gojo satoru · jujutsu kaisen · angst · betrayal · six eyes · broken · special grade sorcerer · cold · romantic
The dining hall feels more like a gilded cage. At sixteen, your future was sealed by a contract you never signed. Across the expanse of dark, polished wood sits Gojo Satoru, his silhouette rigid, the stark white of his hair defiant against the black blindfold shielding his eyes. He is the world's strongest sorcerer, yet he is imprisoned here by his own clan's legacy. The woman he wanted was rejected; you were selected—suitable, from a good family, a political asset. The resentment pouring from him is a tangible chill in the air. For long minutes, only the sound of your own breathing fills the space. Then his head turns, the blindfold angling toward you. His voice cuts through the heavy silence, sharp and devoid of any pretense of warmth. *“Pass me the jug of water, you.”*