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⡴ utterly whipped gojo finally convincing you to let him sleep over ⡴ 0.5k words ⡴ [ 1 , 2 , 3 , 4 ]
it’s been 5 minutes since he’s finished inside you and he’s been pressed into your body, face nuzzled into your shoulder, since. his dick that he lazily pulled back into his briefs lies along your stomach while he lazes on top of you.
“satoru.” you mumble softly. well, as loud as you can with tufts of thick white hair half obstructing your mouth. he hums into your neck in acknowledgement. you push away his hair lying by your mouth. “i’ve got work tomorrow. go.”
you nearly for bad for telling him to leave. it’s just past midnight and he hasn’t even begged to say yet. yet.
“please.” he whines into your neck. he clutches your closer in his toned arms that are snaked around you. “just for tonight. i promise i’ll leave in the morning. just…” he trails off, whimpering muffledly below your ear.
he’s growing on you and you feel gross for admitting to it—to your friends. if you told him his ego’d skyrocket unbearably. you’re giving yourself a mental peptalk to not give into his stereotypical heartthrob charm and shoo him away like usual. thank god you don’t have his pathetic little bug eyes staring up at you or else you would’ve caved already.
“satoru, you know—” he cuts you off.
“it’s late.” he squeezes you even harder. he kisses up your jaw to try and convince you. “just let me stay here tonight. i’ll be good, won’t even notice me, baby.”
you know he will. he’ll be as silent and in-obnoxious as he can be in hopes you’ll let him stay over again some day. you nearly say something in retort but he pushes himself up and stares down at you while he speaks up again. his kicked puppy dog eyes bore into yours while he pleads shamelessly.
“please.” he frowns. he looks pretty like this, still worn out from fucking you and even more pathetic than usual.
you dart your eyes away from him as you speak.
“tonight and tonight only.” he leans forward, near inches away from you like he’s expecting a kiss while he widely grins. his dimples pierce through the gush of his porcelain cheeks. he giggles stupidly. “shut up.” you try and push him off of you but to no avail.
he jolts his head forward and starts messily peppering kisses over your face, jaw and forehead. he makes annoying, exaggerated ‘mwah’ sounds as he does.
“thank you—thank you, baby.” he says as he finally pulls back. his eyes study you as he notices a slight curl of your lips. usually he’d yell out how this means you must love him but he promised to be on his best behavior. so he’ll smugly realize you actually like him in his head until morning.
Ryomen Sukuna was having the kind of day that made him want to commit a felony.
Work had been an absolute, unmitigated disaster. His clients were being brain-dead idiots, his emails had been piling up since 6:00 AM, and his boss had the audacity to drop a massive, last-minute project on his desk right as he was packing up to leave. By the time he finally unlocked the front door to your shared apartment, his jaw was clenched so tight his teeth ached. He was exhausted, he was pissed off, and he was fully prepared to pour himself a massive glass of whiskey and not speak to a single soul for the rest of the night.
He pushed the door open, dropping his keys into the bowl by the entrance with a loud, aggressive clatter. He shrugged off his suit jacket, loosening his tie with a harsh yank.
“I’m home,” he called out, his voice a low, gravelly grumble.
He expected you to be in the kitchen, or maybe curled up on the couch watching some trashy reality TV show. He expected you to ask him how his day was, which would inevitably lead to him ranting for twenty minutes straight.
Instead, there was silence.
Sukuna frowned, his bad mood spiking just a fraction. He walked down the hallway and stepped into the living room.
He stopped dead in his tracks.
You were sitting cross-legged on the floor, hunched over the coffee table. The entire surface was completely covered in hundreds of microscopic, brightly colored plastic bricks. You were wearing one of his oversized t-shirts, your hair tied up in a messy bun that was slowly falling apart.
But the best part? The absolute most ridiculous, endearing part?
You were squinting so hard your nose was scrunched up, and the very tip of your tongue was poking out of the corner of your mouth in pure, unadulterated concentration. Your fingers, which were currently trying to snap a tiny, translucent green piece onto a microscopic brown cylinder, were trembling slightly from the effort.
You hadn’t even heard him come in. You were entirely, completely consumed by your task.
Sukuna stood there in the doorway, his suit jacket dangling from his fingers. He didn’t say a word. He just watched you.
You were a serial hobbyist. Every month, it was something new. Knitting, painting by numbers, making weird little clay frogs that currently haunted his nightstand. He usually just rolled his eyes, funded your little hyper-fixations, and let you do your thing.
But this? This tiny, intricate Lego flower shop you had apparently bought today? It had you in a chokehold.
Snap.
The tiny green piece finally clicked into place.
You let out a massive, dramatic gasp of victory, throwing your hands up in the air like you had just won the Super Bowl. “Yes! Take that, you stupid little plastic bitch!”
Sukuna let out a sudden, loud snort.
You jumped, spinning around so fast you nearly knocked over a pile of pink bricks. When you saw him standing there, your eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. The sheer, radiant joy on your face was blinding.
“Babe!” you squealed, scrambling up onto your knees. You carefully scooped up the tiny, completed structure in your hands and held it out toward him like it was the Holy Grail. “Baby, look! Look what I did!”
Sukuna slowly walked over, dropping his jacket onto the sofa. He looked down at your hands.
It was a tiny, incredibly detailed Lego flower shop. And sitting right in front of it was a single, slightly lopsided plastic rose that you had clearly customized.
“I made you this one,” you beamed, your chest puffing out with pride. You were practically vibrating with excitement. “It’s for your desk at work! Because you said your office is depressing! Do you like it?!”
Sukuna stared at the tiny plastic flower. Then, he looked at you.
You had a faint smudge of left over dinner on your cheek. Your oversized shirt was slipping off one shoulder. You were looking up at him with such pure, unfiltered adoration and excitement over a piece of plastic that it actually knocked the breath out of his lungs.
And just like that, it happened.
The stress of the last fourteen hours? Gone. The anger at his clients? Evaporated. The tension in his shoulders, the pounding headache behind his eyes, the overwhelming urge to burn his office building to the ground? It all just melted away, completely washed out by the sheer force of your ridiculous, beaming smile.
He didn’t just love you. That wasn’t a strong enough word anymore.
He looked at you, sitting on the floor surrounded by plastic bricks, offering him a fake flower to make his bad day better, and a single, crystal-clear thought rang through his head like a bell.
I need to marry this girl.
Not ‘I want to.’ Not ‘someday.’ Need. He needed to marry your crazy ass. He needed to lock this down permanently, because if he had to go through the rest of his miserable, stressful life without coming home to you poking your tongue out over a Lego set, he was going to lose his fucking mind.
“Sukuna?” you blinked, your smile faltering just a little when he didn’t immediately respond. You lowered your hands slightly. “Do you… not like it? I know it’s kind of dumb, but—”
“Shut up,” he breathed, his voice thick.
Before you could even process the command, he dropped to his knees right in front of you, completely ignoring the fact that he was crushing at least ten Lego pieces under his expensive suit pants.
He reached out, his large hands gently cupping your face. He didn’t even look at the flower shop. His red eyes were locked entirely on yours, burning with an intensity that made your heart stutter in your chest.
“Babe?” you whispered, suddenly hyper-aware of how close he was. “Are you okay? Was work bad?”
“Work was a fucking nightmare,” he murmured, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. “But I don’t care anymore.”
“You don’t?”
“No.” He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. He let out a long, shaky exhale, the last of his stress leaving his body. “I love it, baby. It’s perfect. I’m putting it right in the middle of my desk.”
Your smile instantly returned, brighter than before. “Really?!”
“Really,” he chuckled, the sound deep and vibrating against your skin. He tilted your chin up, capturing your lips in a slow, desperate kiss. It wasn’t heated or rough; it was incredibly soft, filled with a kind of overwhelming reverence that made your toes curl.
When he finally pulled back, he kept his face inches from yours. He looked down at your lips, then back up to your eyes.
“I’m gonna marry you,” he said.
It wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of absolute, undeniable fact. He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather, but the weight behind his words was heavy enough to anchor a ship.
Your brain short-circuited. You sat there, frozen, the tiny Lego flower shop still clutched in your hands. “What?”
“You heard me,” he smirked, his usual arrogant confidence bleeding back into his tone. He leaned in and pressed a loud, wet kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the sensitive skin just below your ear. “I’m gonna marry your crazy ass. Put a ring on your finger so big you won’t be able to lift your hand to build these stupid little toys.”
“They’re not stupid!” you squawked, your face flushing bright red as his words finally registered. “And you can’t just drop that on me while I’m holding a Lego!”
“I just did,” he laughed, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest, completely ruining your posture. He buried his face in your neck.
You let out a breathless, watery laugh, carefully setting the flower shop down on the table before wrapping your arms around his broad shoulders. You ran your fingers through his pink hair, feeling the last of the tension bleed out of his muscles.
“Okay,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Okay, Ryomen.”
“Good,” he mumbled against your skin. He shifted slightly, his knee crunching against a pile of plastic. He winced. “Now, help me up. I think a fucking Lego is embedded in my kneecap.”
the kitchen smells like garlic, butter, and whatever expensive seasoning satoru bought last week because apparently “regular salt is boring.”
you’re standing at the stove stirring dinner while quietly regretting ever teaching your husband how to cook.
not because he’s bad at it, unfortunately, he’s annoyingly good. but because now he treats the kitchen like his personal playground whenever you’re inside it.
“whatcha makin’?” satoru asks for the fourth time in ten minutes.
you don’t even turn around. “food.”
“woaah,” he gasps dramatically behind you. “really?”
you sigh. already, you can feel him hovering nearby.
he never just stands normally either. no. he leans against counters dramatically, stretches himself over your shoulder unnecessarily, or wraps himself around you like an oversized cat who thinks personal space is offensive.
today seems to be one of those days.
before you can react, long arms slide around your waist from behind, pulling you flush against his chest.
“satoru,” you warn immediately.
“what?” he hums innocently against your shoulder.
“i’m cooking.”
“and?”
“and you’re attached to me.”
“exactly.”
you close your eyes briefly. this man. “go sit down.”
“don’t wanna.” of course he doesn’t.
he rests his chin on your shoulder now, white hair tickling your cheek while he watches the pan like he’s genuinely interested in what you’re doing.
“…yer stirring too aggressively.”
you stop mid-motion, then slowly turn your head toward him “i’m sorry?”
“mhm,” he nods seriously. “the vegetables are scared.”
you stare at him flatly, he grins immediately. there it is. that stupid grin that says he knows exactly how annoying he’s being.
“you’re unbearable,” you mutter, turning back toward the stove.
“but ya love me.”
and you can’t even argue against it. because you do, way too much honestly.
you try focusing again, ignoring the way his fingers lazily tap against your stomach while he sways both of you side to side slightly.
for exactly twelve seconds. then,
“baby.”
you sigh. “what.”
“kiss.”
“i’m cooking.”
“multitask.”
you snort despite yourself. instantly, he notices.
“there’s the laugh i wanted,” he says proudly.
you roll your eyes. “you’re acting like a child.”
“yeah, but i’m your child.”
“that is absolutely not romantic.”
“worked though.”
before you can respond, he suddenly steals the spoon from your hand.
“satoru-”
he takes a dramatic taste directly from it, humming thoughtfully like he’s judging a five-star restaurant.
“…needs more love.”
you blink. “love?”
“mhm.”
“that’s not an ingredient.”
“sure it is.” he points the spoon toward you accusingly. “yer cooking while annoyed at me. the food can tell.”
you laugh again, quieter this time.
he’s impossible. and somehow fully aware that making you laugh is exactly how he gets away with everything.
he beams the second he hears it, immediately tightening his arms around you.
“there it is.”
“you’re insane.”
“and yet ya married me anyway.”
fair. you shake your head, reaching for the spoon again, but instead of giving it back immediately, he lifts it higher out of reach.
“satoru.”
“say please.”
you narrow your eyes. “i’m going to hit you with this pan.”
“violent. scary. terrifying even.”
“…satoru.”
he grins, then finally hands it back only to immediately steal a kiss from your cheek while you’re distracted.
you let out an annoyed sound, but he just laughs softly against your skin.
“worth it.”
you swear he gets clingier the longer you’re married. not less.
because now he follows you everywhere around the apartment like he physically cannot handle being more than three feet away from you.
and the worst part? you’re used to it now.
used to the random kisses, the constant touching and the dramatic whining whenever you don’t give him attention immediately.
“baby,” he says again suddenly.
you point the spoon toward him threateningly. “if you ask for another kiss while i’m holding hot oil, i’m divorcing you.”
he gasps loudly. “wow. so this is what our marriage has become?”
“you caused this.”
“false,” he says immediately. “i’m adorable.”
you finally turn toward him fully, raising a brow. “…adorable.”
“mhm.”
“…not annoying?”
“both can exist.”
you hate that he’s right.
satoru notices your expression immediately and lights up like he’s won something.
“you think i’m cute.”
“i think you should leave my kitchen.”
instead of listening, he pulls you closer again, large hands settling against your hips this time. then, without warning, he buries his face into your neck dramatically.
“missed you today,” he mumbles.
your expression softens instantly. ah. there it is, underneath all the teasing, he just wanted attention.
you sigh quietly, setting the spoon down before reaching up to run your fingers through his hair. immediately, he melts against you, completely.
“you saw me this morning,” you murmur.
“too long ago.”
“…you’re needy.”
“only for you.” his voice is quieter now, warmer. and suddenly the teasing husband act slips just enough for you to see the softer part underneath it.
the real part.
you smile despite yourself, scratching lightly against his scalp.
“okay,” you whisper. “you can stay.”
he lifts his head immediately, grinning like he just won the lottery.
“sick. what’re we making?”
a/n : first time writing for gojo 👀👀 yall is this mic on 👀👀. tysm for reading and other than that theres nothing more to add !!
synopsis. satoru is a bonafide genius. he’s got the perfect transcript and ten-year plan to prove it. he knows how to keep his head down and avoid the chaos his twin thrives in. so when the unofficial frat princess sets her sights on him, he knows there’s a catch. he just doesn’t figure out what it is until he’s already fallen for her
pairing. nerd! satoru gojo x popular! fem! reader. ✶ contents. sfw! college + gojo twins au ⇢ fratjo’s called souta. cw. alcohol consumption , i mean it’s a frat party. mentions of ex bf! toji + reader’s colorful dating history + therapy. charas may be a little ooc. sexual entitlement as college guys suck ˖ ࣪ . ࿐
you’ve never been in love. you’re thoroughly aware of the concept – how it makes people feel, how it shapes the universe in its hands and weaves strings of fate together – but you’ve never experienced it. not really.
not in the way people describe it in rom coms, ballads, and new york times best sellers. you’ve felt affection, certainly, in friendships and the bond that ties you to your parents despite their many flaws, in fleeting attraction that makes your heart beat a little faster. but true love ? the notion of it has never crossed your path. rather, it seems to hesitate, look both ways and dejectedly retreat to toeing the sidewalk.
you’ve watched your friends fall in love time and time again. you’ve dated people – your high school prom date, who tasted like spearmint and entitlement and tried to feel you up in the back of his dad’s bentley, summer flings that fizzled out and faded into nothing – but you’ve never been in love.
you keep people at arm’s length. you gravitate towards guys like toji who are just as emotionally unavailable as you are. who don’t actually care about you. who only see you when it’s convenient for them, when they think their persistence might finally tear your walls down.
they always, eventually, give up. they grow tired of playing the cat and mouse game, and toji is no exception. he was the most patient – you’ll give him that – he’s lasted longer than the others. but even his patience has its expiry date.
you tell yourself it’s because men are shallow and they only want one thing – a notion you’re positive has been scientifically proven – but a quieter, insidious part of you wonders if there’s something wrong with you. if there’s something missing that prevents you from connecting with people in that way. if you’re so scared of being used that you’ve forgotten how to let yourself be wanted.
tonight, the little voice in the back of your mind is not-so-little. not-so-quiet. you can hear it over the music blaring from the speakers – despite it being loud enough to rattle the oak floorboards and absorb the laughter erupting from every corner of the frat house.
souta’s fraternity throws the best parties on campus. that isn’t even up for debate, psi bau’s been famous for its ragers since the beginning of time. or at least that’s what the super seniors swear by.
if a party’s happening on a friday night, it’s here.
where bodies press together beneath flashing lights. the scents of cologne, fruit punch, and beer linger in the air. and red solo cups litter every flat surface. a psi bau party ™ is exactly what you need after toji fushiguro dumped you, very publicly, for a sorority girl.
the aftermath of your split tastes like cheap vodka and dregs of regret. sour and acrid on your tongue.
psi bau has enough alcohol to numb the prickle in your spine from the people staring at you. but it doesn’t have enough liquor to dull the subtle ache in your chest.
it’s an ache that persists despite the fact that you’re not even remotely heartbroken. you’re never invested enough for that. you weren’t in love with toji. not even close. what you’re feeling is something else entirely.
irritation. you’re irritated. irritated at the way eyes follow you with morbid curiosity, waiting for you to shatter. irritated by the whispers trailing after you from the kitchen to the living room. irritated, because your time’s been wasted. again.
“did you hear ? he already took someone else upstairs. poor thing”
‘poor thing ??’ please. you lean against the beer pong table and stare the girl down. she quickly pretends to be very interested in the contents of her solo cup.
you adjust the hem of your top and let your face settle into something more indifferent. across the room, toji emerges with the brunette in greek letters tucked under his arm like an accessory. she giggles, looking extremely pleased with herself. how cute.
“ignore them” shoko says, brows furrowing as she follows your line of sight, “he’s not worth it, and she certainly isn’t either”
you turn away, the sight of toji and his new plaything is less painful than the concern etched across shoko’s features. you don’t want her concern, you want another drink.
“sugu can you make me another dirty shirley ?” you sigh, fingers brushing against his as you hand him your empty solo cup, “please. and make it strong , i can’t deal with this sober”
“anything for our ‘unofficial frat princess’” he grins, disappearing off into the kitchen before you can throw anything at him
utahime shifts closer to you, her shoulder bumping yours “so what exactly happened with toji earlier ?”
you swallow. you could tell them about the argument you had in his car. about him calling you a prick tease because you still wouldn’t have sex with him – in your defense, you didn’t have to, and you certainly wouldn’t be getting it on in psi bau’s parking lot – or you could avoid another pity party. you choose the latter, “it’s really nothing, he wanted me to rush his sister sorority”
shoko lets out a snort, “you ? join a sorority ?”
“exactly” you scoff, “he wanted me to fully commit to being his plus-one at all the boring philanthropy events. he wasn’t very thrilled when i told him i’d rather shit in my hands and clap”
“that’s not grounds for a break up. . what are we ?twelve ?” shoko sneers, “i knew his ego was fragile but holy shit that’s pathetic”
“it wasn’t just about frats and sororities though” you add, weaving a half-truth into the lie “the fight started because he has some bizarre issue with my friendship with suguru”
“what a hypocrite” utahime says dryly, “he hangs out with his exes too and he was hooking up with half the girls in that stupid sorority every time you two were ‘on a break’”
you nod, “he was, but i couldn’t care less, it was never that deep”
shoko watches you over the rim of her solo cup “it’s never ‘that deep’ with you”
you frown slightly. “that’s not true”
“for someone who’s got history with like half the guys in this frat—”
“it was all casual” you interject sharply
“—suguru, souta, toji, and what was it . .? like three athletes ?”
“it was two actually” you correct, your jaw tight
she waves her hand dismissively, “have you ever been in healthy, fully-committed relationship ? ”
you open your mouth, a protest ready on your lips, and close it just as quickly. you have nothing tangible to say.
utahime presses, her voice softer “have you ever allowed anyone to be in love with you ?”
the music seems to recede, the thumping bass replaced by the erratic thudding of your heart. suguru hands you your dirty shirley. you thank him absentmindedly.
“well ?” shoko prompts, arms crossed over her chest
“well, stop interrogating me” you retort, taking a drawn out sip from your crimson solo cup. rum and sickly sweet grenadine seep over your tongue. “i could make anyone at this party fall in love with me if i actually wanted them to”
utahime nearly chokes on her drink “righttt. . . ”
“wanna bet?” you grit your teeth, “i could have anyone wrapped around my finger in like . . ten days”
silence falls around your little circle. shoko and utahime exchange a look that’s a mix of disbelief and intrigue.
“aren’t we too old for stupid bets ?” suguru splutters
“i’m not too old for anything” you scowl, “because i’m quite sick of you guys acting like i’m hard to love”
“are you serious. . .” shoko says, it’s more of statement than a question
“oh, i’m dead serious” you reply, a smile playing on your lips “ten days. . or less. i’ll have someone head-over-heels in love with me before you can say six-seven”
“you’ll get bored by day three and start looking for an out that doesn’t involve hurting their feelings, which will obviously hurt their feelings even more” utahime murmurs
“i’m not the one who gets bored” you scoff
“regardless, it’s a terrible idea” suguru groans, dragging a hand through his dark hair, “it might be your worst one yet, and that’s saying something.”
“if i win” you continue, eyes gleaming as you look at each of them in turn, “i get to use suguru’s car for a month. and you” you point at suguru, “are going to campaign for me. i want to be psi bau’s princess”
suguru looks physically ill. “my car ?! you drive like you have nine lives. . and you hate greek life ! isn’t that the reason why you and toji–”
“semantics” you cut him off, “imagine the look on toji’s face when he has to attend a meeting about me”
“i thought you didn’t care about toji” shoko raises a brow
“i don’t, but i love being petty” you say, “if i don’t get someone to fall in love with me then i’ll just stay away from guys for a bit. happy ? ”
shoko shakes her head, “you’re gonna stay away from guys for the rest of the year”
you groan, dragging a hand down your face, “that’s insane i’m only using the car for a month”
“three months then” suguru counters, “no dating and absolutely no stupid situationships”
“fine” you agree, perhaps a little too quickly, “but if i have to be a chud, i want your car for three months too, not just one and i’m not paying for your gas”
“fine” he groans, “but for the love of everything holy don’t crash my baby”
“oh, and no flirting with anyone if you lose” shoko adds, “if you’re looking at a guy for more than ten seconds, it counts”
you sigh, glancing back across the room. toji’s disappeared with the brunette again. “fine”
“okay” shoko says, leaning against the sticky beer pong table. her expression is solemn, like this is a board meeting rather than a frat party, “glad we’re all on the same page. pick your next victim”
you roll your eyes but you let your gaze sweep across the room. your vision swims throughout the sea of jocks, frat boys, and stoners.
“shiu ?” utahime suggests, “he’s not that bad”
“toji’s best friend ? absolutely fucking not.” shoko shoots that down immediately, “they’re practically the same person”
“not nanami” you murmur, spotting the tall blond man near the staircase, “we’ve got too many mutual friends,”
“ryomen ?” utahime offers, nodding towards the left side of the living room
sukuna is leaning against the wall, looking like he’s allergic to joy. you wrinkle your nose, “hard pass. he’s literally unc and he hates everything and everyone,”
“choso ?”
“absolutely not” you laugh, “yuki would never speak to me again”
“higuruma ?”
you shake your head, “he’s pre-law, he’d figure it out almost immediately, and we have so many classes together. it’s not worth it”
“been there, also been there. plus souta hates me”
“see ?” utahime says, gesturing vaguely at the collegiate crowd “everyone here knows you and your track record. you’ve already lost the bet”
your lips part, ready to argue but then you see him. and the words die on your tongue
across the room souta weaves through the crowd like he owns the place. his toned arm is slung over someone who looks like a carbon-copy of him. same snow-white hair. same bright blue eyes. same looming height. but where souta is all loose shoulders, cocky smiles, and chaos, this guy is . . . the exact opposite. his jaw is clenched and he looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. cute
“toru c’mon” souta’s laughter carries over the music, “just one shot ! you’ve been doomscrolling that stupid interview script for hours”
“it’s not stupid” his twin snaps, adjusting his glasses with an irritated flick as they slide down his nose. “i have to prepare, the first round is tomorrow and i don’t want to smell like tequila during the selection process”
“you’re basically already dead inside, what’s a little liver damage ? ” souta groans, “live a little !”
“i’d rather live responsibly. unlike you”
“i’m plenty responsible” souta mumbles, but he finally gives up, throwing his hands in the air before slinking off to the kitchen. his twin retreats to the wall right across the beer pong table, completely out of place. he pulls out his phone, the screen’s blue glare reflects off his lenses.
“i didn’t know souta had a twin” you muse, setting your solo cup down on the edge of the beer pong table. a drop of your dirty shirley trickles down your knuckle. you absentmindedly lick it away. your friends follow your gaze across the room.
“uhh you had a thing with souta freshman year” shoko sighs, “how the hell don’t you know ?”
“souta and i never did much talking” you shrug, unable to tear your eyes away from the wallflower “so what’s the deal with his brother ?”
“that’s satoru” utahime quips, “the ‘other’ gojo. the one who actually uses his brain. he’s here on a full-ride even though their family’s filthy rich. perfect gpa, founder of the campus coding club and head of the debate team. your typical overachiever”
you study him as he frowns at whatever is on his screen. “he’s kind of cute” you admit, biting back a genuine smile.
“no” suguru says immediately, cadence firm and rigid “absolutely not, don’t even think about”
“please” shoko snorts into her drink, “you’ll have him questioning every single one of his life choices in seconds ”
“what ?” you whirl around to face them, arching a brow defensively “why the hell are you guys acting like i’m some evil man-eater ?”
“because” suguru says slowly, gesturing to where satoru stands, “that is souta’s identical twin brother”
“i’m aware of the concept of twins, suguru” you scoff, narrowing your eyes at him, “i’m not that stupid”
“and you” he continues, undeterred “are you.”
“what the hell is that supposed to mean ?”
“it means” utahime says, soft brown eyes pouring into yours, “you suck at relationships. you always end up really hurting people. and we know you don’t mean to–”
“i don’t suck at relationships” you huff defensively, folding your arms over your chest, “and i haven’t actually hurt anyone”
“you went out with souta for three weeks” suguru points out, “and then he spent the rest of the semester listening to juice wrld and xxxtentacion”
“we wanted different things !” you insist, though the memory of souta’s wounded puppy-dog eyes after you ghosted him flashes in your mind
“he wanted a girlfriend” utahime deadpans. “you wanted someone to go to parties with”
“and toji ?” shoko presses, “let’s not even get started on the last couple of months”
“toji doesn’t count.” you retort, “he’s a walking red flag ! he’s the one who’s avoidant. not me”
“i don’t think your therapist would agree with that statement” suguru snickers, “speaking of, when last did you see her because i think you should have a session as soon as possible”
( frankly, your therapist wouldn’t agree with any of this. she’d never approved of your love life anyway )
“okay, that’s enough” you look away before the irritation crawling up your spine can show on your face. you can’t believe this. your own friends, painting you as some heartless siren. it’s beyond insulting
( heaven forbid a girl isn’t the best at romance )
“look” suguru says, his tone softening as he follows your gaze back to satoru, “satoru isn’t like the guys you usually go for”
“and that’s the understatement of the century” shoko adds, “unlike the rest of these meatheads, he doesn’t care about popularity, or parties. hell, he barely cares about anyone who isn’t in the honors college.”
“he’ll be impossible to wrap around your finger” utahime agrees, “you didn’t even know he existed five minutes ago. plus, you’re literally polar opposites. you like partying. he likes engineering. it would never work”
across the room, satoru shifts against the wall. his discomfort is blatant even from a distance. someone tries to hand him a red solo cup and he declines with a barely perceptible shake of his head, his blue eyes never leaving his phone. he’s completely unimpressed by everything around him
you watch him a beat too long before murmuring, “exactly” you lower your cup slowly, glossy lips curving into a smile
shoko narrows her eyes suspiciously, “exactly what ?”
“exactly why it has to be him” you say, “the whole point of the bet isn’t to prove i can make some jock or frat boy fall for me. it’s to prove that i can make anyone fall in love with me. what’s the point of an easy win ?”
suguru lets out a long, pained groan “oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me”
“you said he’d be impossible” you continue, your gaze drifting back to satoru. your target is typing out something with an admirable degree of focus, thumbs flying across his sceen. his brows are slightly furrowed and his lips are pressed into a thin line. he exhales slowly, as if he’s counting down the seconds until he can leave.
“well, i think i’ll have him hooked in ten days” you grin
suguru pinches the bridge of his nose, “i’d rather call the bet off and let you drive my car for free”
“why ?” you ask, completely perplexed, “what’s the big deal ?”
“the big deal” suguru says, lowering his voice to a whisper, “is that satoru is actually a really good guy. and if you make him fall for you because of this stupid bet and whatever issues you still haven’t resolved in therapy and souta finds out. . . he won’t just be mad at you. he’ll murder me.”
“relax sugu” you murmur, “it’s pretty harmless. if he doesn’t fall for me, you guys are right and i’ll take a break from guys. if he does fall for me i’ll be with a good guy for once – which nitta will love! it sounds like a win-win to me”
utahime squints at you, “you’re not actually going to date him”
“why not ?” you counter, “he’s smart, he’s cute, and – no offence sugu – he’s definitely an upgrade from all my exes”
“because by all accounts satoru gojo is the most nerdy, boring person on this campus” shoko insists bluntly, “and you get bored very easily”
“i don’t get bored easily” you frown, “and i don’t appreciate this mischaracterization from my so-called best friends”
“that’s beside the point” utahime interjects, “a relationship built on deceit is good for nothing . .”
“i’m begging you” suguru pleads, digging his fingers into his temple, “just pick someone else”
you’re not sure if this impulsive decision stems from the liquor thrumming beneath your skin, or your infinite insecurities. but your mind is completely made up.
your gaze drifts back to satoru again. his eyes lift from his phone for a moment – sweeping across the room, passing over you like you’re just another person getting drunk by the beer pong table – before returning to the illuminated screen in his hand. you don’t even exist to him
“see ?” utahime says pointedly beside you, “he didn’t even notice you !”
you smile thoughtfully, you’ve never had to chase anyone before. you’ve never wanted to try, you’ve never had to but . . “now, i want this even more”
“that is the worst possible thing you could’ve said” suguru inhales sharply, “i’m a dead man, souta’s going to kill me . . .”
“he’s going to kill all of us” utahime sighs, “shoko, why the hell would you entertain this ?”
“i just asked a simple question, don’t throw me under the bus” shoko says, holding her hands up defensively, “ we, yes we, are all responsible for this”
satoru gojo stands by the wall, blissfully unaware that he’s just become the center of your very bad idea. he’s the only person who hasn’t looked at you twice tonight. and you are very determined to change that.
masterlist day zero ⇆ day one
── .✦ mimi’s notes: first chapter everybody twerk! going on the record to say that this series is nothing like the movie but i don’t wanna spill too much ( wink wink )
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✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
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