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

182 ~ Hundred And Eighty-Two

"Should we order takeout?" His voice, lazy but sharp, cut through the air from the bathroom doorway as you got dressed.

Yeah. Clothes for a woman. New ones, at that. If they hadn't been, you might've thought he had women over often. But no, this felt deliberate—planned. And the thought sent an unsettling mix of heat and suspicion through you.

The issue? You were wearing female black cotton boxer-briefs. Not exactly your style, but after last night's... well, workout, comfort was more important than fashion.

"They'll be safer," he'd said earlier with that smirk of his, handing you the clothes. "And they'll feel better. Trust me."

He wasn't wrong. The fabric was soft, soothing against your still-sensitive skin. But you knew there was more to it than just comfort.

He hadn't handed you those clothes by accident. The simple black sweatpants and matching hoodie, and the plain cotton briefs—nothing too revealing, nothing provocative. It was intentional. He was holding himself back. Probably because the thought of devouring you again was simmering just beneath the surface.

As you pulled on the sweatpants, you couldn't help but glance up. Gojo stood leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on you with a look that sent a shiver through your spine. A towel hung low on his hips—too low. The way it barely clung to his body, exposing just enough of his toned abdomen, made it impossible to ignore.

His hair was still damp, droplets clinging to his skin, and the lazy, cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his lips told you everything. He wasn't trying to hide it—the heat in his eyes, the way they traced over every inch of you.

God. He looked like sin personified.

Your pulse spiked. Damn it. You averted your gaze, hoping he couldn't hear your heart racing in your chest. But you could feel his eyes on you, his smirk deepening.

"No need," you managed, keeping your voice steady. "If you've got ingredients, I'll cook."

He chuckled, the sound low and teasing, sending a ripple through you. "Cooking for me? That sounds kinda... domestic." His eyes glinted with something between amusement and something darker, something more dangerous.

You glanced up, catching his gaze, the air between you thickening. His eyes weren't just playful anymore—there was something else. Something deeper.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" you muttered, trying to sound indifferent, but the weight of his stare made your breath hitch.

"Nothing. Just..." He shrugged, stepping closer with that effortless swagger that always got under your skin. Your body tensed, not in fear, but from the war waging inside you. He reached out, brushing his fingers against your cheek before leaning in, his lips ghosting over your skin—a kiss just below your lips, right near the mole.

Your breath caught, a quiet moan slipping out before you could stop it. You tried to back away, to regain control, but his arms slid around you, pulling you flush against him. His body heat seared through the thin fabric of your clothes, and the rapid thrum of your heartbeat echoed in your ears.

"You're not fighting me off as much as you used to." His voice was soft, playful, but there was an edge to it, a flicker of something more serious behind those words. "Usually, you'd hit me with some kind of insult by now."

You tilted your head up, eyes locking with his. The teasing was still there, but so was something else—something raw and unspoken. His gaze lingered on you like he wasn't just playing a game anymore.

"You should get dressed," you whispered, trying to keep your composure, though your heart was betraying you with every beat. "I'll cook."

He feigned hurt, but the way he looked at you—like he needed you—almost undid you. His hand slid up, cupping your face as he kissed your forehead, lingering like he didn't want to let go. And he didn't. Not right away. His lips found your cheek again, then the edge of your jaw, each kiss sending a jolt of heat through you, like he was staking a claim on your very soul.

Your pulse quickened, your heart pounding with a heat that made you wonder if you were suffocating in his arms or melting into him. You needed space. Time. Air. Anything to steady yourself before you got lost in him completely.

You pressed a hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, and managed to push back just enough to breathe.

"Okay, settle down." You tried to sound casual, but your voice came out more breathless than you intended. You didn't dare meet his eyes again, knowing the intensity there would undo you. Would unravel all the carefully guarded walls you kept between you and him.

But Gojo being Gojo, he wasn't done. His hand wrapped around yours before you could step away, pulling you back with a teasing smile that made your heart ache. He kissed the back of your hand, slow and deliberate, his lips soft and warm against your skin.

"You're not gonna run away from me, are you?" His tone was light, but there was a hint of vulnerability in it—like he was testing the waters, seeing how far he could push.

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry as your eyes locked with his. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that made you wonder if maybe he felt the same pull, the same ache you did.

"Let's talk after this," he murmured, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, his voice almost too soft for someone like him.

"Okay." The word came out before you could think, before you could pull away from whatever this was turning into. You slipped out of his grasp, feeling his eyes follow you as you left the room.

The moment you stepped out, you released a shaky breath, your heart still pounding in your chest. The space between you had grown, but somehow, that pull, that ache for him, only seemed to intensify.

Being near him wasn't the only thing that reminded you of how much you loved him.

The lingering scent of his cologne, the way his touch still burned against your skin, even the mundane task of cleaning up after last night—everything was soaked with the memory of him.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you wiped the kitchen table, grateful it hadn't been as much of a disaster as you'd expected. Most of the mess had ended up on your dress, which was now discarded in a heap somewhere, a silent witness to everything that had happened.

By the time Gojo finally stepped out of the bedroom, you were already done with the cooking. Pancakes, stacked high, each one fluffy and golden, with a generous cube of butter melting over the top, honey drizzled down the sides, and powdered sugar sifted delicately over everything. Fresh fruit sat at the edge of the plate, a pop of color against the sweet decadence.

It was the safest bet for brunch—especially when it came to him. Gojo had a notorious sweet tooth, and it was always a challenge to find anything he could stomach that wasn't dripping with sugar.

As you turned to slide the plate toward him, your movement stalled. You couldn't help but notice his outfit. A black hoodie, the same shade as yours, and matching sweatpants. It wasn't just the color that was identical—it was the exact same outfit as yours. It was almost like... twinning.

Couple goals. The kind you'd see all over the internet.

Heat rushed to the back of your neck, creeping up to your ears as you realized the implication. You hadn't pegged him as the kind of guy to be into something like that. Or maybe... maybe he was, but only with you.

"Thanks," Gojo's voice snapped you out of your thoughts. His grin spread wide at the sight of the pancakes, eyes lighting up with pure delight.

The way his gaze lingered on you for just a beat longer than it needed to, that unmistakable softness in his expression, sent a wave of warmth through you. His eyes said more than his words ever could.

You moved toward the counter, grabbing two glasses and pouring juice into them. Anything to distract yourself from the flurry of emotions swirling inside you. Sliding onto a stool beside him, you tried to keep things casual, biting into your own pancake as if everything about this moment wasn't slowly driving you insane.

"Not sure if they'll fit your taste," you mumbled, feigning indifference. "But I guess they're sweet enough."

Gojo cut into the stack of pancakes, but his eyes didn't leave yours. His tone was low, but the affection in it was undeniable. "You're kidding, right?"

You blinked, startled by the intensity in his voice.

"They more than fit my taste." His gaze held yours captive, soft yet unwavering, gleaming with an emotion that made your heart pound even harder. He wasn't talking about the pancakes.

"Glad to hear," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. You focused on your plate, desperately trying to play it cool. But God, it was hard. Every second that passed, every moment you spent next to him, the air between you grew thicker, charged with something you couldn't keep ignoring.

You wanted him.

It wasn't just lust, though that fire burned hot beneath your skin. No, it was more than that. You wanted him. His touch, his kiss, his body, but also his heart. His laugh. His love.

The realization felt like a punch to the gut, because sitting here, eating pancakes like everything was normal, was a far cry from what you really wanted to do.

You wanted to get off your stool, straddle his lap, and kiss him until you both lost track of time. You wanted to feel his hands on you again, tugging at your clothes, and then—

But you stopped yourself. He was right. You both needed to talk. To figure out whatever this was before it spiraled into something that couldn't be controlled. Something that might break you both if it went wrong.

Your hands tightened around the fork as you pushed the desire down, keeping it buried beneath layers of self-control. It wasn't easy, not with the way his eyes kept flicking to you, as if he could sense the battle you were fighting. His tongue darted out to lick a trace of honey from his bottom lip, and you nearly lost it.

"I've been thinking," Gojo started, his voice soft, but serious now. His fork clinked against his plate as he set it down, turning his full attention to you. "We should probably talk about this now, you know?"

You swallowed hard, your eyes meeting his. The weight of what he was saying hung between you, heavy and undeniable. He wasn't just talking about last night. He was talking about everything. The tension, the stolen glances, the way your heart seemed to beat only for him.

This could be it. The moment you either plunged into something deeper... or backed away entirely.

"Yeah," you finally said, your voice quieter than you'd intended. "We probably should."