You were trained by the Zenin family to seduce Goju Satoru, but Goju Satoru doesn't care about you.
Sukuna X Reader (he's your ex fíance)
You are Ryumen Sukuna's ex-fiancée, the one he loved when he was a human.
Megumi X Reader (NSFW, He was your bully)
Wednesday
Isaac Night X Reader
<She's a princess and you're just a zombie,> <but i love her> <if you really love her, you let her go>.
Chapter 1, Next chapters
Kpop
Jungkook X Reader (Enchanted Movie)
You were supposed to marry prince Taehyung in the magical land of indonasia, but suddenly, you find ypurself in the real world_seoul_where you meet a single father names Jeon Jungkook.
Chapter 1, Chapter2, Final Chapter
Taehyung X Reader
King Taehyung wants to bring his former queen back to the palace by getting her pregnant.
Squid Game
FrontMan X Reader (Arranged Marriage)
Front Man isn't ready to let you go. especially when you meet his brother who might be your only way out.
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
But not "my dog died" or "I feel insecure" kinda angst. I'm talking about the cheating, the break up, the suffering, the tears, the begging, the pining, the stalking, the obsession UGHHHH, love me a fic where he fucked up and now has to do the most to get her back, it gives me a serotonin boost
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
[≛] : You were his past lover, from a time when he was nothing more than a merciless and volatile man. Now, you stood before him once again—the King of Curses himself—as he fought to bury the feelings he refused to acknowledge for you.
[≛] : Sukuna x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, King of curses.
Kneeling before him, blood traced slow crimson paths down your face. Sukuna looked at you as though you were something beneath his notice, his expression carved from pure disgust.
"What are you doing here?" he spat coldly.
Your gaze lingered on the monster standing before you. Somewhere beneath that terrifying form, the scent of the man you had once loved still remained. Yet the person before you felt like a stranger wearing his skin.
A tremor slipped into your voice.
"Please... don't tell me this isn't you."
His jaw tightened, fury flashing in his eyes.
You were the last fragile thread connecting him to the life he had left behind—the girl with (your hair color) hair who used to hide behind the riverside rocks just to steal glances at him while he bathed.
The girl he called family.
The woman he once dreamed of marrying.
The one he would run across endless fields to meet every evening beneath a sky painted gold by the setting sun.
The one who made rice balls with her own hands and let him rest in her lap while he ate them.
And now, you stood before him covered in blood, desperately searching for the boy you once knew inside the King of Curses.
Without another glance, Sukuna turned to Uraume.
"Get her out of here."
A broken cry escaped your lips.
"I'm going to die!"
His eyes snapped back to yours.
For a moment, confusion flickered across his face.
You struggled to breathe.
"The doctor told me... I don't have much time left. I'm dying from tuberculosis."
The room fell silent.
For the first time since you arrived, Sukuna truly looked at you.
Really looked.
At the pale skin, the trembling body, the exhaustion hidden behind your stubborn eyes.
His long fingers gripped your chin.
"Explain."
You swallowed painfully.
"After you disappeared, everything fell apart. They told me you were dead. My illness consumed everything my family owned. Then they tried to force me into a marriage, but..."
A violent cough tore through your chest.
Blood stained your lips.
Something twisted inside Sukuna at the sight.
He hated it.
Hated the weakness that still lingered whenever it came to you.
Clutching the fabric of his kimono, you looked up at him with desperate eyes.
"But I killed him. The man they wanted me to marry. I threw away everything—wealth, comfort, safety—because all I ever wanted was you. Maybe it was foolish, but I chose to believe that old man's words. I chose to believe you were still alive."
Tears burned in your eyes.
"So don't you dare tell me this isn't you, Sukuna. You don't get to look at me like a stranger after loving me since we were children."
Sukuna slowly pulled the fabric of his kimono from your trembling grasp and turned toward the temple.
"Give her a room," he ordered without looking back.
"Watch over her."
Before your knees could give out beneath you, Uraume caught your weakened body.
Sukuna remained where he stood, silent and unmoving.
For years, he had watched from afar.
He had seen the announcement of your engagement.
He had watched as death stole your parents from you.
He had seen the tears you shed when the world declared him dead.
But this...
This illness.
This approaching end.
He hadn't known.
And he refused to accept it.
Something dark and possessive stirred within him.
He would turn you into a curse if he had to.
Even if it meant staining his own hands with your blood.
Even if you hated him for it.
He would not allow death to take you away.
Not when you were the last piece of the life he once had.
Not when you were the most beautiful memory he possessed.
From that day forward, every night after you fell asleep, Sukuna found himself standing outside your room.
At first he told himself it was curiosity.
Then habit.
Then boredom.
But eventually even he could no longer lie to himself.
He was there because of you.
The King of Curses would sit beside your bed until dawn painted the sky pale gold.
His gaze would drift across your sleeping face, lingering far longer than it should.
Sometimes his fingers would brush against yours before he could stop himself.
Sometimes he would tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
And sometimes, despite the disgust he felt toward his own weakness, he would lean down and press a fleeting kiss against your lips.
Each time he swore it would be the last.
Each time he returned the following night.
The scent of your hair haunted him.
The warmth of your presence lingered long after he left.
It was worse than it had ever been when he was human.
Worse than when he had been nothing more than a reckless young man with dreams too large for the village that held him.
You were the only person who had ever managed to make that monstrous heart ache.
The only one capable of bringing him both unbearable pain and impossible happiness.
But no matter how tightly he clung to those moments, fate continued its merciless march.
Your condition worsened.
The coughing grew harsher.
The blood came more often.
Even through thick temple walls, Sukuna could hear it.
Every ragged breath.
Every painful gasp.
Every sound carved another wound into something he thought had long since died inside him.
One evening, as Uraume carefully lowered you onto your bed after another violent coughing fit, Sukuna stepped into the room.
"Leave us."
Uraume obeyed immediately.
Silence settled between you.
Sukuna approached and sat beside you.
For a moment he simply stared.
At the hollow shadows beneath your eyes.
At the trembling hands resting in your lap.
At the cruel evidence of time running out.
Then, unexpectedly gentle, he lifted you into his arms.
You immediately began to cry.
"No..."
Your voice cracked.
"Please... don't."
Sukuna's expression darkened.
He already knew what you meant.
His finger rose to your forehead.
One touch.
One decision.
And he could bind you to this world forever.
No death.
No farewell.
No separation.
Yet your trembling hand wrapped around his wrist.
Weak.
Fragile.
But enough to stop him.
Tears slid down your cheeks as you looked up at him.
"If there's even a small part of you that still loves me... don't do this."
Your voice broke.
"You know this isn't what I want."
Something inside him snapped.
"And what about me?" he shouted.
The room trembled beneath the force of his voice.
"Do you think I can just let you go? Just watch you disappear?"
The desperation in his words surprised even him.
Slowly, you reached up and cupped his face.
Your hand felt impossibly small against his skin.
Yet somehow it calmed the storm raging within him.
A faint smile touched your lips.
"Sukuna... for once, I wanted to be selfish too."
Your thumb brushed gently across his cheek.
"I wanted to spend my final days beside the person I love."
A shaky breath escaped you.
"So please... let me go."
For the first time in years, the King of Curses surrendered.
Not to an enemy.
Not to fate.
But to you.
Only you.
No matter how powerful he became.
No matter how many feared his name.
He had never learned how to resist you.
"You're even more selfish than I am, Y/N," he whispered bitterly.
A soft laugh escaped you.
"Finally..."
Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
"You said my name."
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer and kissed him.
The kiss was gentle.
Painfully brief.
Yet it carried years of love neither of you could put into words.
When you finally pulled away, Sukuna rested his forehead against yours.
"I don't want this to be our goodbye kiss."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
You smiled through your tears.
"It's not."
Your forehead remained pressed against his.
"We'll find each other again."
The certainty in your voice made his chest tighten.
"I'm woven into your fate, Sukuna."
Your eyes met his.
"When this life ends, find me again."
Desperation flashed across his face.
"Just let me turn you into a curse—"
A finger pressed softly against his lips.
Silencing him.
"No."
Your voice was barely audible now.
"The memories we made... they're precious because they were human."
A weak smile touched your lips.
"The only reason I survived this long was because I carried those days with me."
Sukuna pulled you closer.
As though holding you tighter could somehow stop time itself.
As though love alone could defeat death.
Together, you lay beneath the fading light.
His arms wrapped around you.
Your head resting against his chest.
Listening to the heartbeat he once believed was long dead.
The night passed slowly.
Painfully.
And when dawn finally arrived, painting the horizon in soft shades of gold, your breathing grew quiet.
Then quieter.
Until there was nothing at all.
Sukuna remained still.
Holding you.
Waiting for a breath that never came.
For a heartbeat that would never return.
And when reality finally settled upon him, it felt as though the world itself had fallen silent.
Later, he buried you atop the hill where you had once spent countless evenings together.
The hill where laughter had been easier.
The hill where love had been simple.
He visited every day.
Without fail.
Refusing to let time erase you.
Refusing to let the world forget.
Soon, stories began to spread.
People traveled from distant lands to honor the woman the King of Curses had loved.
Prayers were offered in your name.
A shrine was built where your grave rested.
And over the years, it became one of the most sacred places in the country.
Legends were born.
Stories of love.
Stories of grief.
Stories of a monster who loved only one person.
But Sukuna knew the truth.
You had not disappeared.
You had not been lost.
Somewhere beyond time, beyond death itself, your soul continued its journey.
And one day...
You would be born again.
So he waited.
Patiently.
Endlessly.
For the day he could finally hold you in his arms once more.
[≛] : You were his past lover, from a time when he was nothing more than a merciless and volatile man. Now, you stood before him once again—the King of Curses himself—as he fought to bury the feelings he refused to acknowledge for you.
[≛] : Sukuna x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, King of curses.
Kneeling before him, blood traced slow crimson paths down your face. Sukuna looked at you as though you were something beneath his notice, his expression carved from pure disgust.
"What are you doing here?" he spat coldly.
Your gaze lingered on the monster standing before you. Somewhere beneath that terrifying form, the scent of the man you had once loved still remained. Yet the person before you felt like a stranger wearing his skin.
A tremor slipped into your voice.
"Please... don't tell me this isn't you."
His jaw tightened, fury flashing in his eyes.
You were the last fragile thread connecting him to the life he had left behind—the girl with (your hair color) hair who used to hide behind the riverside rocks just to steal glances at him while he bathed.
The girl he called family.
The woman he once dreamed of marrying.
The one he would run across endless fields to meet every evening beneath a sky painted gold by the setting sun.
The one who made rice balls with her own hands and let him rest in her lap while he ate them.
And now, you stood before him covered in blood, desperately searching for the boy you once knew inside the King of Curses.
Without another glance, Sukuna turned to Uraume.
"Get her out of here."
A broken cry escaped your lips.
"I'm going to die!"
His eyes snapped back to yours.
For a moment, confusion flickered across his face.
You struggled to breathe.
"The doctor told me... I don't have much time left. I'm dying from tuberculosis."
The room fell silent.
For the first time since you arrived, Sukuna truly looked at you.
Really looked.
At the pale skin, the trembling body, the exhaustion hidden behind your stubborn eyes.
His long fingers gripped your chin.
"Explain."
You swallowed painfully.
"After you disappeared, everything fell apart. They told me you were dead. My illness consumed everything my family owned. Then they tried to force me into a marriage, but..."
A violent cough tore through your chest.
Blood stained your lips.
Something twisted inside Sukuna at the sight.
He hated it.
Hated the weakness that still lingered whenever it came to you.
Clutching the fabric of his kimono, you looked up at him with desperate eyes.
"But I killed him. The man they wanted me to marry. I threw away everything—wealth, comfort, safety—because all I ever wanted was you. Maybe it was foolish, but I chose to believe that old man's words. I chose to believe you were still alive."
Tears burned in your eyes.
"So don't you dare tell me this isn't you, Sukuna. You don't get to look at me like a stranger after loving me since we were children."
Sukuna slowly pulled the fabric of his kimono from your trembling grasp and turned toward the temple.
"Give her a room," he ordered without looking back.
"Watch over her."
Before your knees could give out beneath you, Uraume caught your weakened body.
Sukuna remained where he stood, silent and unmoving.
For years, he had watched from afar.
He had seen the announcement of your engagement.
He had watched as death stole your parents from you.
He had seen the tears you shed when the world declared him dead.
But this...
This illness.
This approaching end.
He hadn't known.
And he refused to accept it.
Something dark and possessive stirred within him.
He would turn you into a curse if he had to.
Even if it meant staining his own hands with your blood.
Even if you hated him for it.
He would not allow death to take you away.
Not when you were the last piece of the life he once had.
Not when you were the most beautiful memory he possessed.
From that day forward, every night after you fell asleep, Sukuna found himself standing outside your room.
At first he told himself it was curiosity.
Then habit.
Then boredom.
But eventually even he could no longer lie to himself.
He was there because of you.
The King of Curses would sit beside your bed until dawn painted the sky pale gold.
His gaze would drift across your sleeping face, lingering far longer than it should.
Sometimes his fingers would brush against yours before he could stop himself.
Sometimes he would tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear.
And sometimes, despite the disgust he felt toward his own weakness, he would lean down and press a fleeting kiss against your lips.
Each time he swore it would be the last.
Each time he returned the following night.
The scent of your hair haunted him.
The warmth of your presence lingered long after he left.
It was worse than it had ever been when he was human.
Worse than when he had been nothing more than a reckless young man with dreams too large for the village that held him.
You were the only person who had ever managed to make that monstrous heart ache.
The only one capable of bringing him both unbearable pain and impossible happiness.
But no matter how tightly he clung to those moments, fate continued its merciless march.
Your condition worsened.
The coughing grew harsher.
The blood came more often.
Even through thick temple walls, Sukuna could hear it.
Every ragged breath.
Every painful gasp.
Every sound carved another wound into something he thought had long since died inside him.
One evening, as Uraume carefully lowered you onto your bed after another violent coughing fit, Sukuna stepped into the room.
"Leave us."
Uraume obeyed immediately.
Silence settled between you.
Sukuna approached and sat beside you.
For a moment he simply stared.
At the hollow shadows beneath your eyes.
At the trembling hands resting in your lap.
At the cruel evidence of time running out.
Then, unexpectedly gentle, he lifted you into his arms.
You immediately began to cry.
"No..."
Your voice cracked.
"Please... don't."
Sukuna's expression darkened.
He already knew what you meant.
His finger rose to your forehead.
One touch.
One decision.
And he could bind you to this world forever.
No death.
No farewell.
No separation.
Yet your trembling hand wrapped around his wrist.
Weak.
Fragile.
But enough to stop him.
Tears slid down your cheeks as you looked up at him.
"If there's even a small part of you that still loves me... don't do this."
Your voice broke.
"You know this isn't what I want."
Something inside him snapped.
"And what about me?" he shouted.
The room trembled beneath the force of his voice.
"Do you think I can just let you go? Just watch you disappear?"
The desperation in his words surprised even him.
Slowly, you reached up and cupped his face.
Your hand felt impossibly small against his skin.
Yet somehow it calmed the storm raging within him.
A faint smile touched your lips.
"Sukuna... for once, I wanted to be selfish too."
Your thumb brushed gently across his cheek.
"I wanted to spend my final days beside the person I love."
A shaky breath escaped you.
"So please... let me go."
For the first time in years, the King of Curses surrendered.
Not to an enemy.
Not to fate.
But to you.
Only you.
No matter how powerful he became.
No matter how many feared his name.
He had never learned how to resist you.
"You're even more selfish than I am, Y/N," he whispered bitterly.
A soft laugh escaped you.
"Finally..."
Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
"You said my name."
Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled him closer and kissed him.
The kiss was gentle.
Painfully brief.
Yet it carried years of love neither of you could put into words.
When you finally pulled away, Sukuna rested his forehead against yours.
"I don't want this to be our goodbye kiss."
His voice was barely above a whisper.
You smiled through your tears.
"It's not."
Your forehead remained pressed against his.
"We'll find each other again."
The certainty in your voice made his chest tighten.
"I'm woven into your fate, Sukuna."
Your eyes met his.
"When this life ends, find me again."
Desperation flashed across his face.
"Just let me turn you into a curse—"
A finger pressed softly against his lips.
Silencing him.
"No."
Your voice was barely audible now.
"The memories we made... they're precious because they were human."
A weak smile touched your lips.
"The only reason I survived this long was because I carried those days with me."
Sukuna pulled you closer.
As though holding you tighter could somehow stop time itself.
As though love alone could defeat death.
Together, you lay beneath the fading light.
His arms wrapped around you.
Your head resting against his chest.
Listening to the heartbeat he once believed was long dead.
The night passed slowly.
Painfully.
And when dawn finally arrived, painting the horizon in soft shades of gold, your breathing grew quiet.
Then quieter.
Until there was nothing at all.
Sukuna remained still.
Holding you.
Waiting for a breath that never came.
For a heartbeat that would never return.
And when reality finally settled upon him, it felt as though the world itself had fallen silent.
Later, he buried you atop the hill where you had once spent countless evenings together.
The hill where laughter had been easier.
The hill where love had been simple.
He visited every day.
Without fail.
Refusing to let time erase you.
Refusing to let the world forget.
Soon, stories began to spread.
People traveled from distant lands to honor the woman the King of Curses had loved.
Prayers were offered in your name.
A shrine was built where your grave rested.
And over the years, it became one of the most sacred places in the country.
Legends were born.
Stories of love.
Stories of grief.
Stories of a monster who loved only one person.
But Sukuna knew the truth.
You had not disappeared.
You had not been lost.
Somewhere beyond time, beyond death itself, your soul continued its journey.
And one day...
You would be born again.
So he waited.
Patiently.
Endlessly.
For the day he could finally hold you in his arms once more.
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
★ SAMMARY : Raised by the Zenin Clan to become the perfect wife, you are sent to Jujutsu High with one goal: get close to Gojo Satoru. But after months of being ignored and a painful falling-out, you give up on him and begin moving on. Only then does Gojo realize the feelings he never wanted to acknowledge. On a rainy graduation night, old wounds and hidden emotions finally collide.
★ Gojo x Reader, Hidden Feelings, Obsession, Possessive, rough kiss.
The Zenin clan had never raised daughters to dream.
Dreams were fragile things—unpredictable, rebellious. They could not be controlled, could not be molded into useful tools. So from the moment you were old enough to walk, your life had been carefully measured and shaped by strict hands.
Sit properly.
Speak softly.
Lower your gaze.
Never interrupt.
Never embarrass the clan.
Never forget your purpose.
You learned them all before you learned what freedom felt like.
By the time you turned sixteen, every movement of yours had become graceful. Every smile was polite. Every word was chosen with care. You bowed when expected, listened when spoken to, and endured whatever was placed upon your shoulders without complaint.
A perfect daughter.
A perfect future wife.
A perfect sacrifice.
That was why you found yourself standing before the gates of Tokyo Jujutsu High.
The autumn wind brushed against the sleeves of your kimono-inspired uniform as you stared at the campus. Students moved freely around the grounds, laughing loudly, arguing, running.
The sight felt strange.
Foreign.
You weren't here because you wished to be.
You were here because the Zenin clan had ordered it.
The reason had a name.
Gojo Satoru.
The strongest sorcerer of his generation.
The heir of the Gojo Clan.
The Six Eyes.
The clan elders had spoken about him as though he were a priceless treasure waiting to be claimed.
"If you succeed, the Zenin clan will gain influence over the Gojo family."
"If you bear his child, our future will be secured."
"If you are useful, you will finally have value."
Those words echoed endlessly inside your mind.
No one had asked what you wanted.
No one ever did.
The first time you saw him, he was stretched lazily across a bench outside one of the school buildings.
White hair.
Long legs.
A blindfold covering those famous eyes.
He looked nothing like the terrifying monster the clan elders had described.
In fact, he looked completely uninterested in the world around him.
Geto Suguru sat nearby, reading a book while a girl with short brown hair—Shoko Ieiri—smoked with the casual confidence of someone who feared absolutely nothing.
Then Gojo suddenly sat upright.
"Hey, Suguru."
"What?"
"Someone's staring."
Your body froze.
Geto glanced toward you before immediately understanding.
"Oh."
"Oh?" Gojo repeated.
"The new student."
Gojo turned his head in your direction.
For a brief moment, your heart stopped.
This was it.
The man you had spent months hearing about.
The reason your family had sent you here.
The person you were expected to approach.
Expected to charm.
Expected to win over.
You lowered your head politely.
"Gojo-san."
A perfect greeting.
A perfect first impression.
Silence followed.
Then—
"Who?"
Your smile almost faltered.
Geto sighed.
"The Zenin girl."
"Oh."
The disinterest in his voice felt sharper than a blade.
Just like that, he leaned back against the bench again.
Conversation over.
No curiosity.
No fascination.
No interest.
Nothing.
You remained standing there for several awkward seconds before quietly excusing yourself.
And for the first time in your life, failure stung.
Because according to the Zenin clan, men were supposed to look at you.
You had been raised for exactly that purpose.
Yet Gojo Satoru hadn't even bothered to remember your name.
The first few months passed exactly as the Zenin clan had expected.
Or rather—
You tried to make them pass that way.
You greeted Gojo every morning.
You accompanied him whenever missions overlapped.
You brought him snacks after training.
You listened when he talked.
You laughed politely at his jokes.
You remembered his favorite sweets.
You remembered how he took his coffee.
You remembered everything.
Gojo remembered nothing.
It wasn't cruelty.
That would have been easier.
Cruelty required attention.
Cruelty meant he noticed you.
Instead, Gojo simply treated you like another piece of furniture in the school.
Something that existed.
Nothing more.
Sometimes he would walk past you without a greeting.
Sometimes he wouldn't notice you standing beside him during meetings.
Sometimes he forgot you were assigned to the same mission.
And every time it happened, something inside your chest hurt a little more.
The elders back home kept sending letters.
"How is your progress with the Gojo heir?"
"Have you gained his interest?"
"Do not disappoint us."
You hated reading them.
Yet you hated yourself more for caring.
Because somewhere along the way, things had become complicated.
This wasn't about the clan anymore.
You wanted Gojo to look at you.
Just once.
Not as a Zenin.
Not as a future wife.
Not as a tool.
As you.
Unfortunately, that seemed impossible.
The mission that changed everything happened during winter.
An abandoned elementary school stood at the edge of a dying town.
Several disappearances.
A powerful cursed spirit.
Nothing unusual.
At least that's what the report claimed.
By the time you and Gojo entered the building, the sun had already begun to set.
Broken desks littered the hallways.
Dust covered every surface.
The air smelled rotten.
Gojo shoved his hands into his pockets.
"Stay close."
You nodded.
"Yes."
The curse appeared less than ten minutes later.
A grotesque mass of limbs and teeth erupted from the ceiling.
You froze.
Not because you were careless.
Not because you lacked training.
But because compared to Gojo—
Everyone looked weak.
The curse lunged.
You reacted a fraction of a second too slowly.
Gojo destroyed it instantly.
The hallway exploded with cursed energy.
The monster vanished.
Silence followed.
Heavy silence.
You lowered your weapon.
"I'm sorry."
Gojo clicked his tongue.
A sound you've never heard from him before.
Annoyance.
Real annoyance.
"What was that?"
Your fingers tightened.
"...What?"
"You froze."
His voice was sharp.
Cold.
"You had one job."
You stared at the floor.
"I know."
"No."
He laughed bitterly.
"You obviously don't."
The words felt wrong.
Too harsh.
Too personal.
But he continued.
"If that thing had targeted a civilian instead of you, someone would've died."
You swallowed.
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing."
His voice echoed through the empty corridor.
"You keep saying sorry, but you're still weak."
Weak.
The word struck harder than any curse.
Because you'd heard it before.
From your father.
From clan elders.
From instructors.
Weak.
Useless.
Not enough.
Gojo rubbed a hand through his hair.
Frustration written across his face.
"Why are you even here?"
The question shattered something.
Because he didn't know.
He didn't know about the pressure.
The expectations.
The years spent being molded into something useful.
And yet somehow—
He had found the exact place to stab.
Your eyes burned.
You refused to cry.
Not here.
Not in front of him.
"I understand."
Gojo blinked.
The anger on his face faded slightly.
"What?"
You bowed.
A perfect bow.
The kind you'd practiced since childhood.
"I'm sorry for causing trouble."
Then you walked past him.
And for the first time since arriving at Jujutsu High—
You didn't look back.
Something changed after that.
Maybe it broke.
Maybe it finally died.
Either way, you stopped trying.
No more morning greetings.
No more snacks.
No more excuses to speak with him.
No more lingering looks.
No more waiting.
At first, nobody noticed.
Then everybody did.
Especially Geto.
Especially Shoko.
Especially Gojo.
The strange thing was that Gojo only seemed to notice your absence once you stopped being there.
When he entered classrooms, you no longer glanced toward him.
When he spoke, you no longer listened.
When missions ended, you left without waiting.
As if he no longer mattered.
As if he had become a stranger.
And eventually—
Someone else started occupying your attention.
Nanami Kento.
A first-year student.
Quiet.
Serious.
Respectful.
The complete opposite of Gojo.
He wasn't particularly friendly.
But he always greeted you politely.
Always listened when you spoke.
Always thanked you when you helped him.
Small things.
Normal things.
Yet after years of being overlooked, they felt strangely precious.
Soon people started seeing you together.
Walking back after training.
Talking between classes.
Sharing lunch occasionally.
Nothing romantic.
Not yet.
But comfortable.
Easy.
The kind of relationship that didn't hurt.
And for reasons Gojo couldn't understand—
He hated seeing it.
The graduation celebration was supposed to be simple.
A small dinner.
Nothing extravagant.
The restaurant chosen for the celebration was surprisingly traditional.
Hidden within a quiet street illuminated by paper lanterns, the building seemed almost untouched by time.
Unlike modern restaurants filled with noise and crowded tables, this place consisted of private tatami rooms separated by wooden sliding doors.
The atmosphere was warm.
Peaceful.
Comfortably intimate.
When Gojo arrived—late, as usual—an employee guided him toward the room reserved for their group.
The moment he slid the wooden door open, familiar voices greeted him.
Geto and Shoko were already there.
Nanami sat quietly near the low wooden table positioned at the center of the room.
Soft lantern light painted golden shadows across the tatami floor, while several zabuton cushions had been arranged around the table for everyone to sit on.
"You're late."
Geto didn't even bother looking up.
"I know."
"You always say that."
"Because it's true."
Shoko rolled her eyes.
The conversation continued casually while Gojo dropped onto one of the cushions.
For a while, everything felt normal.
Until the door slid open again.
The quiet rustle of silk immediately drew everyone's attention.
Gojo glanced toward the entrance.
And froze.
For a brief moment, the room became strangely silent.
You stood in the doorway beneath the warm glow of the lantern light.
A spring kimono wrapped elegantly around your figure.
Soft ivory fabric flowed around you like water, adorned with delicate cherry blossom embroidery blooming across the sleeves and hem.
The pale pink flowers seemed almost alive beneath the golden lighting.
Your hair had been carefully pinned back, revealing the graceful curve of your neck while a few loose strands framed your face.
Everything about you looked effortless.
Refined.
Beautiful.
Gojo stared.
Longer than he should have.
Long enough for Shoko to notice.
Long enough for Geto to notice.
Long enough for Nanami to stand and walk toward you.
"Zenin-senpai."
Nanami offered a polite nod.
You smiled immediately.
A small smile.
Soft and genuine.
Nothing like the carefully rehearsed expressions Gojo remembered seeing months ago.
"Nanami-kun."
The first-year moved aside, allowing you to enter the room.
As everyone settled around the low wooden table, fate—or perhaps something far crueler—placed Nanami beside you.
Directly across from Gojo.
Close enough for him to see every detail.
The delicate floral patterns on your kimono.
The way your fingers wrapped around your teacup.
The way you lowered your gaze whenever you laughed.
Close enough that avoiding looking at you became impossible.
Unfortunately for him—
You never looked back.
Not once.
Not the entire evening.
The evening carried on far longer than anyone had expected.
Warm lantern light filled the private tatami room while conversation drifted lazily between old memories and teasing remarks.
At some point, a server entered to deliver another round of food.
Before you could even reach for your plate, Nanami quietly moved.
"Here, Zenin-senpai."
He placed the dish closer to you before pouring tea into your cup.
The gesture was simple.
Polite.
Nothing more than basic manners.
Yet it still caught you off guard.
For a second, you hesitated.
Then a small smile appeared on your lips.
"Thank you, Nanami-kun."
Nanami nodded once.
"You're welcome."
Across the table, Shoko watched the interaction unfold.
A mischievous grin slowly spread across her face.
"Oh?"
Geto immediately recognized that tone.
"Don't."
"I wasn't going to say anything."
"Yes, you were."
Shoko ignored him entirely.
Leaning forward, she rested her chin in her palm and looked between you and Nanami.
"Ooh... it smells like love in—"
"GETO!"
The sudden shout nearly made everyone jump.
Shoko blinked.
Geto blinked.
You blinked.
Nanami blinked.
Gojo pointed dramatically at his best friend.
"Tell them about that curse that looked exactly like you."
Geto stared.
"...What?"
"The ugly one."
"What ugly one?"
"The really ugly one."
"Gojo."
"The one with your face."
"Gojo."
"Actually, now that I think about it—"
"GOJO."
The conversation immediately derailed into an argument.
Shoko's grin widened.
Because she knew exactly what had happened.
And apparently so did Geto.
Only Gojo pretended otherwise.
Hours later, rain began falling.
Soft at first.
Then steadily enough to drum against the wooden roof.
One by one, people started leaving.
Geto was the first.
Claiming he didn't want to spend the night trapped in the city.
Shoko left shortly afterward.
Not before grabbing Nanami by the shoulder.
"You're coming with me."
Nanami looked confused.
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
"That's not a reason."
"It is now."
Before he could protest further, Shoko was already dragging him toward the exit.
Geto looked suspiciously amused.
Nanami looked deeply concerned.
The sliding door closed behind them.
Silence settled over the room.
And suddenly—
Only you and Gojo remained.
The atmosphere changed immediately.
Not tense.
Not exactly.
Just...
Strange.
Outside, rain continued falling across the garden visible through the open window.
Water rippled across stone pathways.
Lanterns reflected softly against the wet ground.
The sound was calming.
You lowered your gaze toward the table.
Only a few dishes remained.
A handful of untouched food.
Empty cups.
The celebration was clearly over.
This seemed like the perfect opportunity to leave.
You carefully adjusted your kimono sleeves and began to rise.
"I should—"
"I'm ordering tea."
Your movement stopped.
You looked up.
Gojo hadn't moved from his cushion.
One arm rested lazily atop the low wooden table.
His gaze remained fixed on the rain outside.
"What?"
"I said I'm ordering tea."
His tone was calm.
Matter-of-fact.
As though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
You hesitated.
Then slowly sat back down.
A few minutes later, the wooden door slid open.
A young waitress entered carrying a lacquered tray.
The scent of fresh tea immediately filled the room.
A delicate porcelain teapot.
Two matching cups and saucers.
And several small traditional sweets arranged neatly beside them.
The waitress placed everything carefully onto the table before bowing politely.
"Please enjoy."
The door closed behind her.
Silence returned.
Your eyes drifted toward the sweets.
Almost immediately.
Without meaning to.
Tiny pieces of wagashi sat neatly arranged beside the teapot.
Delicate.
Colorful.
Perfectly crafted.
Something warm flickered across your expression.
The slightest spark of excitement.
A reaction so small most people would've missed it.
Most people.
Not Gojo.
Growing up in the Zenin clan meant strict rules.
Especially for daughters.
Especially regarding appearance.
Especially regarding food.
Sweets had always been rare.
Controlled.
Limited.
The realization settled quietly in his mind.
Then—
"Pour for both of us."
His voice cut through the silence.
Firm.
Calm.
Leaving no room for argument.
You looked up immediately.
Surprised.
For a second, you genuinely wondered if he'd spoken to someone else.
But there was nobody else in the room.
Only you.
And him.
The rain continued beyond the window.
The scent of tea lingered in the air.
Gojo finally turned his head toward you.
Meeting your eyes.
Waiting.
The moment stretched unexpectedly long.
Then slowly—
You reached for the teapot.
The low wooden table gleamed softly under the warm lantern light. Gojo Satoru sat with one knee drawn up, his left elbow resting casually upon it, while his right hand lay relaxed on the table’s edge. His posture was deceptively languid, yet the air between you felt thick enough to choke on.
You moved with the quiet grace that had been taught to you—fingers steady, wrists soft—as you poured the tea. The steam rose in delicate curls, carrying the faint scent of roasted rice. Every motion felt practiced, intimate, as though the two of you had performed this ritual for countless quiet evenings across many years of marriage. The porcelain cup filled with a gentle sigh.
Gojo lifted the cup to his lips, took a slow sip, and then set it back down with a soft click. He said nothing. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating. You felt it pressing against your chest, making each breath shallower than the last. Your heart hammered against your ribs as if trying to escape.
Then, without warning, he slid the low table aside in one smooth motion. His hand shot forward, long fingers closing firmly around your wrist. With a single, fluid pull, he drew you toward him. Your body slid across the tatami with surprising softness, almost weightless, until his other arm caught your waist.
He guided you down onto the cushion beside his own, lowering you onto your back beneath him in a controlled, possessive movement. His left hand settled firmly under the small of your back, arching you slightly toward him, while his right hand braced beside your head. The weight of his body hovered just above yours—close, warm, overwhelming.
From this distance, his eyes were devastating. Those brilliant, icy blues burned with an intensity that stole the air from your lungs. There was no mask now, no playful smirk to hide behind. He simply stared, deep and unreadable, as though he could see every hidden thought you’d ever tried to bury.
Your heart thundered so violently you could hear it in your ears.
Gojo’s voice came low, barely above a whisper, brushing against your lips like a secret.
“Allow me?”
The sound of your own pulse was deafening. You barely managed to register his words, yet your body answered before your mind could catch up. You gave a small, trembling nod and let your eyes flutter shut.
His breath—hot, unsteady—ghosted over your face. The solid warmth of his body pressed closer, hips settling between your legs as he lowered himself. Then his lips met yours.
The kiss began achingly gentle, almost reverent. A soft press, a slow savoring. Your fingers curled instinctively into the collar of his uniform, gripping the fabric as if it were the only thing anchoring you to the earth. A quiet sound escaped your throat.
Gojo tilted his head, deepening the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips before slipping inside, coaxing yours into a slow, sensual dance. The kiss grew hungrier, wetter. The soft, breathless sounds of your mouths meeting filled the quiet room—mingled sighs, the faint rustle of fabric, the rapid beating of two hearts.
He pressed himself fully against you now, body molding to yours with undeniable need. You responded with shy, hesitant eagerness, your hands sliding up his chest, trembling fingers clutching at him.
When he finally pulled back, a thin, glistening string of saliva still connected your lips. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were flushed a deep, telling red. His expression was raw—almost pained, a strange mix of desire and something darker.
You stared up at him, chest heaving, trying to catch your breath.
Gojo let out a low, bitter scoff.
“You must be really happy about this, right?”
Your heart stuttered harder.
He leaned in again, voice rough and edged with venom, yet still devastatingly intimate.
“Isn’t this exactly what you wanted? Or maybe… you wanted even more?”
His lips hovered just above yours, brushing them with every word.
“How badly have you been craving me?”
Your breath caught in your throat.
His gaze darkened further, a sharp, wounded smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he continued, voice dropping into something almost poisonous.
“How long have you and that damned family of yours been plotting for this?”
He paused, eyes boring into yours with painful precision.
“Do you want to have my child?”
The question hung in the air like a blade pressed against bare skin—raw, aching, and terrifyingly intimate.
The sharp sound of the slap cracked through the quiet room like breaking porcelain. For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Your palm stung as it connected with the side of Gojo’s face, right near his ear. The force of it turned his head slightly. Then came the heavy, ringing silence.
Tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shoved him back with all the strength you could gather, scrambling to your feet. Blinking hard to hide the tears threatening to spill, you turned and hurried toward the sliding door, desperate to escape the suffocating weight of his presence.
You didn’t make it far.
Gojo’s hand shot out again, fingers locking around your wrist like iron. With one powerful tug, he yanked you back. You lost your balance and fell to your knees in front of him on the tatami floor, the impact softened only by the thick cushioning.
You immediately tried to pull away, twisting your body, but his grip was unrelenting. He refused to let go. A desperate, angry struggle broke out between you—your wrists trapped in his hands as you pushed and twisted, trying to break free. Gojo’s strength easily overpowered yours. No matter how fiercely you fought, he kept pulling you closer until you had no choice but to surrender.
Your body went still, but you trembled with fury in his arms, chest heaving, tears now freely slipping down your cheeks.
Finally, your voice broke through, shaky yet sharp with pain and resentment.
“You have no right to treat me like this…” you whispered hoarsely. “What have I ever done to you?”
Gojo stared straight into your tear-filled eyes. His expression was strangely calm, almost indifferent on the surface, but something deeper and more turbulent stirred beneath that brilliant blue.
“Exactly that,” he murmured. “That’s the problem. That damned look in your eyes.”
He let out a long, exhausted breath, shoulders slumping slightly as the fight seemed to drain out of him too.
“I can’t tell…” he continued, voice low and raw, “whether you actually want me… or if this is just another performance drilled into you by that cursed family of yours.”
The anger in your chest began to falter. The heat of it slowly ebbed away as the weight of his words settled over you. For the first time, you truly saw it — the frustration, the doubt, the genuine turmoil behind his cruel accusations.
Gojo Satoru wasn’t just playing with you.
His feelings were involved. Deeply. Painfully.
And all of this anger, this bitterness, this sudden cruelty… it came from the fear that he couldn’t tell what was real. He didn’t know if your affection, your closeness, your desire, belonged to him — or if it was simply the result of years of careful training and expectation.
In the end, he had expressed it in his own messy, painful way — clumsy and sharp-edged, like a man who had never learned how to hold something precious without breaking it. Perhaps Nanami’s recent behavior toward you had forced him to confront feelings he could no longer ignore or hide behind his usual arrogance.
Gojo let out a quiet, tired breath. The fight seemed to drain out of him all at once.
“…This conversation is pointless,” he muttered.
His grip on you softened. Gently, almost reluctantly, he released you. Without another word, he rose to his feet, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the tatami. He slid the door open and stepped out into the hallway, leaving you kneeling there with your heart still racing.
A few minutes later, you followed.
The moment you stepped outside the restaurant, the cool night air greeted you, carrying the scent of incoming rain. Gojo was waiting. Without a single word, he slipped off his dark uniform jacket and held it out to you. You took it silently. He draped it over your head and shoulders himself, shielding you from the first light drops that had begun to fall.
Then the two of you began walking.
No taxi. No conversation. Just the soft sound of rain pattering against the jacket and the quiet rhythm of your footsteps on the wet pavement. Both of you were too emotionally drained, too raw, to think clearly. The walk stretched on in heavy silence, the city lights blurring in the rain like distant stars.
Eventually, you stopped at the bottom of the long road leading up to the Zenin estate. The grand, imposing gates were still a distance away, but visible.
You turned to him softly.
“It’s better if you don’t come any further,” you whispered. “I don’t want them to see you.”
Gojo gave you a faint, bittersweet smile — the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
You turned your back to him and began walking away. After only a few steps, however, you hesitated. Something pulled at your chest. You stopped, then slowly turned around.
Your voice trembled, but it was clear.
“My feelings for you… have nothing to do with them.” You paused, then added even more quietly, “Even if one day… I give birth to your child.”
For a moment, Gojo simply stared at you.
Then a real smile — soft, genuine, and a little helpless — bloomed across his face. The flush on his cheeks deepened, turning the tips of his ears red beneath his damp white hair. He looked almost boyish for a second, caught off guard by your words. Embarrassed, he reached up and scratched the back of his neck, glancing away toward the dark street.
“…I’ll call you in the summer,” he said, voice low and slightly rough. “Make sure you keep your schedule free for me.”
You closed your eyes and smiled — a small, warm, honest smile that made your chest feel lighter despite everything.
“Of course.”
With that, you turned once more and continued up the path toward the estate, his jacket still draped over your shoulders like a quiet promise. Gojo remained standing there in the rain, watching your figure grow smaller until you disappeared behind the gates.
[Heian!Sukuna x Fem!Reader // Major angst, character death // short drabble-ish]
Author's note: I love vengeful Sukuna
Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs & comments are all appreciated𑣲⋆
You had always believed a lifetime with Sukuna meant eternity. Perhaps, you had been acutely aware that one day you might grow grey and frail. But Sukuna easily pushed the thoughts from your mind with lavish gifts and goddess-like treatment.
You wondered though, if he thought about you in that manner. Not often, but in the quiet spaces of your life as you reflected on the time you spent together. You wondered if the thought that you might become less of a partner and more of a liability to him over time had ever crossed his mind. That one day, you might become someone who needed to be cared for rather than someone who could stand next to him as an equal. If he had ever considered it, he never made it apparent.
The thought used to make your stomach turn, admittedly, but now as you laid in bed the thought could only bring a gentle smile to your face. You felt stupid. The fruitlessness of those thoughts left a bitter taste in your mouth as you laid bedridden and dying in your marital bad, only in your thirties. You had barely a grey hair, and yet your body was already failing you. Your mouth felt heavy with irony, so much so that you struggled to speak.
You were cut off before you could even think to share your thoughts with your husband.
"We will find the perpetrator, Lord Ryomen, they cannot be far-"
"Leave us," Sukuna's voice held a deep vibrato that seemed to rumble through the surrounding walls. You had heard it before, threatening and etched with malice. It shook you more now though. having never heard him sound so callous toward Uraume of all temple-goers.
"My Lord..."
"Leave us. Now."
His order came in a serpentine hiss as his hand clutched yours, punctuated only by the shuffling of robes as Uraume retreated. His hand tightened around yours at your fidgeting and if you didn't know him better, you might've thought your bones would snap under the pressure.
To weak to open your eyes you sunk deeper into cold, velvet sheets and hummed, "Don't take it out on Uraume, S'kuna..."
He huffed at your order and rebutled it with his own, "Quiet. Conserve your strength. And stop shuffling. The more you exert yourself the fast your heart will pump that filth around your body."
That filth.
The poison supposedly slipped into your evening meal, strategically tainted on the night of Sukuna's absence as he visited a Western province. He had raced home on horseback at the news of your collapse and it made you feel almost guilty. You were sure you had interrupted some important political meet that you had no previous interest in.
You thought about the servants downstairs, clumsily searching for anything that might aid your condition. You supposed it didn't matter, though. Your breaths were already laboured and something ugly was brewing behind Sukuna's eyes.
"What are you thinking about, dove?" He muttered, bringing you limp hand to his lips. His body dwarfed yours as he planted soft kisses unto your palm and up your wrist. It felt like a goodbye. It made you feel ill.
"Us," you admitted, voice tinged with guilt. "I'm sorry, Sukuna."
He shook his head with an amused chuff, though you could register the pain behind it, "Stupid woman. Apologise for nothing. You are a queen," he pressed one last, devastatingly soft kiss to the weakening pulse-point on your wrist. "My Queen."
It was early in the morning when you exhaled your last breath. A painless death-rattle that Sukuna couldn't help but be thankful for in a way that made him nauseous. The idea that the only reprieve he had was that you had gone comfortably curdled in the bottom of his stomach. Perhaps that was some sick mercy from the Gods above?
It didn't feel like it. In fact, it felt as though the beings above him were mocking his very being. Ripping his beloved from him as if she wasn't the only thing he would protest to have stolen.
The thoughts made clouds form behind his eyes as a punishing silence suffocated him, engrossed in the stillness of your body. It felt so unnatural, so wrong and perverse to see you like this.
Slow patters of rain splattered from the heavens and off the engawa outside, providing a soft song as he held you close; still warm and clinging to his kariginu. Somewhere in his twisted mind, the act felt wretched and intentional. As if the God's themselves has accompanied your loss with their own laughter in the form of the soft rain-pellets, a melody you used to comfortably sleep to now tainted by their mockery of the cursed being below them.
"Uraume?"
They appeared as if they had never left, "Yes, my Lord?"
