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

179 ~ Hundred And Seventy-Nine 🔞

[G]ojo's grin stretched wide, a mix of cocky and amused as he leaned back, watching you catch your breath. "Oh, come on. That good, huh? You've gotta give me credit for making you squirt. Huge ego boost over here." His tone was laced with playful arrogance, blue eyes gleaming with mischief as he casually ran a hand through his disheveled hair.

You were still reeling from the aftermath, body trembling as sweat clung to your skin. The heel of your palms covered your eyes, trying to hide how utterly wrecked you felt. Embarrassment crept up your spine as your mind processed what just happened.

It was easily the best orgasm you'd ever had, but still... losing control in front of him?

"What's wrong, babe? Cat got your tongue?" Gojo's teasing voice cut through your haze, but something in his posture shifted when you didn't immediately shoot back. His smirk faltered for a moment, and he leaned down, eyes narrowing as if scanning your face for something... off.

"You crying?" His voice dropped, no longer teasing, but serious, like the thought genuinely threw him off balance. "Hey, Y/N. Look at me."

You didn't want to look at him. Not now. Not when your body was betraying you like this. "I'm fine," you muttered, keeping your face covered, but he wasn't having it.

Gojo's hand slipped under yours, gently pulling your hand away from your face, his expression softening in a way that made your chest tighten. "I messed up, huh?" His tone was lighter, but there was a genuine undercurrent of concern. "My bad, I didn't mean to break you." His lips brushed against your cheeks, catching the faint streak of tears. "Don't worry, though. I won't let that happen again. Promise."

Your breath hitched as his lips traveled over your skin, kissing away what little evidence there was of your vulnerability. Each kiss was slow, careful, the exact opposite of his usual carefree arrogance. It was like you were seeing him stripped down, raw. Vulnerable.

"I'm not scared of you, Satoru," you said, voice steadier than you felt, but it was true. If anything, he looked like the scared one.

"I know," he mumbled against your skin, his hands framing your face like you were something fragile. "I just—shit, Y/N. I don't want to hurt you. I didn't mean to go so hard."

You could almost laugh at how ridiculous this scene was. Gojo Satoru, the most powerful sorcerer, apologizing for being too rough? Who would've thought? But you didn't laugh. Instead, you smirked, pushing a hand against his chest.

"Don't lick my face, I've got makeup on," you chided with a soft chuckle.

He froze for a second, then exhaled a sharp breath, the tension in his body loosening. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, and you could feel the relieved smile tugging at his lips. "You're really okay?"

"I'm fine, Satoru. Relax." You paused, teasing smile growing on your lips as you threw him a sidelong glance. "If anything, I've just made a mess of your kitchen table."

His gaze snapped back to yours, pupils blown wide with an intense mix of emotions. Lust, relief, something deeper—something that made your pulse quicken. He was looking at you like you were the only thing in the room, like everything else faded into the background.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the air thick with tension that felt almost tangible. His breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel the restraint he was holding on to by a thread.

Then, his voice dropped to a hushed, almost pleading tone. "Hey... can I kiss you?"

The question threw you off for a second. Gojo Satoru, always so cocky, always so sure of himself, asking you for permission? But the way he looked at you, the way his voice trembled slightly—it wasn't arrogance. It was need. He needed you to say yes.

"I really want to kiss you," he added, this time his voice more desperate, eyes flicking to your lips like a man starved. "Real bad. Can I? Hm?"

Your heart skipped a beat, and you realized just how deep he'd gotten under your skin. You'd pushed him to the edge, seen him raw, and now he was holding back, waiting for your permission. The power shift was almost intoxicating.

With a slow, deliberate movement, you fisted a hand into his turtleneck, pulling him closer until your lips barely brushed against his. His breath hitched, eyes wide and locked on yours, waiting, hungry.

"You can," you whispered, voice low, sultry, laced with dark temptation.

And that was all it took. Gojo folded.

His pupils blew wide, swallowing up the blue of his eyes until they looked like twin eclipses—a flicker of intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Not just a kiss," you murmured, your lips ghosting over his, teasingly close, dripping with intent. "All of me. You. Can. Have. All. Of. Me." Your words came out slow, deliberate, each one pulling him deeper into your gravity.

That was all the invitation he needed.

His lips collided with yours, raw and hungry, teetering on the edge of desperation. It was the kind of ferocity only Gojo could muster—control shattered, restraint forgotten. His kiss wasn't gentle or patient; it was a claim. His mouth was scorching, relentless, his tongue delving into yours with an intensity that stole your breath. He wasn't kissing you—he was feasting, devouring you whole.

You met him with equal fire, one hand threading through his hair, nails grazing his scalp, urging him on. He growled low in his throat, primal and dangerous, as if your touch only fueled his madness. Before you even realized it, he lifted you off the table, your legs wrapping around him instinctively.

You barely registered the strides he took, his long, sure steps toward some unknown destination—honestly, you didn't care. Everything else faded away. The only thing that mattered was this moment, this need you'd kept locked away for too long, now spilling over in an uncontrollable wave. You kissed him back with a feral urgency, biting his lip just hard enough to draw blood, marking him.

Gojo groaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you as he laid you down gently on a mattress. His hands flew to his turtleneck, tugging it off, but your frustration flared, the emptiness between you unbearable.

"Faster," you commanded, your voice a low growl, your eyes flashing with impatience. You needed him. All of him. Now.

A dark chuckle escaped his lips as he kicked off his shoes and made quick work of his pants and briefs. He helped you out of your dress before his eyes roamed over you like a predator sizing up his prey, pausing appreciatively when you lay there in nothing but the black pumps he'd 'insisted' you wear with the dress tonight.

"I'd leave the heels on," he mused, his voice low and dangerous, as his fingers traced up your leg to your ankle. "You look too fucking hot in them."

Your lips curved into a smirk, but before you could fire back, a gasp tore from your throat as he kissed your ankle, taking his time removing the pumps with an almost reverent touch. He tossed them aside, crawling back over you, his lips finding yours again, devouring you with the same raw need as before.

His kisses trailed lower, down your jawline, leaving a path of heated marks along your neck. Each bite and bruise stoked the fire within you, a blaze that was quickly becoming an inferno. His cursed energy buzzed around you, melding into your skin like it was fusing your very souls together. You moaned against his mouth as his kisses grew more frenzied, his body pressing into yours with that familiar, electric heat.

"You'll do it again, right?" His voice was a low, husky growl, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your breast as he teased you with the barest graze of his teeth. "You'll let go again. Make a mess for me."

A dark, amused glint flickered in your eyes, a smirk tugging at your lips as you arched an eyebrow. "Hm?"

His gaze darkened further, that primal edge creeping back into his tone. "You'll lose control for me again, won't you? Mess up my bed this time. Let it all go."

A low chuckle bubbled up from your throat, amusement dancing in your eyes. "Make me." It wasn't a challenge; it was an order. You weren't asking. You were daring the strongest sorcerer alive to wreck you, to push you past every limit, to shatter you so completely that you'd come undone in his arms.

His response was a low, rumbling, "Okay," voice filled with raw intent. And then he was on you, thrusting into you so deep you were sure your period would start the next day. The rhythm he set was brutal, relentless—just like in the kitchen, but this time with more intensity. His hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he drove into you again and again.

"I'll make you rain for me again," he growled into your ear, his voice dripping with dark promises. His pace quickened, each thrust pushing you closer and closer to that breaking point, until all you could do was hold on and let the storm take you.

At this point, nothing else mattered. Gojo could unravel you completely, and you'd let him. You wanted him—desperately. He had no clue just how deep that desire ran.

Gripping his hair, you pulled his mouth back to yours, a low moan vibrating between your lips as his hips snapped into you ruthlessly. "So rough... so damn good," you gasped, meeting his gaze, eyes dark with hunger, matching the unquenchable fire in his.

A teasing smirk ghosted over his lips, but the heat behind his eyes betrayed his own need. His forehead pressed against yours, towering over you, his body caging you in. "You feel like heaven, baby," he growled, voice thick with lust, each word syncing with the wet, rhythmic slap of skin against skin. His breath hitched, body trembling against you. "Can I finish inside? Hm? Tell me I can."

His voice, drenched in need, sent a wave of heat through you, dissolving any resistance you might've had left. His request was a command in itself, but you relished the power in giving it.

A slow, wicked smile curved your lips. "You can," you whispered, breathy and deliberate, fingers digging into his shoulders. "Do whatever you want, Satoru."