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

118 ~ Hundred And Eighteen

"For starters," you began, your voice smooth, yet deliberate as you paused, savoring the shift in the room's energy.

You could feel their breath hitch, the quiet unease settling between them. It was almost amusing—predictable, even.

How dull. Was this how Gojo felt? How his mind worked when things became too easy to foresee?

Predictability was boring. It made people lose interest, fast. Now that you thought about it, he had called you predictable once—boring, even.

You didn't argue back then. And now? You wouldn't deny it either.

The truth was clear. He didn't love you, or Utahime, or anyone else for that matter. No, Gojo wasn't interested in people in the way they were in him. He was drawn to what intrigued him, what slipped through the cracks of predictability.

You'd seen it. Seen it all in his memory fragment. That day, when he came to pick you up in the rain, you had noticed the change.

The moment you didn't react the way he expected, it caught him off guard. For once, you weren't playing by his rules, and that fascinated him. You'd seen it, felt it. That was when everything started to shift—when he unknowingly triggered something inside you.

Control. That's what it was, wasn't it? The way he always seemed one step ahead, never rattled, always in command. And now, you felt it too. This sense of power, this awareness of being just a little more evolved—in your mind, body, abilities. It was all because of him.

But for now, you steered the conversation back, the curiosity lingering in your voice. "What was Geto like? Personality-wise, I mean."

Shoko leaned back, taking a moment to consider your question. Her usual nonchalance was momentarily replaced with something more introspective, like she'd never really thought about it before. "Hmm. Good question." She tapped a finger on her chin. "He was... objective. Ethical, to a point. The type to follow the rules when it mattered."

She trailed off, and you could already see where her mind was going. Predictable. You quirked an eyebrow, feeling the smirk tugging at your lips.

"Almost like... me?"

Shoko blinked, her brow furrowing for a split second before she let out a small, surprised laugh. "Yeah, a bit like you, actually." She seemed caught off guard by how quick you caught on, like she hadn't given you credit for being that perceptive.

It was amusing—watching them adjust to this new version of you. Smart, but not in the obvious way.

No, this was deeper. You could see through things now, between the lines, into the spaces people left unsaid.

"How so?" You pressed, your voice light, almost teasing. You could feel Gojo's presence from outside again, faint but steady. He was listening. Always listening.

Shoko tilted her head, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully as she spoke, her tone more subdued than usual. "He always went on about how the weak must be protected. He wouldn't even let his emotions get in the way. It's like you, in a way. Clear-headed, knowing what's best even when it hurts, even when your emotions are screaming at you to do otherwise."

You couldn't deny that. In fact, you'd be lying if you said you didn't see the truth in it. You were stubborn, relentless once you set your mind to something. You didn't waver, didn't let your emotions cloud your judgment. That was you, through and through.

But that's where you and Geto differed, wasn't it?

There was a line between you and him that no one else seemed to notice, not even Shoko or Nanami. But you'd seen it clearly, especially recently.

Unlike him, you didn't push your beliefs to extremes. You weren't unreasonable. You could adapt, change course if needed. You didn't need to prove yourself or force your ideology on anyone.

As if sensing your thoughts, Shoko continued, her voice softer now, almost unsure. "He felt the need to assert himself, though. To make sure everyone knew what he believed. He wanted to change the world. Weed out non-sorcerers and create a society that revolved around sorcerers—like it was the only way forward."

Her words trailed off, like she was only now starting to unravel Geto's mindset. You could see the struggle in her eyes, trying to piece together his motives, his convictions.

And Gojo? Well, he was always different. You'd seen how he carried the weight of his title—'The Strongest.' It wasn't a choice for him; it was a responsibility thrust upon him. But Gojo knew his limits, knew that saving everyone was impossible. He didn't need to be a hero for the world, just for the people who mattered.

Geto, on the other hand, was something else. A tragic figure who believed the ends justified the means. Even if it meant destroying everything in his path, even if it meant becoming a villain in his own story, as long as he could protect the weak, he thought it was worth it.

You couldn't help but chuckle softly at the thought. "If this were some kind of story, Geto would be the tragic hero, and Satoru? He'd be the fated one. The hero who never asked for the role but plays it anyway. One believes it's their duty to save the world, and the other... well, he just does what he can with the cards he's dealt, right?"

It wasn't mockery in your voice, more like quiet admiration. You respected both of them for sticking to what they believed in, even when the world turned against them, even when they weren't always right.

Nanami, ever the sharp observer, picked up on your tone immediately. His eyes narrowed just a fraction as he posed the question you knew was coming. "And you? Who do you resonate with more?"

There it was. His cautious approach, subtle but deliberate, trying to figure you out, trying to see if you leaned more towards Geto's ideology or Gojo's worldview.

You cracked a small, almost amused smile. "Neither," you replied, your voice light but with an edge that made the room still. You shrugged casually. "If I had to pick? I'd probably be the villain."

That made them all flinch—Shoko, Nanami, even the subtle shift in the air where you could feel Gojo listening from outside.

Maybe it was the way you said it—calm, confident, unbothered. But you could see it in their eyes, that split-second of unease, of trying to process what you'd just said.

"Y/N?" Nanami's voice was steady but with a note of disbelief. "Are you saying—"

"I'm saying," you cut him off, leaning back with a faint smile playing on your lips, "that the hero role's too predictable for me. And the tragic hero? That's too much burden. The villain, though... they get to make their own rules."

Shoko didn't react immediately, her expression unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe.

Nanami, though, frowned, his arms crossing as he took in your words. It wasn't that he thought you were serious about becoming the 'villain,' but something about your tone made him uneasy.

"You're not serious," he finally said, but there was no conviction behind it.

You held Nanami's gaze, the smirk on your lips widening just slightly before cutting in sharply. "Wait, hear me out first," you interrupted before he could say anything else, your voice firm, slicing through the tension that hung between you.

Nanami's brow furrowed, but he didn't speak, clearly waiting for you to explain before jumping to any conclusions.

"If I'm going to be judged and screwed over by this world, again and again, being a villain doesn't sound half as bad," you continued, your voice unwavering. "At least I'd be free—free of the ideals people keep shoving at me. The unrealistic expectations they have of me, and the ones I might've had of them."

You paused, letting the weight of your words settle. You could see the discomfort flicker across their faces—Gojo especially, who you knew was listening from just beyond the door. Shoko's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, and Nanami remained as stoic as ever, though there was a shift in his posture. But you didn't stop. There was no reason to.

"If I had to choose, yeah, I'd be fine with smashing curses. Why not? They're annoying, they get in the way. But I don't have any grand desire to be a hero, or to act like I'm somehow 'fated' for it." Your voice was steady, deliberate. "And I sure as hell don't believe in the whole 'ends justify the means' crap. Killing your own for the greater good? Just because circumstances force your hand?" You scoffed, shaking your head slightly. "That's not me."

You could feel it then, the subtle ripple of Gojo's cursed energy outside the room, the way it flickered like a candle flame in a breeze. He was uncomfortable. Nanami and Shoko too, though they tried harder to hide it. But there was no hiding the truth—this wasn't for their comfort, it was for yours.

"I'd burn the whole world down if it meant protecting the people I care about," you stated, your voice dropping into something almost cold, resolute. "Plain and simple. No noble obligation, no 'the strong must protect the weak.' None of that. And certainly not some twisted notion that the weak should adapt or die. I don't care about any of it. I live by my own rules. That's why..."

You paused, letting your words linger, almost savoring the shift in the air around you.

"That's why the villain role suits me better."

There it was. No hesitation. No regret. The truth was out there, and it felt damn good to say it.

You watched their reactions carefully. Nanami's jaw tightened, his arms crossed over his chest as he processed your words. Shoko's expression didn't change much—still that unreadable mask she always wore—but her eyes told you everything.

And Gojo? You could practically feel his unease even without seeing his face. He wasn't used to this. To you speaking like this. To you stepping out of the box they'd put you in.

They were all wrong about you—Gojo, Nanami, Shoko. Every single one of them had misunderstood who you were, what you stood for. They thought you were predictable, someone they could figure out. But now? Now, they were only beginning to understand.

You weren't like Geto, with his tragic ideals. You weren't like Gojo, carrying the weight of the world's expectations. You were you. Unapologetically, undeniably yourself.

And it was about time they realized that.