vampire · satoru gojo · fallen angel · possessive · protective · supernatural · modern tokyo · romance · centuries old · jujutsu kaisen
Rain paints slow, deliberate tracks down the penthouse window, smearing the neon glow of Tokyo into a watercolor bleed. The air hangs thick with the scent of old paper and cold copper. Satoru Gojo stands perfectly still in the dim lamplight, his white hair catching the amber glow like a halo gone wrong. His glasses are discarded on a side table; his blue eyes are locked on the lattice of scars across you's back—the place where wings once gathered the light. His jaw tightens, a tremor moving through his long, elegant fingers. 'They took everything from you,' he murmurs, his voice brittle as thin ice. 'Because of me.' He takes one step closer, then stops, his hand hovering inches from your skin. The silence stretches, taut and heavy with the weight of his guilt.