I was dusting off the cobwebs on this blog, and realised I could update my details. Not sure why I couldn’t before, but anyway: I can now use this blog again 🤍 yay!!
I will now be posting from here. My old blog will stay open as an archive, but moving forward I’m going to repost all of the revamped CT, as well as any requests, on here.
A/N: So i am currently in the process of reposting everything from my old (new? the blog i made when i thought i couldn't access this one) blog onto this one, which is why y'all are seeing it again. my first foray into jjk fandom starts with this baby! here is my original authors note:
So I tap-tap-tapped this bad boy out last night and posted it in a sleep-deprived rage. And, listen, I know - I fucking know - it’s a bad idea for me to start another series when I’m already writing one but Satoru Gojo has me stuck in his Limitless Void and honestly I don’t mind. So here we are. This series will follow the canon timeline but will mainly focus on the slice-of-life moments in-between. There WILL be smut, but this is a slow burn.
🦋🦋🦋🦋
Chapter 1: Where Our Blue Is
🦋🦋🦋🦋
The thing about Jujutsu Sorcerers…
The thing about Jujutsu Sorcerers is that they’re so goddamn lonely.
Not the kind of lonely that comes from being alone. It’s a different kind of isolation, one that coils inward from the navel, banding tight around the stomach, until all that’s left is a faint glimmer in their eyes where light used to shine.
You saw it in your father, in the way he retreated into himself after missions gone wrong until one day, he never returned home. You see it in your brothers, in the way they swallow their pain whole, as if it were a bitter pill that must be endured quietly. You see it in their colleagues, in your mentors, who vanish from your life without warning, claimed by cursed spirits, rogue sorcerers, or the slow weight of despair.
You've grown up surrounded by lonely people.
You grew up watching them become even lonlier.
And somewhere along the way, you decided you didn't want to let it stay that way.
That's why you’re here, standing under a Sakura tree in the front gardens of Jujutsu Tech. You're afraid: of course you are, it's not like you're especially noble or self-sacrificing. But you can’t stand the thought of people fading quietly into that same emptiness. If you can help even a little, if you can bring even the smallest warmth back into someone’s life, then maybe that’s worth every bruise, every risk, every inch of fear.
Because jujutsu sorcerers suffer from a loneliness you refuse to accept, and you’ve decided it’s your job to exorcise it.
It isn’t always easy.
Sometimes in those quiet, ugly moments before sleep, you think about how terrifying it actually is. How frightening cursed spirits can be. How every exorcism could be your last. How you step into the dark knowing fully well that you might never step back out.
But you still go.
Because you’ve decided that if you can’t save everyone, you’ll at least make sure no one feels alone while they fight.
Which is, incidentally, how you end up starting the school term at Jujutsu Tech a month late.
You're still a bit tender in the ribs, still stiff around the shoulders, and there’s a large Cinnamoroll bandaid slapped over the stitches above your eyebrow. But you're alive.
And that’s more than many sorcerers your age can say after crossing paths with a first-grade curse.
Curling your fingers around your backpack, you tilt your head back, admiring the sakura tree. It's in full bloom, pastel pink flowers yawning awake at the promise of Spring, petals drifting in a slow, delicate snowfall. You close your eyes, committing the sight to memory, and take a slow, steady breath. Your lungs stretch against bruised ribs, a quiet reminder to savour every moment you’re alive.
A voice cuts through the calm.
“You must be the new girl.”
You open your eyes…
…and are met with the most striking blue eyes you've ever seen.
They belong to a tall, white haired boy, who apparently doesn't understand the concept of personal space. He's bent down to your height, leaning closer than anyone should, close enough that you can feel his breath ghost across your lips; mint and sugar, sharp and sweet, like candy canes.
He watches you over the top of his round sunglasses for a moment, as though studying every fleck of colour in your irises. And then, the corner of his mouth ticks upwards into a confident smirk.
“You're beautiful,” he says, his voice easy, almost teasing, “You should go out with me.”
Heat blooms beneath your cheeks like an evening primrose unfurling at twilight. Then, you blink, and the audacity of the moment sinks in.
“No,” you reply, soft but firm. He might be the most beautiful boy you've ever seen, but he's also unbearably arrogant. And really… who asks someone out without even knowing their name? More importantly, who agrees to something like that?
He freezes mid‑smirk, like someone pressed pause on him. You get the distinct impression this is a boy who has never been rejected before. And by the way his grin slowly grows, bright and delighted, you realise he likes it. The thrill of resistance. The novelty of someone telling him ‘no’.
“Is it because you don’t know my name?” he asks.
Your eyes widen just a fraction. Is he psychic, or just… perceptive?
He straightens up to his full height and offers a hand.
“I’m Satoru Gojo” he declares, “Fellow first‑year, strongest sorcerer in history, and your future boyfriend. I like Digimon and I've got a killer sweet tooth.”
You slip your hand into his because refusing would be rude — and he immediately takes advantage, tugging you closer, his fingers wrapping around yours, his thumb brushing the delicate skin at your wrist. Firm enough to guide, but Gentle enough for you to pull away if you choose.
He leans in, flashing another charming smile.
“So,” he murmurs, smug and hopeful in equal measure, “will you go out with me now?”
You stare at him, considering whether he’s serious or just…insane.
“No,” you say again, firmer this time, though a faint smile softens the edge, “And it’s not because I don’t know your name. It’s because you just met me. Do you really think asking someone out before they can even form a coherent thought about you is…appropiate? I could be the most intolerable person you’ve ever met,”
Gojo lifts an eyebrow, a spark of what could be intrigue or amusement flickering in his gaze. His eyes shine like a lighthouse; dazzling, impossible to ignore, brilliant in a way that draws you in even as it throws shadows on the sharp cliffs jutting out from below.
He chuckles, bright and mischievous, “Nah, not you. Trust me, I’m a good judge of character, and you are far from intolerable.”
A single petal floats down, landing on your shoulder, carried by the soft morning breeze. Gojo’s eyes follow it, but somehow, you can tell he isn’t really looking at the petal.
Then, Gojo finally releases your hand, and it’s then that you realise you had been holding his the entire time. Your fingers tingle in the absence of his warmth, which is ridiculous, because you’ve known him for all of thirty seconds.
Before you can decide whether you’re more bewildered or annoyed, a voice calls out from behind him:
“Satoru, quit terrorising the new girl.”
A pretty girl with short dark hair and sharp eyes steps into view, hands tucked casually into her pockets. She looks bored in the effortless way people do when they’re actually paying attention to everything.
Beside her stands a boy with long, dark hair pulled neatly into a bun. His posture is easy, his presence calm. He’s handsome in a way that’s different to Gojo; where Gojo is brilliant and breathtaking, this boy is…decidedly different. Handsome in a quiet sort of way. Like still water reflecting moonlight.
Gojo turns to them, utterly unfazed, “I’m welcoming her, Shoko. With warmth. And generosity. And unparalleled charm.”
“Right,” the girl — Shoko — deadpans. Then she looks at you, tilts her head, and offers a welcoming smile that inexplicably soothes your first day nerves, “Ieiri Shoko. First year.”
The boy steps forward next, voice warm and measured.
“Geto Suguru. Welcome to Jujutsu High.”
You give your name in return — and the moment it leaves your mouth, Gojo brightens like you’ve just handed him a carefully wrapped dessert.
“I know your name now!” Gojo says with a playful wink that’s less ego and more teasing, “That’s one step closer to becoming your boyfriend.”
Shoko immediately drives an elbow into his ribs. Gojo yelps in surprise, as if he’s been mortally wounded.
Gojo sputters in protest, cradling his side with the melodrama of an underpaid actor in a low budget soap opera. Shoko talks right over him, looping an arm around your shoulders with a casual familiarity.
“C’mon. I’ll show you around before he scares you off,” She begins steering you toward the walkway, her tone calm and unbothered. You’re halfway turned when you hear Gojo behind you.
“I’m gonna marry that girl one day, Suguru,” he murmurs, earnest enough that the words almost catch the wind, “Just you wait.”
🦋 (Geto) 🦋
Geto doesn’t answer right away, because honestly, what the fuck is he supposed to say?
Gojo is still half-folded over from Shoko’s elbow, nursing his ribs with theatrical indignation, but the earnestness in his voice lingers with something soft, unguarded, and undeniably real.
It's surprising, really. Gojo has had no shortage of girlfriends; they’ve all melted out of his life the way morning dew evaporates at the first breath of sunlight. But there’s something different about you, something within you that Satoru hasn’t just seen but felt.
And Geto can feel it, too.
“Marry her, huh?” Geto murmurs at last, his tone gentler than the words.
Gojo straightens, watching you and Shoko as you walk away, “Obviously.”
Geto’s gaze follows Gojos. You’re laughing at something Shoko says with the kind of openhearted joy sorcerers don’t get to keep for long. Sakura petals rain down on you, landing in your hair, crowning you in pale pink as though you were some kind of spring goddess from folklore.
A small, almost invisible smile touches his mouth.
“…She seems nice,” he says quietly. Nice…and beautiful. But he doesn't admit that last part.
Gojo beams, “Right? I knew you’d get it.”
Geto hums in agreement, but something thoughtful flickers awake deep within him, like the gentle twitch of butterfly wings, a quiet awareness settling in, even if he doesn’t recognize its shape yet.
Because long before he ever realises it, long before the feelings he shouldn’t have start to grow roots, Suguru Geto understands one thing with startling clarity:
You’re going to matter. To all three of them. And he's not sure how he feels about that yet.
🦋🦋🦋🦋
a/n: points to anyone who got the spongebob reference :>
So, I really like doing Picrews but I’m also Black, SO! I decided to compile a list of picrews and dolls that had a wide range of skin tones, option for Black facial features and Black hair options THAT MAKE SENSE. If you find anymore please add on! These are my favs to go back to 😁
