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

173 ~ Hundred And Seventy-Three

[G]ojo's playful energy was magnetic, and you couldn't shake the thrill in your chest at his audacity. It was like everything else dimmed, leaving just the two of you in that moment—his casual arrogance pulling you in.

Nanami moved quietly, methodical as ever, setting up the pool balls. Sinichi, leaning against the table with his trademark easy confidence, grabbed a cue. The way he moved—it was clear this wasn't his first game. Far from it. His reputation preceded him.

Back in the day, Sinichi was untouchable in pool, not just because of his skill, but because of the way he made it look like he was always one step ahead, as if the game was rigged before it even began.

Casting a sideways glance at Gojo, he declared, "I'll start." It wasn't a question.

A nonchalant shrug was Gojo's only response, his expression hidden behind dark shades. "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

That was a mistake.

Stepping forward, Sinichi lined up his shot with lethal precision. The cue ball struck the others, pocketing four in rapid succession, fluid and graceful. But on his fifth shot, the cue ball grazed the edge of the target, clinking against the corner pocket but refusing to drop.

With a smirk, Sinichi stepped aside, leaning against the table with arms crossed. "Your move, Joker."

Gojo straightened, twirling his cue like it was an afterthought. That lazy smirk on his lips—that untouchable air—settled you, even though it shouldn't have. There was no hesitation in him, no need to measure, like he had the outcome wrapped up long before he'd even touched the cue.

But then his eyes flicked to you, and something darker—more playful—danced in those cerulean depths. "Let's spice things up," he drawled, his voice smooth as velvet. "How about a little wager, babe?"

Tilting your head, a sly smile curved your lips. "And what's in it for me?"

"Simple," Gojo leaned in, his tone dropping to a seductive whisper, "If I win, you owe me a wish. Whatever I desire."

"And if you lose?"

A low chuckle rumbled from him, as if the idea of losing was laughable. "If I lose, I'll be your personal servant for a week. You can call the shots on everything I do."

Everything? The proposition stirred something deep within you, a slow burn spreading beneath your skin. You didn't flinch. You didn't blink. "You're on." Your voice came out like silk, dark and promising, matching the edge in his tone.

Gojo chuckled, the sound teasing, with just a hint of wickedness. He sauntered around the table, his movements fluid, unhurried, as if this was all just a game he'd already mastered. Unlike Sinichi, there was no need for calculation. Gojo was always ten steps ahead, and he made sure you knew it.

"Watch closely," he murmured, that smirk still tugging at his lips.

With his first shot, not just one ball but two—maybe even three—ricocheted off the cushions and sank effortlessly into the pockets. You swore you caught a flicker of surprise on Sinichi's face, his smirk faltering for the briefest moment.

Gojo wasn't just playing pool; he was putting on a show. And the worst part? He made it look absurdly easy.

"Lucky shots," Sinichi muttered, though there was a dangerous edge to his voice, something dark simmering beneath.

Pushing off the table, Sinichi exuded a palpable tension, the kind that made people instinctively back off. He was the embodiment of danger, a man accustomed to winning, and it was clear he didn't like when things didn't go his way.