Bound In Love's Curse [Gojo Satoru x Female Readers]

103 ~ Hundred And Three

[Y]ou had no idea how or when you passed out.

One moment, there was the world—its clamor, its unforgiving demands—and the next, only darkness. But now, something stirred at the edges of your mind, pulling you back.

Murmurs, the low rumble of voices, invaded your senses, an assault on the thin veil between sleep and consciousness. Your mind began to adjust, struggling to piece together the fragments of reality before you even opened your eyes.

"I'll take her back," a familiar voice declared, the tone nonchalant yet firm. Gojo Satoru. He was speaking to someone nearby, though the exact identity of the person eluded you for the moment. "She needs rest, and I'll make sure she gets it. I'll let you know if there's anything to worry about."

"Seriously?" Another voice cut in, this one unmistakably female and tinged with skepticism. Shoko. "You? Watching over someone? If it were up to me, I'd trust Nanami with this. Especially since Utahime's around—who's to say you won't ditch Y/n last minute for her?"

"Hey, what's with everyone suddenly thinking I've got some kind of thing for Utahime?" Gojo's voice carried an uncharacteristic edge of irritation, though the playful lilt remained.

"Because you don't?" Shoko's response was dry, laced with a hint of doubt.

"Of course not." The strongest sorcerer groaned.

"Uh-huh. Sure, Gojo."

"I'm not ditching her, okay?" His voice softened slightly, almost as if he were making a promise. "Y/n's impor—"

Before he could finish, you forced yourself to sit up, your eyelids heavy as if weighed down by the lingering effects of exhaustion.

The room fell silent, the voices around you cutting off as you rubbed your eyes, trying to clear away the remnants of sleep and the pounding headache that seemed to echo through your skull. Everything was a blur, but you blinked, attempting to focus on the faces around you.

Shoko was the first to move, stepping forward and leaning down to check on you. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a rough croak, your throat raw and dry. You cleared it and tried again. "I've seen better days."

"Join the club," Shoko remarked, a hint of dry humor in her voice, though her eyes scanned you with clinical precision.

"Where... where am I?" you asked, your mind still hazy as you tried to shake off the stiffness. You rolled your neck, feeling the tightness ease just a bit.

"Shoko's lab," Gojo interjected before the brunette lady could, his tone uncharacteristically serious. "You pushed yourself too hard."

You avoided looking at him, instead letting your gaze drift around the room until it landed on Nanami, standing nearby with his usual stoic expression. "I'm sorry for causing you extra trouble, Nanami-san," you muttered, your voice still weak.

The blonde barely opened his mouth to respond, "It's no—"

Gojo cut him off, stepping closer with a sharpness in his voice that wasn't typically there. "H-hey, I'm talking to you! Don't just ignore me like that!"

It was hard—God, it was hard to ignore him.

His cologne was unmistakable, filling the air around you, pulling you toward him even as you fought to stay grounded. And then, before you knew it, he was right in front of you.

You tried to swing your legs off the examination table, but the exhaustion kept you anchored at the edge. The heat radiating from his body, the way he stood so close—it was almost enough to make you forget why you were angry. Almost.

But you couldn't let that happen. You dug your fingers into the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as you forced yourself to stay focused, to remember that this had to stop. You couldn't let him keep pulling you in.

Something was off with Gojo, something that made Shoko pause. She watched him, eyes narrowing slightly, as if she were seeing a side of him that she didn't recognize.

Nanami, on the other hand, remained stoic, as though he'd anticipated this exact scenario. He didn't move, didn't react, just watched.

"What, are you still mad at me?" The strongest sorcerer's voice was laced with frustration, the teasing edge replaced with something darker, almost mean-spirited.

It was rare to hear him like this, but it wasn't unheard of; everyone knew that Satoru could be cruel when pushed.

You scoffed, turning your face away from him, letting the silence speak for you.

You knew it would piss him off, that it would drive him crazy. Maybe you were being petty, maybe even vindictive, but at this point, you didn't care. If you couldn't get him to care, then making him angry was the next best thing.

His response was immediate and rough. He leaned in, one hand planted on the table beside you, the other gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him. His touch wasn't gentle—his fingers dug into your skin, his frustration palpable.

"Look at me, Y/n," he commanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Reluctantly, you met his gaze, your breath catching at the sight of his eyes. The usual vibrant blue was darkened, shadows playing in those cerulean depths. His expression, usually so light and carefree, was hard and unyielding.

"What the hell are you so mad about, huh? What did I do?" His voice was rough, the words laced with a frustration that was as much directed at himself as it was at you.

"Get. Off. Me." You spat each word slowly, the seething anger in your voice barely contained.

Gojo's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing as a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "And if I don't? What are you gonna do, Y/n? Bitch about it?"

The way he said it, so nonchalant and cocky, sent a shiver down your spine.

Damn him. Damn the way he could make your blood boil and your pulse race at the same time. But this wasn't the time to fall apart, not when your sanity was hanging by a thread.

"Let go of me, Satoru," you hissed, trying to pull your chin free from his grasp.

"Why should I?" he shot back, his voice low and mocking. "So you can keep pretending you're the victim? Isn't that what you do best?"

"Victim?" You snapped, your voice rising. "You think this is about me playing the victim? You're the one who's always messing with people's lives like it's some kind of... game!"

"Oh, here we go again," he sneered, finally releasing your chin but not stepping back. Not quite. His presence was still overwhelming, suffocating. "You're always whining about something, Y/n. Always finding something new to complain about."

"Maybe if you weren't so infuriating, I wouldn't have anything to complain about!" you shot back, your anger flaring. "You think everything's a joke, Satoru, but some of us actually care about what happens around here!"

Gojo's eyes darkened, a dangerous glint in them. "And what about you, huh? What do you care about, really? Besides yourself and your constant need for attention?"

You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms. "At least I care enough to be here, to do my part, instead of treating everyone like pawns in your twisted game!"

His half-cocky smirk vanished, replaced by a cold, hard expression. "You wanna talk about twisted? How about you obsessing over me and Utahime? What's your deal, Y/n? Jealous? Scared someone else might actually put up with me?"

"Jealous? Of you and Utahime?" you scoffed, the words dripping with venom. "Please, Satoru. Everyone knows you're just fucking around with her because you're too scared to face anything real."

Gojo's expression shifted, a cruel smirk curling his lips. He had you right where he'd wanted. "And what if I am? What if I've been fucking Utahime this whole time? What's it to you, Y/n? You gonna throw another pity party? Cry about how unfair life is?"

Your heart clenched, anger and hurt mixing into a volatile cocktail. "You're disgusting," you seethed. "I can't believe I ever let you—"

"Let me what? Fuck you?" Gojo cut you off, his words sharp and biting. "Is that what this is really about? You're mad because things didn't go your way? Because I didn't fall into your little... trap? How predictable and boring—"

You slapped him before you even realized what you were doing.

The sound, it echoed in the small room, sharp and shocking. For a moment, the world seemed to stop. Gojo's head snapped to the side, his cheek turning red where your hand had connected.

"You're a real piece of work, Gojo Satoru," you accosted bitterly, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and regret. "Go fuck yourself."

You slid off the examination table, your legs shaky but determined, and walked out of the lab, slamming the door behind you with enough force to rattle the walls.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Nanami, who had remained a silent observer through the whole exchange, finally spoke up, his tone flat and unimpressed. "Congratulations, Gojo Satoru. You've reached a whole new level of idiocy—picking a fight with someone who's already sick."

The strongest sorcerer didn't respond, still reeling from the slap and the harsh reality of what had just happened. The sting on his cheek was nothing compared to the gnawing realization that he might have just pushed you too far this time.