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

194 ~ Hundred And Ninety-Four

[Y]ou stood at Gojo's door, bags of sukiyaki ingredients weighing down your arms. The quiet hum of the night was almost unsettling, a stark contrast to the chaos always surrounding him.

You knocked on his workspace door, a rhythmic, deliberate tap. Silence answered.

Exhaling, subtly, you could already feel the familiar pull of his cursed energy from inside, but something was off.

Tuning your senses, you pushed your cursed energy flow to 10%, just enough to detect his presence more clearly. It hit you like a wave—the unmistakable tangle of Gojo's cursed energy, but beneath it was a subtle, lingering tension, a faint trace of grief woven into the threads of his aura. It wrapped around you, pulling at the edges of your own emotions.

"Satoru, love? I'm coming in," you called out, your voice calm, but tinged with something darker, more knowing. When there was no response, you unlocked the door, stepping inside quietly.

The room was dimly lit, his usual workspace scattered with papers, and there he was—lounging in that ridiculous, expensive black chair of his, like a king on his throne. His head was tipped back, his body relaxed, one leg casually crossed over the other, arms draped loosely across his lap. And that blindfold. The one you'd given him, the one he rarely took off when he thought he needed to hide, or... when he was trying to forget something.

'Dangerously hot,' you thought, eyes tracing the sharp lines of his jaw, the faint flicker of cursed energy that rippled around him.

He wasn't asleep—no, he never really slept deeply, not around you.

Taking a step closer, you let your cursed energy brush against his barrier, teasing it, just enough to get a reaction. His body flinched, the faintest ripple of awareness, and then the barrier dissolved, allowing you in. You always knew how to get past his defenses, both cursed and emotional.

Satoru's head snapped forward, one hand lifting to tug at the blindfold, revealing just enough of his eyes—puffy, red-rimmed, tears staining his lashes.

"Nightmare?" you questioned, voice low as you approached him. His pain seeped into you through the remnants of his cursed energy, and though you'd built a resistance to absorbing emotions like this, the ache lingered in your chest.

He didn't answer, not verbally. He didn't have to. You cupped his face, your thumb brushing over the tear-streaked skin beneath his eye. The heat of his breath on your fingers made your pulse quicken, but you stayed calm, steady.

"What's haunting you, love?" you whispered, your lips brushing against his eyelid, leaving a feather-light kiss where the wetness clung. His breath hitched, and before you could pull back, his hand slid around your waist, tugging you effortlessly onto his lap.

"Mm, so that's why you came here? To kiss away my nightmares?" His voice was like velvet, wrapping around you, teasing, tempting. His lips were dangerously close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

You chuckled softly, tilting your head just slightly, your calm exterior never breaking. "Not quite," you whispered, leaning back just enough to meet his gaze, the darkness in your eyes matching the heat in his. "Just thought you might be hungry. It's nearly 22:00, and I figured we could eat if you haven't yet."

His fingers trailed down your side, lingering on your waist, his thumb tracing small circles as he watched you with that intense gaze, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Oh? Dinner, huh?" His voice was laced with amusement, but there was an edge to it—something darker, more primal. "And here I thought you came here for... something else."

You couldn't help the small laugh that bubbled up, shaking your head softly. "You think I'd come all the way here just for that?"

"I know you better than that, sweetheart. You don't do anything without a reason."

You leaned in, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, "Maybe I just wanted to take care of you tonight. Ever thought of that?"

For a moment, his grip faltered, just enough for you to catch the shift in his energy—the brief flicker of vulnerability that he tried so hard to bury. And then it was gone, replaced by that playful arrogance that he wore like a shield. His hand slid up to the back of your neck, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. "Then take care of me," he mumbled huskily, his voice a low hum against your lips, "however you want."

The tension hung between you both like a taut string, ready to snap. But for now, you'd let it simmer. There was time. Always time.

"I brought ingredients for sukiyaki," you reminded him, a hint of a smirk playing at your lips as you pulled back just enough to put some space between you. "Maybe we should eat before you decide to devour me instead."

His laughter, deep and throaty, filled the room, his hand sliding from your neck to rest on your thigh. "Oh, I'll eat, baby," he purred, eyes darkening with a wicked gleam, "but I'm not making any promises about what—or who—comes first."

You shook your head as you leaned in close, letting your lips ghost over his, brushing lightly, teasing. The kiss was deliberate, slow, a tension-filled moment that simmered between you both. You could feel his need, how he ached for more, how his hands tightened their grip around you, holding you in place as if he could devour you right there. But you broke away first, his sharp blue gaze locking onto yours, desire searing through the intensity of his stare.

"First," your voice was low, almost a purr, "we eat."

Gojo blinked, then chuckled, tension in the room breaking only slightly, his fingers trailing down your spine, lingering at the small of your back. "You always know how to keep me in check, don't you?"

"Someone has to."

His gaze darkened, the familiar glint of challenge flickering in his eyes. "Guess I'll have to make you pay for that later."

With a smirk, you slowly slid off his lap, taking your time to grind against him, slow and deliberate, savoring the way his breath caught in his throat. His hands hovered for a moment, raised in mock surrender, but his eyes—those intense, wicked eyes—were glued to you, never letting you stray far from his reach.