𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | gojo satoru birthday special
⊱❆⊰ A winter snowy day doesn't go as you expected when you are invited to the birthday party of the Gojo heir.
── ★ ˙ ̟ . ❆ .ᐟ.ᐟ masterlist of works
𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 '𝟐𝟒
word count: 2.1k
content warnings: bees. thats all lol this is pure fluff.
a/n: I wanted to do something for his birthday so here we areeee. This was not proof edited because I just finished it tho lol.
Thanks for reading!
𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐗, your father introduces you to Gojo Satoru, heir to the Gojo clan, possessor of the Six Eyes, of the Limitless technique, the honored one among the heavens and the earth.
And also the biggest pain in the ass you’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.
You wake up as you normally do that day, albeit with a tad more excitement than other days. The cause is, of course, the windswept ivory landscape beyond your windows. With December came snowy days, and while you aren't the biggest fan of bundling up every time you have to go outdoors, the magic of a snowy day always triumphs over any discomfort.
So imagine your surprise when, as quickly as you exited your room, you are swept up and changed into some of the fancier clothes that you owned, hair pulled up in an intricate series of braids and golden hair clips, and pushed into a sleek black car with your equally decked out father and mother.
“Mom?” you ask when the car’s engine purrs to life. “Where are we going?”
“Do you remember Dad’s friends that came over a little while ago?” your mother says. “It's their son’s birthday today, and they graciously invited us to attend the celebrations.”
“Oh,” you say. “The ones with white hair? The.. uh.. Jojos?”
Your father grimaces at your mistake, before gently correcting you. “The Gojos, sweetheart, the Gojos.”
You nod, silently looping the last name in your mind. Your six year old mind doesn't exactly comprehend the importance of the Gojo clan, but you are smart enough to notice how everyone tenses when their name was stated in the small number of gatherings you were allowed to attend, as well as the air of power many of the members of the family exude.
The journey towards the Gojo Household is silent and you don't have much to do except fiddle with your extravagant outfit, tracing the intricate embroidered bee designs that allude to your cursed technique over and over again. When that bored you however, you instead chose to look out the window, marveling at the beautiful winter scenery and lamenting the loss of a fun snowy day.
If this birthday party called for your best outfit, then the chances of it being entertaining were almost zero, if the many other events where you had donned similar clothes were anything to consider. Even the snacks were bland and boring, so you made sure to sneak some sweets before you left. You turn them over and over in your pockets, wishing the circumstances made it so you don’t have to share them with the birthday boy.
“Who’s party is it?” you ask, remembering your dad’s friends but not accomplishing the retrieving of any memory of a child with them.
“Their son is named Satoru, and he's the same age as you,” your dad says. “He doesn’t get out much, but they wanted someone his age at his celebration. So please Y/n, be on your best behavior today. And be respectful towards Satoru. Okay?”
“Yeah,” you say.
Well technically, your thoughts supply, he is the same age as you today, but because you were six before him, that makes you older than him. So then he should be the one who needs to be careful around you. After all, you have always been taught to respect your elders. You aren’t wrinkly like them by any means, but it seems like you had more claim over respect than the Satoru kid does.
You arrive at the gates that embraced the Gojo residence sooner rather than later, even if it felt like forever to your unentertained mind. Your mother helps you out of the car, smoothing down any unwanted wrinkles on your clothes. Your father goes around to the back of the car, before joining you and your mother at the bottom of the stairs leading to the main entrance.
He has a small box decorated with golden accents and a gold ribbon, which he hands to you, kneeling so you don't have to reach for it, which would increase the chances of you dropping it.
“What's this?” you ask, moving the box around gently, hearing for any telling rattle inside it.
“Don't–” your father reaches for your hands, stopping your movement. “It's fragile, okay? Don't rattle it around.”
You shrink onto yourself, and your hands tighten around the box. “Sorry.”
He sighs as your mother gives you a last look over, ensuring you are as pristine as can be. That's when a voice beckons you over to the top of the stairs, and you follow your parents to the main entrance. You fall into step beside them when you are led around a stone pathway, and you can’t help but gawk at the pretty decorations placed all around the residence.
You crane your neck to catch glimpses of sparkly banners, ribbons, even the flowers that line the gardens. It is beautiful, and the winter atmosphere only serves to bring a magical element to it.
You bump into your mother’s leg when they stop, and she looks at you from the corner of her eye, gently grabbing your shoulder to stabilize you. You look up to see the cause for your sudden pause, when you are greeted by a man with white hair and black eyes.
His eyes flick towards you for a moment, before returning to your parents. They exchange pleasantries, remarking on the number of people at the celebration or the gorgeous decorations. You tune it all out, not interested in whatever boring things the grownups had to talk about.
“You must be little Y/n,” the man says, snapping you out of your winterland daydreams. “It's a pleasure to have you here.”
“It's a pleasure to attend,” you say automatically, aided by multiple etiquette lessons you often are subjected to. They are dreadful, but good manners are something familiar for you to fall into in unfamiliar situations.
The man gives you a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, before stepping slightly to the side. “This is Satoru,” he says, and you notice a small boy tensely standing next to him. “He is also very happy to have you here, on this special day.”
The first thing that strikes you when you look at Satoru for the first time is his blue eyes. Throughout your life, you had many a great number of people with red, black, yellow and blue eyes. Some were sparkly, others even contained the vastness of deep space. And yet none came close to his.
They are the brightest blue you have ever seen, remaining you of the electric charge clear blue skies have when a lightning storm is approaching, of the ripples in the lakes when stray leaves disturb the waters, of the most vibrant blooms in the garden beneath your windows.
But they are also cold, colder than the snow decorating the landscape outside, colder than the ice that freezes over in winter, colder than the temperature of the most frigid night.
You wave shyly, offering Satoru the box when your father motions you too. He takes it wordlessly, and you feel awfully vulnerable under his gaze.
The stilled interaction is broken by your mother, who, with the best intentions, suggests that you two go play outside in the snow while the adults discuss business. Why anyone would want to discuss business in a birthday party, you'll never know, but you'll gladly take the chance to get away from the stifling atmosphere even if it means taking the frigid boy with you.
There is nothing on Satoru’s face for you to pick up on his mood. His face is neither relieved he's being offered a break form the adult talk, nor does he show any disdain at the prospect of spending more time with you.
You follow Satoru and the woman who seems to be his nanny outside, and she stays behind at a short distance, giving you and the boy a little privacy to play whatever games a six year old imagines in the snow.
“Uh… happy birthday,” you say belatedly, offering him the gift after realizing you still have the box in your hands.
Satoru takes it gingerly off your hands and unwraps the box. Inside sits a lavishly decorated tanto, a small traditional knife that is embellished with – much like the box – golden accents. The hilt depicted a small painting of cherry blossoms in full bloom, and unsheathing it revealed a delicate imprint of a dragon circling a katana, with bees at the sides. They were small enough so that the clan wouldn’t take it as a form of swaying the young heir towards your own, but they were big enough to symbolize the alliance between them.
Satoru notices this too and brings the blade closer to his face, studying the engraving. “Why are there bees in this?” he asks after a moment.
“That’s my family's cursed technique,” you say. “It's venom based.”
In a small ditch attempt to make him acknowledge you – even though it was his loss if he didn't – you summoned a small flurry of your own shikigami: fuzzy golden bees, with eyes as brilliant as the starry sky.
“That's your technique?” he asks, rather apprehensively. “Bees?”
You frown at his tone, not liking it one bit. Yeah, you remember this kid now. You have never seen him before, curses know you would never forget such impactful eyes, but you had heard of a boy with two of the most coveted techniques modern (and old) jujutsu had to offer: the Six Eyes and the Limitless technique.
“You’re not very nice, are you,” you say. Your mother could chide you later, you weren't going to grovel at the feet of some brat with no respect for others.
“I don't need to be nice,” he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “I'm powerful enough to make up for it.”
“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard,” you say. “Dumber even than when people are scared of bees.”
“My cousins always freak out when there are bees at their picnics,” he says.
You huff. “Well, you cousins are dumb. Real bees don’t do much if they aren’t mad at you.”
“My cousins are Gojos too,” Satoru says, furrowing his brows in confusion. “You can’t say those things about them.”
“So what?” you say, defiantly. “I can say whatever I want about people who get scared of little bees.”
Satoru frowns. “You are also not very nice.”
“I am nice,” you say defensively. “But not to little kids who are mean to me.”
That seems to strike a nerve with Satoru, because his eyes flicker with a childish version of anger, the first emotion you've seen reflected in those pools of blue. “I’m not little!” he exclaims, breaking his cold facade. “I turned six today!”
“Yes you are!” you retort. “And I was six yesterday, so I’m older and you have to do what I say!”
“Well I don't do things bugs tell me to do–!”
Splat.
Satoru’s hair is not the thing tinted white now, not with the traces of the snowball you threw at his face melting down his rosy cheeks. He is frozen for a moment before he lets out a small yell of defiance and he picks up his own snowball, compressing it between his hands before throwing it straight at you.
You yelp when some of the cold snow makes its way inside your winter garments, and you throw another one at him, marking the beginning of a full fledged snowball fight.
Snow flies through the air as childish insults and threats are made, and you are quick to duck and throw, even if you miss half the time. Your hair comes out the golden hair clips it was restricted too, and Satoru’s own white locks are not exempt from disheveling.
The nanny who is supposed to be taking care of you simply smiles, glad the the ever cold heir of the Gojo clan has the opportunity to play childish games with someone his age, and so she does not interfere, watching from the sidelines until the both of you get tired enough to call a truce.
“Bye bug,” he says to you mockingly when it is time for your family to go, and you respond in a similar way with a “Bye shortie,” to boot.
Similar playdates would be eventually organized for you two, and so even after winter was over and the last pile of snow had melted, you continued to see Satoru weekly, picking childish fights every time you met.
With dumb pranks and even dumber nicknames, slowly but surely, the Gojo brat carved his way into your heart, refusing to budge no matter how many times you called him little, or how many times he called you bug.