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

183 ~ Hundred And Eighty-Three

[Y]ou knew what was coming—he was about to lay it all out, raw and unfiltered. You could feel it in the sharp inhale he took, the way his jaw clenched as if bracing for impact.

"I fucked up," he admitted, his voice low and rough, the kind that carried years of weight behind it. You could feel it settle in the space between you, sinking deep. He wasn't talking about last night—that was already dealt with. This was something else. "I'm sorry... for everything. You weren't just a good fuck to me. Everything I threw at you—every cruel thing—it was because I was pissed. And stupid."

The frustration in his tone was palpable, his fingers twitching at his sides as if they wanted to do something, anything, but he forced himself to stay still. He exhaled sharply, raking his hand through his hair. "I know it sounds like an excuse—hell, it is an excuse—but... shit." He trailed off, shaking his head, eyes dropping to the floor. "I'm not good at this."

A small smile tugged at your lips, despite the tension winding tighter between you. Satoru Gojo, the man who could face the deadliest curses without flinching, was tripping over his words, trying to be vulnerable. It wasn't something he was used to, but here he was, spilling his guts in the messiest way possible—for you.

It was almost enough to melt your resolve. Almost.

But you didn't let him off that easily, keeping your expression cool. He wasn't done yet. And this wasn't enough. If you two were ever going to move forward, you needed more.

"There's nothing between me and Utahime. I should've led with that." He drew in a breath like he was bracing himself for your reaction. "She kissed me once. At one of Shoko's parties. But it was... nothing. More like a way to get under my skin than anything real."

Your calm question slipped out before you could stop it, your voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling in your chest. "Did you want her?"

The slight widening of his eyes told you he hadn't expected that. He wasn't used to you being this composed, not when you were talking about something—or someone—that could hurt you. His gaze flicked over your face, looking for a crack in your armor, but you were steady. It was as if the calm in your voice unnerved him more than any outburst could.

"I don't know," he muttered, sounding almost uncertain for the first time. "Maybe? At some point... sure. She was different. Didn't care about the strength, didn't treat me like I was untouchable. Hell, she was weak, but still demanded respect." He let out a small, almost nostalgic laugh. "It was kind of... fun. Messing with her."

He hesitated, the sound of his own words lingering in the air like they confused him too. You let him speak, even if a small part of you recoiled at the thought of him being interested in someone else. But you listened. If nothing else, you wanted to understand him, even the ugly parts.

"I liked that she didn't give me what everyone else did," he continued, his voice softer now, more thoughtful. "When she kissed me, I thought... who wouldn't want me, right? She was feisty, older, and always had a comeback. At the time, I thought that was my type."

You felt the sharp sting in your chest, the kind of dull ache that wouldn't quite go away, but you didn't flinch. "What changed?" you asked, though it was more of a statement, your eyes locking with his, holding him to the moment.

His breath hitched, just barely, and his gaze softened in a way that almost unraveled you. "You."

That single word hit you harder than you wanted to admit. His hand rose to your face, thumb grazing your bottom lip, his gaze fixed on the motion with an intensity that made your breath catch. The warmth of his skin against yours sent a shiver racing down your spine, the intensity of the moment pressing in on all sides.

"You changed everything," he repeated, his voice a low murmur that made the space between you feel suffocating in the best possible way.

He wasn't just close—he was there, right on the edge of breaking through whatever invisible wall had kept him from giving in completely. You felt it in the way his hand hovered near your jaw, the way his fingers curled just shy of pulling you into him.

"I hated how awkward things got after that kiss," he admitted, his breath ghosting over your skin as he leaned in, closer than ever. "It felt like I lost the only bit of normalcy I had. And then there was pressure. To settle down, to find someone, to keep them safe from the shit that follows me everywhere."

Your brows knitted together, piecing the puzzle together as he laid it out. "The STI report."

He gave a short nod, his lips quirking into a rueful smile. "Yeah. Even if it made me look like a player. I didn't care about that... I just didn't want anyone else getting caught up in my mess. But none of it mattered once I realized..."

His voice trailed off as his eyes met yours again, darker now, full of an unspoken desire that mirrored the tension pulsing between you. His hand, the one resting just shy of your face, finally made contact, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a way that made your breath hitch. There was a desperation there, not just for touch, but for something deeper.

"You're the one I want," he whispered, his words raw and stripped of any pretense. "Not because you're strong or because you're perfect. But because... I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop wanting you."

His words hung in the air, thickening the tension between you, pulling at something deep inside you. You didn't move, didn't flinch, but your heart was racing. You could feel the gravity of the moment, of his gaze piercing through every wall you'd put up around yourself.

Your voice was quieter when you finally spoke, almost as if you were afraid to shatter the fragile intimacy in the room. "Was she your first kiss?"

He didn't answer right away, but the sharp intake of breath told you enough. His body tensed, like you'd reached into the most vulnerable part of him. "Yes." The word came out, low, reluctant, but truthful.

"And sex?"

"Y/N..." His voice softened, pleading almost. "You don't have to do this."

You held his gaze, unwavering. "I know. But I want to. Did you sleep with her?"

He let out a slow exhale, as if he were releasing a burden he'd been carrying for too long. "No." There was a beat of silence, but you could sense the weight of what wasn't being said. His fingers drummed nervously on the table before he groaned, leaning back in his seat, eyes closing as if he could hide from the memories. "But after Suguru left... everything just fell apart. And I blamed myself for a long time."

He paused, his voice growing darker, more frustrated, as he seemed to wrestle with his own guilt. "I stopped caring. Stopped caring about people. About the world. And when nothing mattered anymore... I just—"

"Found other ways to cope?" You finished for him, your tone sharper than you intended.

His lips pressed into a thin line before he nodded. "Yeah. Sleeping around, one-night stands, meaningless shit." The words came out like they disgusted him, and from the way his fists clenched, you knew he hated admitting it. "It didn't fix anything. Just made me feel... emptier."

You didn't flinch, even though every part of you was screaming to react. To let him know how much it bothered you. But instead, you just nodded. "And you don't do it anymore?"

His gaze softened, a shadow of something more vulnerable slipping through. "No. Not after you."

There was silence again, but it wasn't the uncomfortable kind. It was heavy, like the weight of what he just said hung between the two of you. Your heart tightened, not wanting to admit that his words affected you more than you cared to admit.

"Do you still like her?"

He blinked, as though the question took him by surprise. "Who? Utahime?" His brow furrowed, but the answer came quickly, "No. Absolutely not."

"But she was your type, wasn't she?" You resumed eating, your tone almost casual, but the question had deeper layers. You knew it. He knew it.

"Used to be," he responded, leaning forward slightly. There was an intensity in his eyes now, his usual cocky demeanor slipping away entirely. "But I'm not into my 'type' anymore."

You paused, your fork halfway to your mouth, and raised a brow at him. "And what does that mean?"

He leaned in, the proximity between you becoming impossibly closer, his gaze locking with yours. The smirk was gone. This was serious now. "It means I'm into you, Y/N. Not some type, not anyone else. You."

The words hit you harder than you expected. It wasn't some grand declaration, but it felt real, raw. And it stirred something inside you, something you had been fighting against for far too long.

He sat there, shoulders tense, his gaze flickering between pleading and regret. "I know I've messed up." His voice was low, rough around the edges like he was forcing the truth out of himself. "I'm not looking for forgiveness, not yet... but, Y/N..." He paused, sucking in a sharp breath. "Don't leave. Don't walk away from me."

The subtle desperation in his voice tugged at something inside you. You could see the cracks in his usual confident exterior, like he was terrified of losing control—of losing you. He was so used to having everything at his fingertips, but this was something he couldn't just have. He had to fight for it. For you.

"Oh?" A hint of amusement tugged at the corner of your lips.