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

114 ~ Hundred And Fourteen

~ EMPHATIC RESONANCE ~

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[T]he moment Gojo's feet hit the ground behind Nanami, his thoughts spun into a chaotic whirlwind.

Scenarios, possibilities, regrets—his mind was never silent, but now, it felt more suffocating than ever. That nagging voice, the one that crawled into his head during the worst times, slithered in like a snake, winding its way into his conscience.

"When I told you to kill me if you wanted to, you really did, huh? Satoru?"

Gojo's entire body stiffened. He knew that voice. Every word sent chills down his spine, tightening the grip around his chest. Suguru Geto.

His breath hitched, and before the thought fully materialized, something brushed his shoulder. His eyes darted to the side, and there—just between him and Nanami, where you were—was him. Geto.

He looked the same as that day. The same robe, the same posture, the same damn smile. But this smile, it wasn't menacing. It wasn't vengeful. It was worn, tired—a hollow reflection of the man he once called his best friend.

"I guess there was a point to it, right?" Geto's voice was softer now, yet it carried a weight Gojo couldn't bear. "You were just doing your job, trying to save Yuta, the others. Trying to be Gojo Satoru. The strongest."

But his eyes—those accusing eyes—burned holes into him. Gojo could feel the weight of them, pressing down like chains, tightening around his throat. He couldn't speak. No words came.

Gojo had nightmares. That much was true. But this? This was different. This wasn't just the guilt of having killed Geto that haunted him in the dark corners of his mind. This was something raw, something that cut deeper, dragging him back to that very day, replaying that moment over and over.

His six eyes flickered, catching Nanami's movement as he helped you to your feet, his lips moving, probably asking if you were okay. The words reached him, but they felt distant, muffled, drowned beneath the roar of blood rushing in his ears. He wasn't even looking at Nanami anymore. His gaze was locked on Geto—on that phantom from the past.

Geto's expression shifted. Mockery crept into his eyes as his smile twisted into something darker, more sinister.

"What are you waiting for? You want to kill her too, right? Like you did me? Kill Y/N because she hurt your precious friends?"

The words cut deeper than any blade could. Gojo flinched, physically recoiling, as if the accusation had hit him square in the chest. Geto's tone dripped with scorn, laced with a venom that made Gojo's pulse quicken.

"Isn't it the same, Satoru? I hurt your students, and you killed me for it. So why hesitate with her? She hurt Utahime, didn't she? What's stopping you?" Geto's laughter was bitter, twisted, tearing into whatever shred of morality Gojo had left to cling to.

His mind raced, trying to block it out.

This wasn't real. It couldn't be real. He knew Geto was gone, he knew that he wasn't standing there in front of him. But the weight of those words, the twisting mockery of his ethics, his guilt—they were as real as the ground beneath his feet.

His fingers twitched, cold sweat trickling down his spine. You had hurt an 'innocent', hadn't you? The same way Geto had hurt innocent people and his students. Was this justice? Or was it revenge?

Geto stepped closer, his presence suffocating, overwhelming, yet his smile remained, haunting in its familiarity. "Go on, Satoru. You've done it before. Why stop now?"

The strongest sorcerer's eyes flicked to you, standing there with Nanami. You—who always seemed to make his nightmares quieter, his burdens lighter. But now, it was all tangled up, a web of emotions he couldn't navigate.

The pressure inside his head grew, his vision blurring slightly around the edges. The memory of that day clashed with the present, the weight of it pulling him under. He couldn't lose someone again, not like this. Not you.

He didn't want to answer Geto's accusations. He didn't want to believe there was truth in them. But they gnawed at him, the guilt, the fear, the twisted sense of obligation that had followed him his whole life.

I killed him to protect them. He repeated the thought, like a mantra. But the doubt lingered.

He felt like he was suffocating. His chest was heavy, his mind spinning.

What made you different? The thought gnawed at him like a relentlessly. Was there truly a line separating you from Suguru? Or was that line just as blurred as everything else in his life?

"Y/N... What the hell happened?"

The words broke free, jagged and desperate. He needed an answer—something to disprove the venomous mockery swirling in his head, something to tear down the walls of doubt Suguru's voice had erected.

He wanted to believe there was a reason—any reason. Maybe Utahime attacked you first? Maybe it was self-defense? It didn't matter how flimsy the excuse was; Gojo would take it. Anything to justify what he'd seen, to stave off the gnawing dread that clawed at his chest.

Because if there wasn't a reason—if you'd pushed her out of jealousy, spite, or anger—what did that make you? What did that make him?

He had to hear it. From you. Not from the mocking specter of his past. Not from the echoes of his failures.

But when you turned to him, your face eerily calm, the words you spoke felt like a dagger twisting in his gut.

"Let me ask you something, Satoru," you said, your voice level—too level. That kind of calmness only came from resignation; the same resignation he saw in Suguru the day he died. It was chilling, that overlap, the way your expression mirrored his. "If it were a life-or-death situation, who would you save first? Utahime or me?"

The question ripped through him like a blade. Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving. He felt something inside him crack, the fragile hope he'd been clinging to, crumbling into dust.

No, no, no... The words echoed in his mind, panic seizing his chest. This can't be happening. Not again.

He could feel Suguru's presence beside him, could practically hear his voice dripping with mockery.

"See, Satoru? It's happening again." That voice—Suguru's voice—reverberated in his mind, taunting him, laughing at him. "She's just like me. You couldn't save me, and you can't save her."

Gojo's fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white as the tension in his body threatened to explode. His teeth ground together as the air around him felt suffocating.

"Now kill her, Satoru. You'll do it, right?" Suguru's voice dripped with malice, an echo of a haunting memory. "You didn't spare me, your best friend. So why her? She's nothing to you, right?"

Gojo's breath hitched as your next words, bitter and filled with accusation, cut through him like glass shards. "That's right. It's always her, isn't it?" Your voice grew sharper, each word dripping with something dark, something Gojo had tried so desperately to deny. "It's always been her."

The accusation in your voice mirrored Suguru's from that day—twisted, wounded, and yet, somehow justified. You weren't just talking about Utahime. You were talking about the distance between the two of you. The chasm that had grown wider over time, the one he had failed to see.

Suguru's silhouette stepped closer, a shadow that loomed over him, an ever-present reminder of what he'd lost.

"Are you the strongest because you're Gojo Satoru?" Suguru's voice was mocking now, calm but biting. "Or does being the strongest make you Satoru Gojo?"

Gojo's jaw clenched, his hands trembling at his sides, fighting against the urge to let his emotions explode. It wasn't just anger. It was frustration. Regret. Self-loathing. All of it boiling to the surface, barely held together by the fragile thread of control he had left.

He should've done something. That thought struck him with brutal clarity. He should've done more back then. Beat the shit out of Suguru, dragged him back to Jujutsu High, forced him to stay.

Anything. Anything to stop him from falling, from becoming the enemy he had to kill. Then none of this would've happened. Then maybe... just maybe... he wouldn't be standing here, haunted by these ghosts.

"You are strong, Satoru." Suguru's voice lingered, a haunting echo, twisting in his mind like a snake tightening around its prey.

Shut up. Gojo's thoughts screamed. Just shut up.

But the voices—your voice, Suguru's voice, his own self-doubt—wouldn't stop. He wasn't sure what was real anymore, what was a hallucination, what was memory. Everything was merging, overlapping in his mind. And it was getting harder to breathe, harder to fight it off.

The weight of it all pressed down on him like a thousand tons. His eyes flickered between you and Suguru's phantom, both of you standing there, accusing, demanding answers he couldn't give.

"Do it, Satoru." Geto's voice lingered, a haunting whisper that seemed to grow louder with every passing second. "Kill her—"

Shut up. Shut it. Just shut it up. The words pounded in his head, throbbing, but the phantom kept pushing, his voice relentless, cutting deeper.

"You're useless. Strong, but useless. You can save no one, Satoru."

The words barely escaped Suguru's lips before Gojo snapped. His hand lashed out without thought, a blur of motion, a violent reflex to the pain that gnawed at his soul. The sound of impact echoed—sharp, loud, almost deafening—resonating in the space around them, but it wasn't real. It couldn't be.

Only when the image of Geto dissolved into nothingness did the weight of what had just happened begin to settle over him, thick and suffocating. The haze of his own anger and confusion faded, and the reality of his actions sank in.

"What the hell are you doing, Gojo?" Nanami's voice sliced through the fog in his mind like a blade, pulling him back, forcing him to face the truth.

He turned, his Six Eyes locking onto you. His heart stopped, breath catching in his throat.

You weren't looking at him the way you usually did. The spark in your eyes, the fire that had always burned bright—gone. Replaced by something hollow. Empty. You looked... broken.

No. He had broken you.

The realization hit him harder than any physical blow ever could, and it seared through every part of him like molten iron. His heart ached in a way that made him feel like it was about to split in two, the weight of it unbearable. But what came next... it made everything freeze.

"Thank you." Your voice was flat, devoid of warmth, like a hollow echo. "Thank you for proving me right again."

The world stood still. Gojo's breath hitched, his pulse stuttered. What had he done?

Your words—cold, final—cut him in ways he didn't know he could still be cut. It was as if Suguru himself had said it, his voice dripping with bitter truth. Thanks for proving me right, Satoru. The accusation hung in the air, unspoken but deafening.

His chest tightened painfully. The hypocrisy stung like a thousand needles, driving deep into his core. Suguru had been right—he'd drawn a line, set a standard that he himself couldn't follow. You had made the same 'mistakes', yet you weren't punished the same way. Double standards.

His mind raced, but nothing made sense. He was strong. The strongest. And yet, useless. Useless because in the end, he couldn't save you either. Not Suguru. Not you.