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

105 ~ Hundred And Five

[T]he hallway stretched out before you like an endless tunnel, each step dragging heavier than the last.

A strange, disorienting vertigo swirled in your head, making it hard to focus on anything except putting one foot in front of the other.

The cold wall at your side was your only anchor, and for a moment, you wished you could just sink into it, disappear from everything—especially from him.

You felt someone approach, footsteps measured and careful, and for a brief, stupid second, you thought it might be Gojo. But then you shook off the thought—why would someone like him bother?

You'd heard it, clear as day. You weren't the only one he's been with. Maybe you were just a passing fancy, a fleeting moment in Gojo Satoru's chaotic life.

"Y/N?" Nanami's familiar voice broke through the storm in your mind, pulling you back from the edge.

His presence was a rock, steady and unshakeable—everything Gojo wasn't.

He moved beside you, close enough to offer support but still keeping a respectful distance, waiting for you to decide. That was Nanami—always giving you the choice, never pushing, never demanding. Just... there.

"Are you alright? Can you walk?" His tone was calm, with just a hint of concern, like he knew you needed the grounding more than anything.

You forced a nod, instantly regretting it as the world spun out of control. "I... I think I might need some help," you admitted, the words coming out softer than you intended, betraying the exhaustion you couldn't hide.

He didn't hesitate. "Lean on me," he offered, his voice a quiet command, not overbearing, just... certain. He was there, solid and reliable, the kind of support you needed when everything else felt like it was slipping away.

You pushed yourself to take a few more steps, but each one was a struggle. Your breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and the world around you began to spin, a dizzying blur that wouldn't stop.

Maybe storming out like you had, full of anger and frustration, had drained what little strength you had left.

Nanami must have noticed your struggle because he stepped closer. "Y/N, I'm sorry, but I think it'll be quicker if..." His tone was calm, steady—like he always was.

He didn't wait for a response. Instead, he bent down and scooped you up in one smooth motion, lifting you as if you were weightless.

The spinning in your head slowed as you instinctively leaned into him, resting your head against his chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady, a comforting rhythm that contrasted sharply with the chaos swirling in your mind. Nanami's grip was firm but gentle, holding you like you were something precious, not a burden.

He carried you with such care, as if you mattered—truly mattered. And for just a moment, you let yourself lean into that feeling, trying to push everything else to the background, even if only for a short while.

***

The fever had you in its grip for what felt like an eternity, your body burning and your mind fogged by the haze of illness.

Everything blurred together—days and nights merging into one endless stretch of discomfort.

The weight of everything you'd been handling had finally crushed you, leaving you weak, vulnerable, and strangely alone—except for that voice.

"Wake up, sleepyhead. Time for some food and medicine," the voice had teased, light and playful, cutting through the fog.

You could barely open your eyes, but the warmth of the soup against your lips was hard to ignore. You tried to resist, feeling too drained to do anything, but he was persistent, gently urging you on with that unmistakable, confident tone.

"Atta girl," he'd praised when you managed to take a few sips, the words laced with a hint of his usual cockiness. "Knew you could do it."

Sometimes, he'd just sit beside you, his hand casually resting over yours, his presence more than enough to keep you grounded in the midst of your fever-induced delirium. He didn't push, didn't force, just stayed there, like a quiet storm waiting for you to come back to yourself.

"Come on, Y/N," he murmured at times, his voice softer than you'd ever heard it. "You've gotta get better soon, okay?" His lips brushed against your forehead, your cheeks, even your lips, each kiss a strange mix of comfort and something unspoken, something that only Gojo could convey without saying much at all.

"We'll talk when you're back to your usual self," he'd said, but there was a seriousness in his voice that contrasted with his usual nonchalance.

You wanted to ask him what he meant, to see his face and know for sure that it was him, but the fever kept dragging you back under.

Sometimes, he'd say things like, "You know why I'm the perfect guy to watch over you like this?" Gojo's voice would drift through the haze, light and teasing, like he was about to share some world-shattering secret. "I barely sleep as it is—two, four hours a day, tops. Staying up all night is my specialty."

It was the kind of thing he'd throw out when he was bored, stuck in a room with nothing to do but swap out the damp cloth on your forehead and make sure you didn't burn up.

His presence, though casual, carried a strange intensity, like he was forcing himself to stay put when he'd rather be anywhere else. But he stayed. That made it even harder to believe this wasn't just some feverish hallucination.

Another time, when the fever had you slipping in and out of consciousness, you heard him murmur, "This probably isn't the right moment, but... has anyone ever told you you're kinda cute when you're sick?" His tone was laced with that signature Gojo arrogance, a smirk you could hear without seeing, making you wonder if you were imagining things.

By the fourth day, you were convinced you were losing it.

The fever must have fried your brain, because you were starting to believe that Gojo Satoru, of all people, had put his pride aside to look after you. It was his voice that kept you grounded, the ridiculous comments pulling you through the fog just to catch what he'd say next.

When you finally came to, fever broken, the first thing you noticed was the absence of his voice.

The room was quiet, save for the soft rustle of a page turning. A familiar blonde was seated nearby, a book in his hands, his presence calm and composed—a stark contrast to the whirlwind that had been in your head for days.

You cleared your throat, the dryness scratching at your voice as you tried to speak. "Nana...mi-san," you rasped, "could I get some water?"

Almost instantly, Nanami set the book aside, his movements brisk and efficient as he fetched a glass. He helped you up in a sitting position, his hand steady as he brought the glass to your lips. The cool water soothed your parched throat, and you found yourself grateful for his help.

As you drank, your thoughts wandered back to those feverish days.

You must have been delirious to think that Gojo Satoru would spend days caring for you. The idea that he'd set aside his pride, his duties as the strongest sorcerer, just to keep an eye on you? Ridiculous.

Yet, in your fevered state, you'd clung to that hope, imagining it was him waiting for you to wake up, whispering those words just for you.

But now, with the clarity that came with the fever's end, you knew better.

Gojo was probably off somewhere, causing chaos, being his usual insufferable self. And you? You were here, under Nanami's watchful eye—the one who always showed up when it mattered, when you were having a hard time.

You couldn't shake the pang of disappointment, that foolish part of you still hoping the voice in your dreams had been real—that Gojo had been the one staying by your side. But deep down, you knew better. It was just a dream.

And you? You were just another sorcerer, not someone who could make the great Gojo Satoru truly care.

"How long was I out for?" you asked, keeping your tone as neutral as you could, your eyes unfocused as you stared into the distance.

"A week," Nanami responded, his voice steady and matter-of-fact. He took the empty glass from you, placing it carefully on the bedside table. "I'll let Shoko know you're awake. She'll want to check on you, make sure you're recovering properly."

"Alright," you murmured, not daring to ask about Satoru.

Nanami didn't push the subject either, probably sensing that you weren't ready to confront whatever complicated feelings you had about Gojo Satoru just yet.

Standing up, you watched him step out, likely to call Shoko. As the door clicked shut behind him, you exhaled slowly, your eyes returning to the ceiling.

It felt strange, waking up after so long, only to find yourself alone.