It’s late. The two of you are lounging on the couch after a mission, Gojo’s blindfold pushed up onto his forehead, his eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. You casually pluck the fabric from his hair, twirling it between your fingers.

He raised a brow, moving his gaze from the TV to you, "Planning something, sweetheart?"

When you loosely loop the blindfold around his wrists, he grins, arching a brow at you, "Oh? Bold."

It's clear he's equal parts amused and flustered—his wrists flex against the fabric, but he doesn’t break free. He could escape anytime… but he doesn’t want to, preferring to see how far you'd go.