mav

access the verse here!!

a/n~ thank u to the brilliant anons and comments who wanted me to continue the verse but with the other frat guys!! introducing the gojo verse 😉 enjoy!!

the party is already loud by the time they get there, bass thudding through the walls so hard the apartment feels like it’s shaking. choso stays close to his girlfriend, hand hovering at the small of her back and she keeps smiling at him, soft and reassuring like she always does, and it settles him a little. she’s throwing a party to celebrate end of midterms, something “lowkey”, but it very quickly spun into fifty people crammed into her apartment.

gojo, on the other hand, is already plotting. “i’m telling you,” he says, leaning back against the kitchen counter like he owns the place, hand holding a red solo cup. “tonight is light work. i could walk into any room here and leave with, dunno, minimum three numbers.”

geto snorts from beside him. “three? aim higher, satoru. you’re getting lazy.”

“i’m pacing myself,” gojo shoots back, grinning. “quality over quantity.”

“you just said three.”

“three quality numbers.”

choso’s girlfriend rolls her eyes with a smile. “you’re insufferable.”

“i’m charming,” gojo corrects, already scanning the room, gaze flicking from group to group like he’s window shopping. “there’s a difference.”

that’s when she spots you.

her whole face lights up and she slips out of choso’s arms, weaving through people until she reaches you, and suddenly you’re both laughing about something, arms looping together.

“guys,” she calls, tugging you along, “this is my best friend, y/n.”

you step into the circle, smiling carefully. “hey, guys. hi, choso."

choso gives you a shy nod. “hi, y/n.”

geto smiles, polite but curious. toji barely acknowledges you, already halfway to the drinks.

gojo doesn’t look at you at all.

he’s too busy craning his neck over your shoulder, eyes darting past you like you’re just another body in the way. “minimum three numbers,” he repeats without looking, patting geto on the shoulder. “suguru. i’m seeing options.”

your mouth twitches. “wow,” you say, dry as dust, “don’t all look at me at once.”

gojo finally blinks and slowly he drags his gaze down to you, and his tongue feels thick in his mouth because shit.

you're the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

shit, and you're standing right in front of him.

there’s a beat. “huh.”

you raise a brow. “riveting response.”

geto’s mouth quirks. choso’s girlfriend looks between you two like she just lit a match and tossed it into dry grass, and she facepalms.

gojo straightens, like he’s recalibrating mid-conversation, suddenly he's aware he’s been talking at full volume about “quality numbers” in front of you.

“sorry,” he says, recovering fast, flashing that easy grin. “didn’t realize i was being introduced to—”

to someone who looked this good, he wants to say. someone like you.

“someone with ears?” you cut in.

gojo’s mind backtracks for a split second before grin sharpens. “—someone this rude.”

“only rude when i’m annoyed.”

“so all the time?”

“only when people earn it.”

they stare at each other for half a second too long, something sparking, quick and bright and a little dangerous. choso’s girlfriend claps her hands once awkwardly. “okay, perfect, you two can fight later. y/n, drink?”

you nod, letting her pull you toward the kitchen again.

gojo stands there, a little awe-struck. he stares at the space you just occupied, mind still catching up to the present.

geto leans in, voice low. “three quality numbers, huh?”

gojo doesn’t answer. he’s still staring at where you disappeared into the crowd, like if he looks hard enough he can rewind the last thirty seconds and not sound like an idiot.

“…shut up,” he mutters finally, scrubbing a hand over his face.

your friend pours you a drink with a smirk. "so? thoughts?"

"the white-haired one's an asshole," you grumble.

she laughs immediately, bumping her shoulder into yours as she slides a drink across the counter. “gojo? he is, but like…a manageable one. he's actually really sweet. you get used to it.”

“i don’t plan to.”

“mm.” she hums into her cup, watching you over the rim like she knows something you don’t. “we’ll see.”

you take a sip, eyes flicking back out into the living room. unfortunately, the pest is already looking.

gojo doesn’t even pretend to be subtle about it. he’s half-turned toward the kitchen now, cup dangling forgotten in his hand, gaze locked on you and his lips twist into a small smile.

you narrow your eyes slightly.

he straightens instantly, looks away fast. suspiciously fast. for a guy who just spent ten minutes talking like he’s god’s gift to women, he suddenly looks like he’s been caught committing a crime.

you watch him for another second, unimpressed, then turn back to your drink.

“you’re staring,” your friend sing-songs under her breath.

“i’m not.”

“you literally are.”

“i’m observing,” you correct, taking another sip. “like a case study. frat boy in his natural habitat.”

she snorts. “and what have we learned so far?”

you glance over again, just in time to catch gojo pretending to be deeply invested in a conversation with geto, nodding way too seriously at something that definitely isn’t that interesting.

“he’s a fraud,” you say simply.

“ouch.”

“did you hear him? ‘three quality numbers’?” you mimic, lowering your voice into a lazy drawl. “who says that out loud, for fuck's sake."

"well, he didn't think you were listening."

“that’s the problem. he doesn’t think.”

as if summoned by your words gojo looks over again. this time when your eyes meet he freezes for half a beat before he forces himself to walk over, running a hand through his hair.

you sigh quietly. “here we go.”

he stops a step too close, like he misjudged the distance, then leans back awkwardly to compensate. “hey.”

you blink at him. “hi.”

there’s a long, long pause.

toji and geto watch from across the room, snickering.

gojo clears his throat. “so. uh.” he gestures vaguely between you and choso's girlfriend. “you’re… her friend.”

“incredible deduction,” you say flatly. “did you major in that or is it natural talent?”

your friend elbows you lightly. "y/n."

his mouth opens, then closes, before his grin flickers back, a little less steady this time. “you’re mean.”

“you’re observant,” you shoot back.

he shifts his weight. “so what’s your deal?”

you tilt your head. “my deal.”

“yeah, like—” he waves a hand, searching for words that don’t immediately make him sound stupid. “what you’re about.”

“i’m about not giving my number to guys who treat parties like a shopping spree.”

gojo’s ears go a little pink. “that’s— okay. that’s not—”

"oh, it's not?" you tilt your head, stare unimpressed. "cause swear that's what you were yelling about five minutes ago."

“…okay,” he says slowly, like he’s trying to rebuild a sentence from scattered lego pieces. “in my defense, i was not yelling at you specifically.”

you blink. “that’s worse.”

“no, wait—”

“you were yelling at the concept of women in general?”

“no,” he says faster, then winces at how that sounds. “i'm not like that."

you tilt your head slightly. “you introduced yourself like that.”

gojo opens his mouth, and nothing comes out. he closes again.

since when am i at a loss of words?

"you're very articulate," you say, taking a sip of your drink, severely unimpressed.

“i’m usually more articulate,” he says, and immediately hates how that sounds.

you give him that same, blank stare. "sure," you say, flat.

there’s a beat where his brain tries to catch up to his mouth, but they’ve clearly stopped coordinating. he tries again. “i just mean—i don’t usually—i’m not like...stuck on words.”

“you seem pretty stuck now.”

gojo exhales through his nose, dragging a hand through his hair again. you're still looking at him like that - all unimpressed and unfazed. like you don't care that he's satoru gojo.

it's a new feeling, and humiliatingly effective.

because you’re still looking at him like that.

“you’re just...you’re really hard to talk to.”

your expression doesn’t change, but something in your eyes sharpens. “that’s a you problem,” you say simply.

silence again.

he’s not used to silence like this. usually there’s someone filling it for him. laughing, reacting, leaning in. you just stand there, existing,

it makes him feel weirdly off-axis.

from somewhere behind you, a guy calls your name. “y/n! you coming to play?” the guy asks, nodding toward the living room where people are setting up some drinking game.

you glance at him, then back at your friend, who's curled up against choso's arm. “yeah,” you say, already stepping away from gojo like the conversation has naturally ended. “i’ll come.”

just like that, you're gone into the crowd. no look back at him.

“wait,” gojo says, too fast.

you pause briefly, look at him over your shoulder. “what?”

he opens his mouth and nothing comes out again.

for once, there’s no punchline ready. no smooth recovery. no stupid confidence parachute.

just him stupidly blanking. “uh,” he manages finally, then clears his throat, tries again. “nothing.”

you give a small shrug like he’s already been filed away as unimportant, and turn back to follow the group.

gojo stands there, arms limp at his sides.

geto strolls up beside him, sipping his drink. “that went well.”

“shut up,” gojo says automatically, but it’s weak.

geto glances toward the living room where you’ve already disappeared into the crowd. “she’s too pretty for you.”

"shut up," he repeats.

the rest of the party feels like slow motion. the music's still loud, people are still chattering, but his attention keeps snagging back in one direction.

you.

he keeps catching flashes of you between bodies. your laugh when someone says something stupid. the way you lean in when you talk, like you actually mean your words. the way you fix your hair, or how your tongue darts over your lips.

it’s irritating.

it’s worse than irritating.

it’s distracting.

a girl slides up to him sometime later, glittery eyes, thick fake lashes and a practiced tilt of the head. “hey,” she says, hand brushing his arm like it belongs there. “you’re gojo, right?”

“yeah,” he says automatically, still looking past her shoulder.

she leans in a little. “i’ve seen you around campus. you’re kind of hard to miss.”

“uh-huh,” he replies, eyes flicking again.

she laughs softly, clearly taking that as encouragement. “you wanna get out of here? it’s kinda loud in here.”

“maybe,” he says.

she blinks. “or we could just go now.”

“yeah, maybe.” he doesn’t mean to sound bored but you just walked past the kitchen again and someone said your name and you smiled and it did something annoying to his brain.

the girl follows his gaze this time, sees you. then looks back at him, slower now. “oh,” she says.

gojo doesn’t notice the change in her tone, he’s still half watching you across the room like he’s trying to figure out what you’re doing and why it looks like that matters. what guy you're talking to. who's making you smile like that.

“so that’s what this is,” she adds, voice flattening.

he finally looks at her properly. “what’s what?”

she lets out a small, offended laugh. “never mind.” then she scoffs, sharp and unimpressed, and turns on her heel. “weird,” she mutters as she walks off.

gojo stares after her for a second, confused, then immediately looks back for you again.

“dude,” toji calls from the kitchen counter, watching the whole thing like it’s entertainment. “what happened to three numbers? that chick was into you.”

“i didn’t—” gojo starts, “she wasn’t—”

“interested?” geto finishes lightly, leaning against the counter beside toji. “she was, until you spent the entire time ogling y/n like there was no other person in this room.”

gojo tries to laugh it off, but it comes out distracted, thin. his eyes flick again, instinctively, toward the living room, where you were moments ago, but you're gone now.

where'd she go?

his chest tightens with something he doesn’t name.

“i think,” geto says slowly, watching him, “you might be cooked.”

“i’m not cooked,” gojo says immediately.

toji raises an eyebrow. “you look cooked.”

“i’m fine.”

“you were staring at her like a lost dog,” geto adds, amused.

gojo finally tears his eyes away like it physically costs him something. “i wasn't staring.”

a beat.

toji just hums. “mm.”

"where's choso?" gojo says, rubbing a hand down the back of his neck. "haven't seen that guy for most of tonight."

"eh, i saw him talking to his girlfriend on the balcony a bit ago," toji says, pointing to the sliding back door.

"cool, cool," gojo mutters, pushing his way through the crowd to the back, where choso and his girlfriend are indeed standing, talking to a few guests. (well, choso's standing behind her, holding her hand, and she's animatedly chatting to the group).

she spots gojo and waves. “hey,” she says brightly. "what's up?"

“hey,” gojo replies, slower than usual.

choso glances up. “you good?”

gojo hesitates. “yeah. where’s y/n?”

choso's girlfriend blinks. "oh. she left, like, two minutes ago."

something in gojo’s expression shifts before he can stop it. “left?” he repeats.

“yeah,” she says, oblivious to the way his tone changed. “said she was tired. she had work early tomorrow or something.”

he looks past them again, instinctively, like maybe she’ll still be there if he just checks harder.

choso watches him for a second. “you didn’t notice?”

gojo scoffs lightly, too quick. “i noticed. i just thought she might've been talking to you guys, or something.”

choso shakes his head. "sorry."

gojo's head rushes. how could you leave without him talking to you more? he hand't even gotten your number. he didn't know anything about you.

"fuck," he grumbles, rolling his head back.

your friend stares at him, small smirk playing on her lips. "i'll tell her you're deeply concerned about where she's gone."

"no!" gojo says quickly. "i mean, erm. no, it's chill. i'll see her around."

she hums under her breath as gojo walks away, slumped in defeat.

"gone?" geto asks from inside.

"gone," gojo confirms, slumping back against an empty chair. "i'm so fucked."

"if it's any consolation, she wasn't into you," toji says, and gojo glares at him.

"that doesn't matter. i fumbled," the white-haired man complains, dropping his hand against the side of the couch.

geto smirks. “you didn’t fumble,” he says calmly. “you tripped, fell down a flight of stairs, and took out the railing on the way.”

toji snorts. “landed face first, too.”

“shut up,” gojo mutters, dragging both hands down his face. “i didn’t even get a chance to recover. she just left.”

“you had, like, an hour,” toji points out.

gojo sits up straighter now, shrugging toji's comment off. "i'll just see her again."

toji snorts. “and do what? give a powerpoint apology?”

“i don’t need a powerpoint,” gojo scoffs. “i’ll just talk to her. properly this time.”

geto’s smile is small, knowing. “and what makes you think she’ll give you that chance?”

gojo pauses then his mouth tilts, something sharper returning, something stubborn. “she will,” he says.

toji huffs. “based on?”

“because she didn’t ignore me,” gojo says slowly. “she could’ve. she didn’t.”

geto watches him, intrigued.

“she stayed,” gojo continues. “she argued. she kept talking. if she actually didn’t care, she would’ve just walked away way earlier.”

toji considers that. “…hm.”

gojo glances up, a little more confident now. “and she looked back.”

“once,” toji says.

“still counts.”

geto lets out a quiet laugh. “you’re building a whole thesis off crumbs.”

“it’s a good thesis,” gojo insists.

“it’s a delusion,” toji says.

“it’s optimism.”

“it’s desperation.”

gojo rolls his eyes. “you guys are so negative.”

he leans back again, arms spreading along the back of the couch, staring out at the party that suddenly feels way less interesting. “i’ll see her again,” he repeats, more to himself this time. "i have to."

toji glances at geto, then back at gojo, smirking. “yeah. you’re cooked.”

gojo doesn’t even argue this time. "i'm not fumbling again."

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