Chapter Text
Playing Games with Gojo Satoru
Part I
A full moon casts its gentle rays across a silent campus, the buildings bathed in shades of delicate midnight blue and silver. The night sky shimmers with the faint glow of sparkling starlight. There are no voices, not a whisper of wind through the trees. An eerie silence grips the grounds of Jujutsu High. No one is awake to witness the deafening quiet; the world is fast asleep beneath the vast, starry sky. Everyone that is, but you.
You find yourself sleepless yet again. A restless spirit, sleep wouldn’t come easily to you in a place like this anyway. At least in the late hours of the night, everything is yours to behold. Walking across the dim, silvery grounds, the only sound you can hear is your own footsteps as you trace your steps around the campus, utterly alone, you think. Entranced by the luminescent moon, you could stay out in the crisp, clean air for hours. And you might have too, you might have stayed out among the shadows until the fiery oranges and pinks erupt from the horizon, signaling the nighttime has ended, as you have done so many times before. You might have spent the peaceful hours of the morning basking in the golden hours of the dawning sun, before beginning your day's work.
You would have, if a distant light hadn’t caught your eye. It seems you aren’t the only one awake after all.
Across the campus, a warm, reddish light stands in contrast to your cool surroundings. Someone is in the training room. You can’t help but be curious. Of course, it wouldn’t be unusual for a student to sneak out after hours for extra training. The race to become a grade 1 sorcerer seems fiercer than ever these days.
Well, there’s no harm in helping them out, I suppose, you think to yourself. It’s not like I’m getting any more sleep tonight anyway.
How right you are.
In a matter of moments, you arrive at the training room. You think it’s a little odd that you can’t hear anything from the inside. Maybe no one is training after all, and the lights have been left on. You reach the entrance door, peering into the large, pillared room. Someone is in there, but it’s no student.
Gojo Satoru stands alone in the center of the room, not making a sound. You think maybe you’ll just leave…
“Hey! Where ya goin’?”
His voice startles you. Wasting no time, Gojo walks straight up to you. Quite a bit taller, he peers down at you, his iridescent blue eyes peeking over the tops of his black sunglasses. His black shirt is slightly low cut, revealing his sharp collarbones.
“Can’t sleep, huh? Me either!” he says cheerily. “It’s so nice to have the night all to yourself!”
“Oh, uh, yes, it is,” you say, a little taken aback by his cheery disposition.
“Yeah! It’s great!” a cheeky grin appears on his face. “Hey, you’re new here, right?”
“Yes.”
He claps his hands together. “Excellent!”
He leans in closely, dropping his voice to nearly a whisper. “You know, I have a little something for the newly initiated. Games , if you will. Wanna play?”
His newly lowered voice is almost seductive. A slight warmth rises to your face at his closeness. Yes, you think. I would like to play some games with Gojo Satoru.
“Alright,” you say, trying your best to appear nonchalant. “Games, that does sound fun.”
“Yes!” he exclaims. “Not like you had anything better to do!”
Correct again, Gojo.
“Now,” he says. “These games are pretty simple, but you have to follow the rules. Got it? No breaking the rules. If you break the rules…well.” A devilish smile spreads across his face. “Are you ready?”
“Well, what happens if I break the rules?” You ask.
He raises an eyebrow. “You want to spoil the mystery?”
“Just tell me what happens.”
He sighs as if you’ve severely disappointed him. “ If you break the rules…”
His voice drops again into a seductive whisper. “...then I will have to punish you.”
Oh.
“Now, let's begin.”
He turns on his heel, raising one finger in the air.
“Game one: War. I’m sure you know how to play this one. We each pull a card from our individual stacks, and whoever has the higher number wins. We’ll go three times in a row; that will be one round. Whoever loses that round, undoes one button.”
He touches one of the four buttons on the front of his shirt. Your buttons are on the back of your shirt, and you have five.
“Don’t worry,” he smirks. “When you lose, I’ll get them for you.”
With a grand flourish, he pulls a stack of playing cards seemingly out of thin air. He sits cross-legged on the floor, gesturing in front of him. “Sit.”
You obey. He places one stack of cards in front of each of you. You draw first, pulling a five. He pulls a six. You draw a two, he draws a king. Four, ten.
“I win this one,” he says.
Without hesitation, he reaches out across your back. He is so close, that his cheek nearly brushes yours. Snap.
“One for me,” he says.
Next round, you lose again, and the next. Snap, snap.
“You’re not very good with chance, are you?” he chuckles. His eyes gleam mischievously. “Lucky me.”
There’s no use in hiding the blush undoubtedly creeping up your neck. He notices.
“Is it getting a little warm in here?” he murmurs. He reaches out one finger, tracing the pink tinge up your neck and to your cheeks. “Well, you seem a little warm…”
A light tingling sensation follows his fingers where they touch your face. He’s right, you feel warmer than ever. But, desire or not, you aren’t finished with his little game of chance just yet. You draw a queen, he draws a four. Five, two. Ace, seven. He undoes his top button. Snap. In the next round, you win again. Snap. Second button.
“There you go,” he grins.
You win a third time, and he wins the next round. He unbuttons your fourth button. Your top is loose, hanging on by the shoulders. He traces the edges of the fabric, running his finger over the last button, barely holding it together. His shirt is half undone, two buttons left. He leans back slightly, brushing his fingers against your ever-warming cheeks again. He traces your jawline, his face just inches from yours. He stops with his thumb resting on your lips, and he pulls down ever so slightly, parting them lightly. He inches just a bit closer, his lips are so close to yours. You both have just one button left. Your breath catches in your throat.
“New game,” he whispers.
He moves back, swiftly wiping the cards from the floor.
“I’m going to spell words for you, tracing the letters on your hand, and you are going to guess them. There are no consequences for wrong answers,” he explains. “The only rule is that you must keep your eyes closed. Opening them wouldn’t help much anyway. Don’t open them. That’s the only rule for this game. Got it?”
“Why don’t you just use one of your blindfolds, so you know I can’t see?” you ask boldly. You were hoping he’d have one on hand.
He smiles. “Because that would be too easy. This way, there’s at least a little temptation to peek, right?”
I guess there’s always the temptation when you’re in the presence of Gojo Satoru.
“Close your eyes.”
You do so, feeling a little vulnerable, knowing the button holding your shirt together could fail at any moment. Despite this, you feel a thrill run down your back at the thought.
“Give me your hand.”
You reach your right hand out into the empty air. His hand grasps your wrist in a strong, firm grip.
“Okay,” he says. “I’ll start tracing the letters one at a time, I will pause when I’m done. Ready?”
“Ready.”
The tip of his finger moves slowly across your palm, it feels equal parts ticklish and pleasant. Letter by letter, he spells out the first word.
B-U-T-T-O-N.
“Button.”
Snap. A quiet rustling follows the initial sound. Gojo has no buttons left. Your breath quickens, but the game isn’t over yet. You must keep your eyes closed. He begins spelling again.
T-O-U-C-
“Touch.”
“Good,” he says softly.
Keeping his fingers locked tightly around your right wrist, you can feel his breath against your ear, as he runs the fingertips from his opposite hand down your back, down to your last button. Snap.
All your buttons are undone now, too. Still, your shirt clings on. He slides his hand back up to your shoulder, pushing one sleeve down. His lips graze the side of your neck, down to your bare shoulder, they seem to burn the skin where they touch. Your knees are touching his. He takes the wrist he’s been holding captive, pulling your hand to his chest. You feel his tight muscles under your fingertips, he glides your hand across his sharp collarbone, then down, smoothly over the hard dips and rises of his abs, until you reach the edge of cloth on his pants, with one more cool, metal button.
Your heart is beating so fast, surely he can feel your pulse beating wildly out of control. He says nothing, but pulls your wrist away from his body slightly, to spell out a new word.
Undo.
“Undo.”
“Please,” he says breathlessly. This time, his lips really are touching yours as he speaks, soft and warm as he breathes into you, almost desperate with desire. He guides you back to the little button, but releases your wrist. You give in to the pressure of his lips, moving yours against his as you trace your fingers teasingly around his pants. You can feel him hard against your hand, and as you caress him over his clothes, a sigh of pleasure escapes him. The tip of your finger pulls the edge of the button, just a push to the side and it will come undone…
You hold your opposing hand against his cheek, holding him close to you as you push his lips further apart, kissing him deeply, and you open your eyes just the tiniest bit. He must be too preoccupied, you think, to notice you stealing a glance. The intensity is nearly unbearable even now, through the sliver of sight you see his chest, looking as though it was carved from a statue of a Greek god, his lightly muscled chest rising and falling rapidly as his breath quickens. As you hasten to unclasp the last of his dignity, he pulls away suddenly.
You open your eyes fully, a little startled. You are practically stunned as you look at him. A high flush settles on his cheekbones, his white hair is ruffled every which way. His sunglasses have slid down, his eyes bright, alive, and nearly glowing with a hard, burning desire. His body beneath his open shirt is shimmering under the thinnest veil of sweat. Still catching his breath, his eyes never leave you. They have a hunger to them as they travel over your body, almost possessively.
“You broke the rule,” he says seriously.
You feel flustered. “Just a peek…”
He leans back on his forearms, showcasing his beautifully defined abs, cocking his head to the side. He sighs, running a hand through his messy hair, a grin slowly appearing.
“You know what that means, right?”
Your speeding pulse starts back up immediately.
“I have to punish you.”
He pushes himself to his feet. He fluidly removes his open shirt, the muscles on his upper body flexing attractively as he flings it to the ground. You remain sitting on the floor. He walks over to you, a truly dominating figure standing at his full height above you. He leans over, putting a hand beneath your chin, and lifting it so that you are looking into his eyes.
“Up,” he says quietly.
You stand. Still looking down on you with his superior height, Gojo brushes the remaining sleeve from your shoulder, and the garment falls to your feet. Then very, very slowly, he traces a path from your chest down to the top of your bottoms. He hooks his thumbs underneath the edges, and slides them down your thighs, his fingers gliding across your bare skin all the way. Once this clothing has also fallen at your feet, he caresses the lace of your undergarments.
“This can stay on,” he decides. “For now.”
The hot, burning sensation has settled further down in your body.
Gojo takes hold beneath your chin again, holding you more tightly in his grasp this time. “I think you are about ready.”
Your punishment is about to begin.