quicksilverfox3 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
quicksilverfox3) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
fandomweekly2025-09-08 07:51 pm
quicksilverfox3) wrote in fandomweekly2025-09-08 07:51 pm
Entry tags:
[#272] not my battle (JJK)
Theme Prompt: #272 Choose Your Battles
Title: not my battle
Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen
Rating/Warnings: Mild violence
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 919
Summary: Geto is restricted in a way Gojo isn't.
There's no reason why Satoru Gojo should ever know of the existence of a boy named Suguru Geto, except one.
One mistimed trip into the city when Suguru's hand slipped from his mother's as she skimmed through the clothings racks, complaining all the while about small boys and their ripped knees in a warm hot cocoa later voice. One step, then another, a hand wriggling from the shadows to wave at him — the details blurring with age, four fingers, seven, webbed, clawed — and Suguru stumbles forwards, grabs at the hand and pulls.
He wakes in a stranger's lap, the taste of rot and decay clinging to his mouth even when he didn't know them at the time.
"Scared creatures bite," the sorcerer murmured as they stood, balancing Suguru on their hip. "Children included."
There'd been conversations, whispered arguments in the early morning when Suguru was meant to be sleeping, two attempts at schooling before they kept him home to learn, and countless visits from strangers that never lasted longer than an hour but lingered for days after.
Suguru Geto was enrolled at Jujutsu High School. And so was Satoru Gojo.
They first meet in an empty classroom; empty before Suguru, prompt to the point of being early for his own funeral, slips inside and places his bag next to a desk. Front row, beside the window. His parents left several hours ago, their faces dry, worry long since scarred next to their mouths. Gojo slinks in a few minutes later, his shoulders curled like a street cat, his steps just as delicate.
"Hi," he offers after a moment, dark glasses too large on his face.
Suguru looks at him, sees a boy like himself but bowed beneath the weight of a legacy centuries in the making. "Hi," he answers and expects nothing else.
They've been inseparable since, these two boys who were never meant to meet.
Suguru doesn't know why. He's not particularly warm and welcoming to anyone, weeks of close contact hasn't melted those sharp edges of himself into something better suited to bump against the Gojo clan's heir, but Gojo knocks into his side anyway. He looks to Suguru everytime he does it, the hum of infinity missing from the air around them, his eyes blue but flat, and Suguru nudges him back, makes him stumble because he can.
Gojo laughs at this and Suguru is helpless like a child all over again.
He bites Gojo in the quiet of Suguru's dorm room four months following their first meeting.
It's not thought out, just a flicker of irritation, the tap of Gojo's fingers against his cheek in lieu of answering his question.
"Suguru," Gojo says, sings, draws his name out into five syllables, six, seven, before Suguru turns his head a fraction away from the book he's flicking through and bites him.
They're not separate during this, barely apart at all nowadays. Gojo sprawls next to Suguru on the standard single bed, both lying on their front with their feet resting on the pillow, but Gojo's legs are crooked, one tipped across Suguru's thighs, the other drawn up beneath him to press his foot against his hip. Suguru turns to catch his gaze, Gojo's finger pressed between his teeth, not enough to break skin but enough to taste the slight salt, the tang of expensive hand cream, missing the buzz of Infinity.
Suguru looks at Gojo, pupils blown black and endless, and thinks fuck.
He should have expected the punch two days later.
Suguru comes from nothing. He doesn't have the protection of a clan name or historic allies, only his own strength of will when their classmates snicker behind their hands at his accent, his lack of knowledge they grew up with. He bites his tongue, keeps his head bowed from the spotlight fixated on Gojo at his side, and doesn't think that anything will change when he's approached once more.
They're outside — a brief respite as one instructor leaves and the replacement is lost between buildings — and the swagger is immediate as the boy steps up, a sneer pasted in place.
"Should send you after him, Geto," he snips. "Country trash like you are good at that sort of thing—"
He gets no further, Gojo surging up from next to Suguru and moving from dappled shade to glorious sunlight in a heartbeat to sink his fist into the other boy's face. It's a good blow, entirely human in the execution, Gojo's knuckles cut on teeth and bleeding scarlet as he returns to Suguru's side.
It takes less than a minute.
Suguru looks at him and Gojo grins wide, his eyes blown wide and dull in the absence of Infinity.
"You shouldn't have done that," Suguru manages, numb horror etching into his spine. "He's from one of the Clans; it'll cause issues."
Gojo frowns, a puppy void of both treat and praise, his ears starting to droop. "But you don't stand up to them. They shouldn't speak to you like that."
Suguru sighs, cups Gojo's hand in between his own and presses his palm to Gojo's bleeding knuckles. Gojo hisses, but doesn't move away. "They're not wrong."
"They are." Gojo moves closer, nose to nose with Suguru now. His glasses slide down his nose and rest against Suguru's skin. "And if you can't fight them, then I will."
He grins like it would be easy, conducted without thought like breathing. And, because he's Satoru Gojo, because Suguru loves him with everything he has, he believes him.
Title: not my battle
Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen
Rating/Warnings: Mild violence
Bonus: Yes
Word Count: 919
Summary: Geto is restricted in a way Gojo isn't.
There's no reason why Satoru Gojo should ever know of the existence of a boy named Suguru Geto, except one.
One mistimed trip into the city when Suguru's hand slipped from his mother's as she skimmed through the clothings racks, complaining all the while about small boys and their ripped knees in a warm hot cocoa later voice. One step, then another, a hand wriggling from the shadows to wave at him — the details blurring with age, four fingers, seven, webbed, clawed — and Suguru stumbles forwards, grabs at the hand and pulls.
He wakes in a stranger's lap, the taste of rot and decay clinging to his mouth even when he didn't know them at the time.
"Scared creatures bite," the sorcerer murmured as they stood, balancing Suguru on their hip. "Children included."
There'd been conversations, whispered arguments in the early morning when Suguru was meant to be sleeping, two attempts at schooling before they kept him home to learn, and countless visits from strangers that never lasted longer than an hour but lingered for days after.
Suguru Geto was enrolled at Jujutsu High School. And so was Satoru Gojo.
They first meet in an empty classroom; empty before Suguru, prompt to the point of being early for his own funeral, slips inside and places his bag next to a desk. Front row, beside the window. His parents left several hours ago, their faces dry, worry long since scarred next to their mouths. Gojo slinks in a few minutes later, his shoulders curled like a street cat, his steps just as delicate.
"Hi," he offers after a moment, dark glasses too large on his face.
Suguru looks at him, sees a boy like himself but bowed beneath the weight of a legacy centuries in the making. "Hi," he answers and expects nothing else.
They've been inseparable since, these two boys who were never meant to meet.
Suguru doesn't know why. He's not particularly warm and welcoming to anyone, weeks of close contact hasn't melted those sharp edges of himself into something better suited to bump against the Gojo clan's heir, but Gojo knocks into his side anyway. He looks to Suguru everytime he does it, the hum of infinity missing from the air around them, his eyes blue but flat, and Suguru nudges him back, makes him stumble because he can.
Gojo laughs at this and Suguru is helpless like a child all over again.
He bites Gojo in the quiet of Suguru's dorm room four months following their first meeting.
It's not thought out, just a flicker of irritation, the tap of Gojo's fingers against his cheek in lieu of answering his question.
"Suguru," Gojo says, sings, draws his name out into five syllables, six, seven, before Suguru turns his head a fraction away from the book he's flicking through and bites him.
They're not separate during this, barely apart at all nowadays. Gojo sprawls next to Suguru on the standard single bed, both lying on their front with their feet resting on the pillow, but Gojo's legs are crooked, one tipped across Suguru's thighs, the other drawn up beneath him to press his foot against his hip. Suguru turns to catch his gaze, Gojo's finger pressed between his teeth, not enough to break skin but enough to taste the slight salt, the tang of expensive hand cream, missing the buzz of Infinity.
Suguru looks at Gojo, pupils blown black and endless, and thinks fuck.
He should have expected the punch two days later.
Suguru comes from nothing. He doesn't have the protection of a clan name or historic allies, only his own strength of will when their classmates snicker behind their hands at his accent, his lack of knowledge they grew up with. He bites his tongue, keeps his head bowed from the spotlight fixated on Gojo at his side, and doesn't think that anything will change when he's approached once more.
They're outside — a brief respite as one instructor leaves and the replacement is lost between buildings — and the swagger is immediate as the boy steps up, a sneer pasted in place.
"Should send you after him, Geto," he snips. "Country trash like you are good at that sort of thing—"
He gets no further, Gojo surging up from next to Suguru and moving from dappled shade to glorious sunlight in a heartbeat to sink his fist into the other boy's face. It's a good blow, entirely human in the execution, Gojo's knuckles cut on teeth and bleeding scarlet as he returns to Suguru's side.
It takes less than a minute.
Suguru looks at him and Gojo grins wide, his eyes blown wide and dull in the absence of Infinity.
"You shouldn't have done that," Suguru manages, numb horror etching into his spine. "He's from one of the Clans; it'll cause issues."
Gojo frowns, a puppy void of both treat and praise, his ears starting to droop. "But you don't stand up to them. They shouldn't speak to you like that."
Suguru sighs, cups Gojo's hand in between his own and presses his palm to Gojo's bleeding knuckles. Gojo hisses, but doesn't move away. "They're not wrong."
"They are." Gojo moves closer, nose to nose with Suguru now. His glasses slide down his nose and rest against Suguru's skin. "And if you can't fight them, then I will."
He grins like it would be easy, conducted without thought like breathing. And, because he's Satoru Gojo, because Suguru loves him with everything he has, he believes him.
no subject
no subject