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

120 ~ Hundred And Twenty

Disclaimer: This chapter contains references to implied sexual abuse that may be distressing for some readers. Please proceed with caution and at your own discretion

***

[N]o one uttered a single word.

It wasn't because they didn't care—quite the opposite. You could tell your words had left them speechless, silencing even the most talkative among them.

Wasn't this what they wanted?

They'd been waiting for you to speak for days, desperate for any sign that you were coming back to yourself. So you spoke. You gave them what they asked for. And now... you were done. Back to being reserved, aloof, keeping everyone at arm's length.

Shoko unpacked the food with practiced calm, the rustling of plastic the only sound in the room. She didn't look at you, though you could almost feel/hear her thoughts. She turned to Nanami. "I've got it from here. You can go now. Catch you later."

"Got it." The blonde gave a slight nod, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer.

There was more he wanted to say—you could sense it, the weight of his unspoken words pressing down on you. But he chose silence, maybe out of respect for Gojo, who was already reeling. Or maybe because he didn't want to sound... soft.

"I'll catch you later, Y/N."

"Mmm, 'kay." You didn't bother looking back. There was no point. You'd said everything you needed to.

Nanami understood. He nodded, more to himself than to you, then turned to leave.

No more words, not as he exited the room, not when the familiar silhouette of Gojo Satoru appeared in his peripheral vision, and not when he closed the door behind him. But when his gaze met the strongest sorcerer, it became crystal clear.

Gojo looked like shit.

Not that he wasn't still his usual, godly handsome self—he was—but there was something off.

He looked exhausted, drained. Like he hadn't slept in days. There were no dark circles, no visible signs of fatigue, but something was missing. That usual spark, the boundless energy he carried himself with, was dimmed.

And that smirk on his lips? It wasn't a smirk at all. It was a grimace, a mask barely holding back how much your words had gutted him. He was still reeling, still trying to process everything you'd said, everything you'd implied. The invincible Gojo Satoru was shaken.

Nanami didn't need to be a genius to see it. Both you and Gojo were... complicated. Strange in your own ways.

You cared enough to dismiss him, enough to tell him to stop standing guard because you knew he wasn't taking care of himself. Yet, you hadn't hesitated to cut him deep with the truth, with words that hurt more than you could probably imagine.

And Gojo? He cared enough to be there, day in and day out, making sure your every need was met, whether reasonable or not. But he couldn't bring himself to apologize, couldn't face you and say what needed to be said. Couldn't just be honest—for once—about how he felt and what he wanted.

It was enough to give anyone a headache.

Nanami sighed quietly, rubbing his temple with the back of his thumb, feeling the beginnings of a tension headache forming. Then, with a subtle tilt of his head, he beckoned Gojo to move. "You should go," he murmured under his breath, his tone more suggestion than command.

But the white-haired sorcerer didn't move. Not yet. His eyes were fixed on the closed door, as if waiting for something—anything.

He stood there, unmoving, just outside, listening. The faint clinking of utensils against plates filtered through the crack, signaling that you'd started eating. Only then, once he was certain, did he step away, his shoulders tensing as he walked down the hall.

Nanami waited until they were far enough from earshot before speaking, his voice low and deliberate. "I never thought I'd ask you this, but... are you okay?"

The white-haired sorcerer shot him a glance, one eyebrow raised in mock surprise. "Huh? What do you mean?" His smirk twitched into something resembling a smile, but it wasn't. It was twisted, off. Not right. "What's that, Nanamin? You worried about me now?"

The cheerfulness in Gojo's voice was almost grating, even more so than usual. Too bright, too forced. Nanami wasn't fooled. Gojo was putting on a performance, and he wasn't doing a particularly good job of it.

The blonde exhaled through his nose, a subtle sign of frustration, as he led the way to his workspace. Once inside, he sat on the couch, legs crossed, arms folded—a posture that all but screamed, I'm preparing for the worst.

The strongest sorcerer flopped down opposite him, sprawling out in his usual careless fashion, the back of his neck resting against the couch as he stared up at the ceiling. He let out a groan, a sound of release, like all the tension he'd been holding in was slowly draining away.

"You're not planning to go through with it, are you?" His voice was quieter now, the bravado stripped away as the question slipped from his lips.

He didn't move, just kept his gaze trained upward, as if the answer was hidden somewhere in the plaster.

Nanami's brow furrowed. "Do what?"

"Make her a Jujutsu sorcerer. What else?" Gojo's tone was laced with irritation, though whether it was directed at Nanami or himself, he couldn't quite tell. Probably both.

"That's not for me to decide."

Nanami could see right through it. Gojo wasn't just asking about becoming a sorcerer—no, that wasn't the real question at all. There was more, something deeper lurking beneath his words. Maybe it was about being a sorcerer, but that wasn't all of it. Not even close.

"But she asked you, didn't she?" His voice had a sharpness to it now, something biting and raw. And there it was—that undercurrent of frustration, of something Gojo, the greatest sorcerer alive, couldn't fully understand.

Except he did understand. He knew exactly what was pissing him off. You.

More specifically, the way you were acting now.

Where was the fire from when you told him to go fuck himself? When you'd slapped him—hard enough that it should've stung, but to him, it was barely more than a mosquito bite. The kind of rage you had just thinking about him and Utahime?

He'd been waiting for it. Waiting for another tantrum, another dramatic outburst. He figured you'd blow up again. But you weren't that easy to read, were you? Not like he thought.

More than that—he wanted to be near you.

It infuriated him that you were pulling away, that you weren't depending on him, weren't looking for him, weren't clinging to him like you used to.

Ever since you woke up, something was different. Something about you had shifted, and it gnawed at him, drove him crazy.

He'd been in your space, rearranging things, leaving traces of himself—small, petty reminders that he was still there, that he wasn't going anywhere. Switching out your stuff for his, like some bizarre territorial ritual. He thought that maybe, just maybe, you'd finally crack. You'd finally give in, call for him, break down in his arms, his arms.

But you didn't. And it was driving him mad. Crazy mad.

Nanami could feel Gojo's tension, the restless energy radiating from him, as he sat across the room, tapping his fingers against his knee. That usual mask of arrogance was starting to slip—just a little. For all Gojo's power, his charm, and the air of invincibility he liked to project, there was no mistaking it now. He was lost.

"You can't keep making her depend on you, or hide her away forever," Nanami finally broke the silence, his voice calm but firm, slicing through the weight hanging between them. "That's not how trust works, Satoru."

The use of his first name hit a nerve. Gojo flinched, almost imperceptibly, but Nanami saw it. Not many people called him that—definitely not like this, not when he was exposed, vulnerable.

"I'm not trying to force anything," the strongest sorcerer mumbled, his voice unconvincing, even to himself. He knew that wasn't true. Not really.

"Could've fooled me," Nanami deadpanned as he leaned further into the couch. "You're clinging to something that's already gone. Let her come to you when she's ready. If she ever will."

Gojo stayed silent, his jaw tight, eyes fixed on the ceiling as if staring hard enough might somehow make sense of it all. But he couldn't. And that terrified him more than anything. More than he cared to admit.

The truth was, he could handle you using Geto to hurt him. Hell, you could stab him in the heart a thousand times and he'd let you.

But scared of him? That hit different. It twisted inside him, made his skin crawl.

It felt like you were lumping him in with the bastards who broke you, who twisted your life into what it became. And maybe... maybe he wasn't much better, at least not in your eyes. That realization stung worse than any curse ever could.

Did being scared of him mean you didn't want him anymore? That you'd rather keep him at arm's length, shut him out?

No, that couldn't be it. He was Gojo Satoru. Everyone wanted him, right? Sure, you were pissed. You had every right to be. But that anger—it'd pass. It had to. If he kept pushing, not too directly, but just enough, kept reminding you that he was there—always had been, always would be—you'd come back to him, right? You had to.

But the truth he couldn't face, the answer he didn't have, was that he wasn't sure anymore. And it was that uncertainty that ate at him.

Still, he wasn't one to hesitate long. When he made a decision, he made it with the kind of confidence most people could only dream of. That was who he was—Satoru Gojo, always decisive, always spontaneous.

"Alright, fine. I agree." He nodded, the words almost begrudging, like a father reluctantly giving his blessing. "You can train her."

Nanami didn't even flinch. "Didn't need your permission, Gojo. I was going to anyway."

The strongest arched a brow at that but decided against picking a fight. He had bigger things in mind. "I'll talk to Yaga. Have him make Y/N your temporary assistant."

Nanami's brow furrowed slightly, "And what exactly are you getting at?"

"Keep her out of harm's way," Gojo replied bluntly, though the undertone in his voice was more than just a request—it carried a weight of unspoken warning.

"You can't protect her forever. She's stronger than you think."

"I know," Gojo cut in sharply.

No, he didn't. He refused to see you as anything other than fragile, something easily breakable—his, and his alone. He wasn't going to let you self-destruct, not after everything.

"Look," he exhaled sharply, the words coming out harder than intended. Asking for help wasn't his style. But Nanami? Nanami was reliable. "You saw the report yourself. Shoko found those files in the basement. She was abused. We don't know the full extent yet, but—"

"It's pretty clear," Nanami interrupted. "S*xual ab*se."

Gojo tensed, shaking his head immediately. "No. She wasn't r*ped. I know that. She was a... virgin, very much so." His voice was too certain, too sure of itself. "Unless she has some way of resetting herself, that much I'm certain."

"Satoru," Nanami's voice was calm, cutting through the denial. "R*pe isn't the only kind of s*xual ass*ult. There's more."

Gojo's jaw clenched, the weight of the words sinking in. "Maybe. But whatever it was, it's enough. I don't want her absorbing any more cursed energy. Especially not from curses."

"She has to learn to control it eventually," Nanami countered, his voice steady. "You can't hold her back forever."

"I'm not holding her back," he snapped. "That's why I'm suggesting she becomes your assistant. You're careful, Nanami. You've always been protective of the people under you—especially after Haibara. She'll be safe with you. Driving you around, setting up veils—she won't be in the line of fire."

Nanami studied him for a moment, weighing Gojo's words. The logic made sense. And while Nanami didn't indulge in Gojo's possessiveness, he knew how the man operated. Gojo wasn't asking for a favor lightly.

"Alright," he finally agreed, his tone measured. "This could work."

"Good," Gojo mumbled with a nod, his tension easing just a little. "I'll talk to Yaga. She'll be safe."