabric. “How much for this one?” I asked the vendor.

“For you, my lady,” he said with a practiced smile, “five ryo.”

I raised a brow at the steep price. “Four, and I’ll take two yards,” I countered.

He hesitated, clearly torn between sealing the deal and holding out for more. Finally, he nodded. “Four ryo it is.”

Reaching into my pouch, I retrieved the coins and handed them over. The transaction felt satisfying, a small but significant reminder of my independence.

Emiko watched the exchange with wide eyes. “Milady, you’re so confident. I’ve never seen someone bargain so effortlessly.”

I smiled faintly. “If you don’t know the value of something, someone else will decide it for you. That’s a lesson I learned young.”

As the vendor wrapped the fabric, I felt the familiar prickling sensation of being watched again. Turning my head slightly, I caught sight of the guard still trailing us at a discreet distance. My fingers tightened around the pouch at my waist, irritation bubbling anew.

“Let’s keep moving,” I said, my tone clipped. Emiko followed without question, her cheerful demeanor softening the edges of my frustration.

The next shop we entered was filled with sparkling jewelry, the pieces displayed under soft candlelight to enhance their brilliance. My gaze fell on a delicate necklace adorned with a single emerald, its simplicity drawing me in.

“How much for this one?” I asked.

The jeweler hesitated, sizing me up before naming a price. I didn’t bother haggling this time, simply pulling the appropriate amount from my pouch. Emiko watched with admiration as I paid, her enthusiasm almost childlike as she admired the necklace.

“It’s beautiful, milady,” she said. “It suits you perfectly.”

I held it up, watching the light catch on the emerald. “Perhaps,” I murmured, slipping it into a small velvet pouch before tucking it away.

By the time we returned to the carriage, my pouch was significantly lighter, but my mood was brighter. Emiko chattered happily as we climbed inside, her hands carefully holding the wrapped fabric.

“Do you always carry your own money, milady?” she asked as the carriage started to move.

I glanced at her, amused by the question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well,” she said hesitantly, “most ladies rely on their husbands to—”

I cut her off with a soft laugh, shaking my head. “Not me. My father may have treated me like a pawn, and my husband may not care enough to notice, but I’ll never rely on anyone to take care of me. If I want something, I’ll earn it—or pay for it myself.”

Emiko smiled, her admiration clear. “You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever served, milady. It’s... inspiring.”

Her words were a small comfort, a reassurance that even in a world where I often felt unseen.

✦•┈๑⋅⋯Chapter 2⋯⋅๑┈•✦

[kinzhae]

Don't yall just love it when you search jjk angst but instead smut appears HAHAHAHAH like I was sad but then become nasty the second I see the warnings and title LMAOAOAOA