tags. fluff. angst kinda? frat!jo is secretly downbad. vaping. college au. hehe.
part one (not necessary to read)
you hate frat boys.
this is one thing that you are absolutely sure of as you make your way through a sea of smelly, sweaty bodies, all dry humping each other to distasteful club music in some rotten frat house. you should've known that coming to a party was a bad idea. your friend suggested it since it'd be good to help you get your mind off things with your ex, but obviously, it's only soured your mood even more after some white-haired frat guy tried to pull a fast one on you.
you finally find an exit leading to the back porch, which is thankfully unoccupied. the couch outside reeks of beer, but at least there's fresh air. you plop down, sighing deeply.
it's stupid to cry over a boy. stupid to cry over someone who breaks up with you over text at 2 am. stupid to fall in love in the first place.
aw crap. but here you are, crying. how pitiful. still, you let the tears fall. it's not like anyone's going to pay attention to some sobbing girl in the backyard. your friend is probably shoving her tongue throat-deep into some guy right now. no one at this stupid party would spare you a second glance, let alone spend their time on a porch doing nothing.
or so, you thought.
because the door slides open, and lo' and behold, white-haired frat dude steps out with a cherry-scented vape in hand. he looks at you and blinks slowly.
you wonder how pathetic you look to him, eyes watery and red, nose clogged as tears stream down your face.
"uh...you cryin'?" he asks.
now that you're getting a proper look at his face, you regret to admit that he's really quite handsome and that it's making you more embarrassed. he's incredibly tall, with a toned body that unfortunately is less than hidden in that tight white shirt of his. seriously, is he a slut or what? ugh, you're already pissed off.
"i'm fine," you grunt, turning away and wiping your face. "nothing to see here."
you hear a few cautious steps approach.
"you sure?" fuck, his voice is hot too, you realize, now that it's not shrouded by club music and others' chatter. "you know, it goes against my policies to let a pretty girl be alone in tears."
god, but he's just a stupid frat boy. remember that.
"i've already got a lot on my plate, thanks," you grumble sarcastically.
you feel his weight settle down next to you. "mind adding me to the menu?"
you whip your head around to him with a glare, expecting a taunting, careless smile in return. to your surprise, though, when you turn your head it brings your face close to his, and his ears go bright red as he shifts backward awkwardly.
"uh, sorry, just trying to lighten the mood." he scratches the back of his head sheepishly, eyes darting away as he takes a puff from his vape. "it came off wrong."
the cherry scent is comforting, somehow.
"whatever." you won't give in. just because he's not that much of an asshole doesn't mean he isn't a nasty frat boy. "should i leave? is this your usual spot or something?"
you stand up, wiping away your tears one final time, but he grabs onto your wrist before you can shuffle away.
"no, it's fine!" he says a little too quickly, before his ears go red again. "you came here first. just sit. i'll be gone soon."
you eye him suspiciously. he seems... nervous. but nice. sighing, you plop down again.
he takes another deep breath from his vape. noticing your curious gaze, he hands the device to you with a tilt of his head.
"wanna hit?"
you feel your cheeks flush, like you've been caught peeping on someone when you're not supposed to.
"no! i don't do that stuff!" you shove his hand away, immediately annoyed at the boyish, amused cackle that follows.
"oh yeah? you're too much of a good girl?"
"shut up." you groan into your hands, ignoring the the momentary warmth of his hands in yours. "that stuff is bad for you, you know."
he chuckles again. "didn't know i was talking to a goody-two-shoes."
"i'm not a goody-two-shoes!" you declare, fuming at him yet again.
this is, apparently, the funniest thing he's ever seen, since he doubles over laughing while clutching his stomach.
his laugh is surprisingly cute.
okay, what the actual fuck. get it together. jesus.
when he recovers, he smiles up at you with a twinkle in his eyes.
"you're fun."
"cool. so honored."
"but still a goody-two-shoes."
"i'm not!"
he laughs again, but this time you feel yourself fighting the urge to join. since when had you stopped crying?
"then tell me one wild thing you've done or you're planning to do." he leans back onto the couch, confident as he waits for your next move.
you don't want to lose.
"i...i-i want to get a tattoo," you admit begrudgingly. "that's pretty wild, no?"
you expect him to tease you. to make fun of such a silly dream. tattoos never really interested you before, but your ex, sukuna, had a plethora of them. and you guess it made you want to get one someday too. still, it's silly. you think he'd laugh at it.
but he doesn't.
"a tattoo?" he echoes thoughtfully, a warm smile dancing on his dance. "that's cool."
"... you're not making fun of me?"
he scoffs. "why would i? a tattoo is plenty wild. my friends say they hurt like a bitch." you stare at him, blinking in disbelief. "what kind of tattoo?" he asks, shifting his weight towards you.
"uh... a small one. flowers, probably. on my arm."
he hums, considering it. "that would be pretty. do you have a picture?"
"not really." you shake your head. "i was planning on drawing it myself someday, though."
at that moment, his eyes light up. "i have an idea," he declares, digging into his jean pockets for something.
you tilt your head curiously. "what?"
he finally fishes out a small black sharpie, one that he had probably been using to write names on cups earlier.
"draw it for me."
"huh?"
"your dream tattoo." he shoves the sharpie into your hand. "i'm curious about what kind of tattoo miss-goody-two-shoes would get."
you stare at the marker. "this is stupid."
"but it's fun. c'mon!"
you look at his face, somehow childish and manly all at once. his white eyelashes flutter at you.
"i'm not good at drawing on myself."
"then draw on my arm." he holds out his arm towards you.
who the fuck does he think he is? does he think he's charming or something? does he think you'd really say--
"okay. fine."
you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. why is he making you smile?
you grab onto his arm, twisting it gently so that you have access to his forearm. you watch as black ink drags against his (regrettably) smooth skin. he watches you carefully as you draw a tiny bouquet of flowers.
when you're done, he holds up his arm in awe.
"wow. it looks super cool."
"...thanks," you say quietly, unsure of what to do next.
he's... way nicer than you expected.
"my turn!" he chirps suddenly, pulling your arm towards him.
"wait, what?" the sharpie is snatched out of your hand before you realize it. "are you seriously going to--"
"shhh," he hushes you, winking mischievously. "close your eyes, i want it to be a surprise."
you resist lightly. "no way. you're going to draw a huge dick on my arm, aren't you?"
he laughs, loud and clear, and you think you might like getting used to the sound of it.
"i promise i won't."
you have no reason to believe him. honestly, you probably shouldn't. but yet you close your eyes anyways and let him have his fun. his strokes are gentle and fast, dragging across the entire length of your forearm. you really hope it isn't a dick.
it's quiet outside. maybe close to 3 am now. the house is still buzzing, but the thrum of the party is dulled by your own pounding heart. you're not sure when that started happening.
"done," he says softly.
when you open your eyes, your arm is completely covered is sloppy handwriting. you're about to protest, complaining about his poor art skills, but then you realize exactly what he's written.
nine digits. a phone number.
you look up to him, and his face is beet red.
"if you're crying again..." he glances away, avoiding your eyes. "you can call that number, if you want."
it's silent for a few seconds, only the gentle whirr of the night filling the air.
shit. you want to smile so badly that your cheeks hurt. you stopped crying a long time ago.
unable to take the awkward silence any longer, white-haired frat boy jolts up, stiffly walking back to the door to go back inside.
"but if you don't want to then it's whatever!" he quickly yells. you muffle a giggle. "i'll catch you around or something," he grumbles under his breath.
"wait!" you call out, watching as he stops in his tracks. "i don't even know your name."
relief washes over his face. then, he grins at you, cocky frat boy persona more evident than ever now. somehow--and maybe this is because you've gone crazy--you don't hate it.
"call that number to find out."
and he closes the door behind him.
welp. you're screwed.
angels who asked to be tagged in part two <3 @sigmaskibidifortnitebattlepass @clumzywalrus @pjselee @orangetabbys-world @l1lacm1st
mei's notes. eeek! thank you so so much for all da love on part one! i wasn't planning on a part two... but what can i say i love feeding the audience hehe. hope u guys like this one, its definitely one of my favs!!! much love to you and thank u for reading!
I NEED more nerdjo fics from you NEOWWW pretty please 🥹. Maybe you should start a series with him BUT I LOVE YOUR WRITING SO MUCHHH
OMG THANK YOU ANGEL !!! <3 so so happy to hear that you likey hehe. im definitely gonna write more of him just for you my sweets !! (im lying. for me too bc i #needthat)
satoru has always loved summer for its late mornings. this particular summer morning, he wakes to his dick, rock-hard against his boxers, after dreaming about you in that skin-tight tank top you wore last night.
he groans as soon as he realizes, flopping back onto his pillow.
"genuinely fuck you," he says to his dick. it twitches in response.
for some reason unbeknownst to him, you seem to have forgotten that he's a perfectly healthy young adult male who is attracted to women, because yesterday during your weekly study session, you made it a point to be as seductive as humanly possible without seeming to consider the consequences even once.
white tank top. ass-length shorts. hair tied up in a pony-tail. you kept complaining about the humidity, fanning yourself with half-shut eyes, moaning and groaning as you rolled on the floor.
then, you proceeded to slam his textbook shut and declare that it was ice cream time. the only problem was that ice cream melts very quickly in hot weather, and of course, your store-bought vanilla ice cream cone started dripping all over your hands and thighs.
did you not think for a single moment how lewd that looked?
just because satoru's a geek that doesn't hang out with many girls or openly talk about porn doesn't mean that he doesn't have manly instincts. and it certainly doesn't help that you're one of the most beautiful women he's ever laid his eyes upon, let alone the fact that he has a massive crush on you.
god, but he just can't get the memory out of his mind.
you licking the white, sticky melted cream from your forearms to your wrists. the motion of your tongue sticking in and out, like you're giving kitten licks. how you locked eyes with him as you did so, cackling in his face when you asked if he could help by cleaning up your thighs and his whole face went red.
he wants to wipe that pretty little grin right off your stupidly cute face. shut up that smart mouth of yours with his cock and show you what real cream looks like.
jesus, he's disgusting.
his right hand easily finds its way into his boxers, palming his length and spreading a thick bead of precum all over his tip with his thumb. he grunts into his pillow, and starts fucking his fist.
he imagines a more lewd version of yesterday, one where he really does put his face between your thighs and starts licking away all the melted ice cream.
maybe you'd fist his hair and stutter, "wait, s-satoru, i-i was joking."
in this fantasy, he confidently replies, "didn't sound like it."
in this fantasy, you love it, arching your back and urging your pussy towards him like an invitation.
in this fantasy, you end up quickly pushing off your ass-length shorts and revealing your soaked panties, shyly asking if he could clean you up there too. he obliges, obviously.
then he imagines what it would feel like shoving his tongue through your folds, how his nose would press into your clit as your dripping pussy coats his tongue with your sweet slick, juices. how you'd cry out his name and fog up his glasses until all he can see is white. how his scalp would tingle as you pull his hair.
"f-fuck," he stutters, face in his pillow.
he imagines you whimpering his name, asking for more, drooling down your chin as he flicks his tongue relentlessly against your heat. his fingers would curl into your waist, digging into soft skin, and you'd fall apart at his will.
his hand is moving faster than ever and he feels a cramp starting to form at his shoulder. but he doesn't stop, and before he knows it, he cums while whimpering your name.
fast. hot. blinding.
when he's done, he's panting like a dog and a completely sweaty mess.
he wipes his forehead and sits up to assess the damage. his boxers are sticky, clinging onto skin with the adhesive of his cum. he sighs.
he doesn't stand a chance when it comes to you. especially during the summer.
tags. fluff. angst kinda? frat!jo is secretly downbad. vaping. college au. hehe.
part one (not necessary to read)
you hate frat boys.
this is one thing that you are absolutely sure of as you make your way through a sea of smelly, sweaty bodies, all dry humping each other to distasteful club music in some rotten frat house. you should've known that coming to a party was a bad idea. your friend suggested it since it'd be good to help you get your mind off things with your ex, but obviously, it's only soured your mood even more after some white-haired frat guy tried to pull a fast one on you.
you finally find an exit leading to the back porch, which is thankfully unoccupied. the couch outside reeks of beer, but at least there's fresh air. you plop down, sighing deeply.
it's stupid to cry over a boy. stupid to cry over someone who breaks up with you over text at 2 am. stupid to fall in love in the first place.
aw crap. but here you are, crying. how pitiful. still, you let the tears fall. it's not like anyone's going to pay attention to some sobbing girl in the backyard. your friend is probably shoving her tongue throat-deep into some guy right now. no one at this stupid party would spare you a second glance, let alone spend their time on a porch doing nothing.
or so, you thought.
because the door slides open, and lo' and behold, white-haired frat dude steps out with a cherry-scented vape in hand. he looks at you and blinks slowly.
you wonder how pathetic you look to him, eyes watery and red, nose clogged as tears stream down your face.
"uh...you cryin'?" he asks.
now that you're getting a proper look at his face, you regret to admit that he's really quite handsome and that it's making you more embarrassed. he's incredibly tall, with a toned body that unfortunately is less than hidden in that tight white shirt of his. seriously, is he a slut or what? ugh, you're already pissed off.
"i'm fine," you grunt, turning away and wiping your face. "nothing to see here."
you hear a few cautious steps approach.
"you sure?" fuck, his voice is hot too, you realize, now that it's not shrouded by club music and others' chatter. "you know, it goes against my policies to let a pretty girl be alone in tears."
god, but he's just a stupid frat boy. remember that.
"i've already got a lot on my plate, thanks," you grumble sarcastically.
you feel his weight settle down next to you. "mind adding me to the menu?"
you whip your head around to him with a glare, expecting a taunting, careless smile in return. to your surprise, though, when you turn your head it brings your face close to his, and his ears go bright red as he shifts backward awkwardly.
"uh, sorry, just trying to lighten the mood." he scratches the back of his head sheepishly, eyes darting away as he takes a puff from his vape. "it came off wrong."
the cherry scent is comforting, somehow.
"whatever." you won't give in. just because he's not that much of an asshole doesn't mean he isn't a nasty frat boy. "should i leave? is this your usual spot or something?"
you stand up, wiping away your tears one final time, but he grabs onto your wrist before you can shuffle away.
"no, it's fine!" he says a little too quickly, before his ears go red again. "you came here first. just sit. i'll be gone soon."
you eye him suspiciously. he seems... nervous. but nice. sighing, you plop down again.
he takes another deep breath from his vape. noticing your curious gaze, he hands the device to you with a tilt of his head.
"wanna hit?"
you feel your cheeks flush, like you've been caught peeping on someone when you're not supposed to.
"no! i don't do that stuff!" you shove his hand away, immediately annoyed at the boyish, amused cackle that follows.
"oh yeah? you're too much of a good girl?"
"shut up." you groan into your hands, ignoring the the momentary warmth of his hands in yours. "that stuff is bad for you, you know."
he chuckles again. "didn't know i was talking to a goody-two-shoes."
"i'm not a goody-two-shoes!" you declare, fuming at him yet again.
this is, apparently, the funniest thing he's ever seen, since he doubles over laughing while clutching his stomach.
his laugh is surprisingly cute.
okay, what the actual fuck. get it together. jesus.
when he recovers, he smiles up at you with a twinkle in his eyes.
"you're fun."
"cool. so honored."
"but still a goody-two-shoes."
"i'm not!"
he laughs again, but this time you feel yourself fighting the urge to join. since when had you stopped crying?
"then tell me one wild thing you've done or you're planning to do." he leans back onto the couch, confident as he waits for your next move.
you don't want to lose.
"i...i-i want to get a tattoo," you admit begrudgingly. "that's pretty wild, no?"
you expect him to tease you. to make fun of such a silly dream. tattoos never really interested you before, but your ex, sukuna, had a plethora of them. and you guess it made you want to get one someday too. still, it's silly. you think he'd laugh at it.
but he doesn't.
"a tattoo?" he echoes thoughtfully, a warm smile dancing on his dance. "that's cool."
"... you're not making fun of me?"
he scoffs. "why would i? a tattoo is plenty wild. my friends say they hurt like a bitch." you stare at him, blinking in disbelief. "what kind of tattoo?" he asks, shifting his weight towards you.
"uh... a small one. flowers, probably. on my arm."
he hums, considering it. "that would be pretty. do you have a picture?"
"not really." you shake your head. "i was planning on drawing it myself someday, though."
at that moment, his eyes light up. "i have an idea," he declares, digging into his jean pockets for something.
you tilt your head curiously. "what?"
he finally fishes out a small black sharpie, one that he had probably been using to write names on cups earlier.
"draw it for me."
"huh?"
"your dream tattoo." he shoves the sharpie into your hand. "i'm curious about what kind of tattoo miss-goody-two-shoes would get."
you stare at the marker. "this is stupid."
"but it's fun. c'mon!"
you look at his face, somehow childish and manly all at once. his white eyelashes flutter at you.
"i'm not good at drawing on myself."
"then draw on my arm." he holds out his arm towards you.
who the fuck does he think he is? does he think he's charming or something? does he think you'd really say--
"okay. fine."
you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. why is he making you smile?
you grab onto his arm, twisting it gently so that you have access to his forearm. you watch as black ink drags against his (regrettably) smooth skin. he watches you carefully as you draw a tiny bouquet of flowers.
when you're done, he holds up his arm in awe.
"wow. it looks super cool."
"...thanks," you say quietly, unsure of what to do next.
he's... way nicer than you expected.
"my turn!" he chirps suddenly, pulling your arm towards him.
"wait, what?" the sharpie is snatched out of your hand before you realize it. "are you seriously going to--"
"shhh," he hushes you, winking mischievously. "close your eyes, i want it to be a surprise."
you resist lightly. "no way. you're going to draw a huge dick on my arm, aren't you?"
he laughs, loud and clear, and you think you might like getting used to the sound of it.
"i promise i won't."
you have no reason to believe him. honestly, you probably shouldn't. but yet you close your eyes anyways and let him have his fun. his strokes are gentle and fast, dragging across the entire length of your forearm. you really hope it isn't a dick.
it's quiet outside. maybe close to 3 am now. the house is still buzzing, but the thrum of the party is dulled by your own pounding heart. you're not sure when that started happening.
"done," he says softly.
when you open your eyes, your arm is completely covered is sloppy handwriting. you're about to protest, complaining about his poor art skills, but then you realize exactly what he's written.
nine digits. a phone number.
you look up to him, and his face is beet red.
"if you're crying again..." he glances away, avoiding your eyes. "you can call that number, if you want."
it's silent for a few seconds, only the gentle whirr of the night filling the air.
shit. you want to smile so badly that your cheeks hurt. you stopped crying a long time ago.
unable to take the awkward silence any longer, white-haired frat boy jolts up, stiffly walking back to the door to go back inside.
"but if you don't want to then it's whatever!" he quickly yells. you muffle a giggle. "i'll catch you around or something," he grumbles under his breath.
"wait!" you call out, watching as he stops in his tracks. "i don't even know your name."
relief washes over his face. then, he grins at you, cocky frat boy persona more evident than ever now. somehow--and maybe this is because you've gone crazy--you don't hate it.
"call that number to find out."
and he closes the door behind him.
welp. you're screwed.
angels who asked to be tagged in part two <3 @sigmaskibidifortnitebattlepass @clumzywalrus @pjselee @orangetabbys-world @l1lacm1st
mei's notes. eeek! thank you so so much for all da love on part one! i wasn't planning on a part two... but what can i say i love feeding the audience hehe. hope u guys like this one, its definitely one of my favs!!! much love to you and thank u for reading!
frat!jo has a big, fat embarrassing crush on you (and handles it very poorly).
tags. fluff. angst but not really LMFAO. college au. stupidstupid gojo.
satoru has never considered himself to be very charming. sure, he's been with a few ladies here and there, and yeah, he thinks he's pretty good in bed.
the problem? that's with women he doesn't care about. they flock to him like birds when he offers so much as a half-hearted nod of the head.
you, however, are a different case.
no matter now hard he tries, you simply never look in his direction. you don't see him as a person, but rather, a rumor. a whisper. the guy every girl should watch out for.
he's done it all. wearing a t-shirt with your favorite band on it when he knew he'd pass you in the halls. making sure your name is on every party invite list even though you aren't the type to go out on fridays. going to your favorite cafe to "study" and drink strawberry-fucking-matcha lattes because you like that shit and fuck it, so will he if it means he has a chance of running into you.
but nothing. you remain a fragment of his life, out of his reach but within plain sight. it's a modern form of torture, he's sure of it.
he's about to do the usual. it's a party. there's lots of beer and women, which is just enough to distract him from his boy-crush on the girl who sits in front of him in english 101.
but before he can scoop up the first willing, horny, girl, he spots a familiar shadow. he nearly drops his red cup and spills beer everywhere. the girl he was just entertaining? yeah, he leaves her mid-conversation.
it's you.
you don't look too happy about being here, but you're here, alright. leaning against a wall, sipping a definitely non-alcoholic beverage, chuckling lightly at the poor jokes your friend group passes around.
oh god, you're so cute. he's never seen you like this before. your hair is styled in a cute little updo, strands falling to frame your face. your outfit is a simple pair of jeans with a devastatingly tight crop top.
you laugh--this time for real--when someone trips and falls over in a comical manner.
he has to talk to you. now or never.
he's in his element, really. alcohol buzzes through his veins, giving him a false sense of confidence and a glow that he's sure makes him look extra attractive. or so he hopes, at least.
he strides over, slipping through people with practiced ease until he finds himself leaning on the wall next to you.
confidence satoru. godspeed. you're the fucking man.
he takes a deep breath.
"hey, haven't i seen you around somewhere before?"
you turn your head, only just now noticing him. you eye him up and down.
"uh, no?"
okay. nailed that.
he shakes his head, trying to recover.
"maybe look again?" he puts on his best smouldering expression, hoping that he's giving Handsome Man, and not Douchebag.
from the look on your face, he's giving Douchebag.
you snort. "yeah, no. never seen you. hope that doesn't hurt your ego too much." with a light chuckle, you start walking away.
no, no, no. abort mission. change tactics. he can't have screwed up already!
"hey, wait!" he calls out, grabbing your wrist and also the attention of literally everyone else in the room.
it goes still for a moment. not quiet, but still. some people stare. he can already hear their thoughts.
is THE gojo satoru struggling to hit on a girl? sheeeesh.
okay, he needs to be suave so he doesn't look stupid. at that moment, he pulls you backward and into his chest, letting you tumble into him like a damsel in distress.
"not so fast, sweetheart," he murmurs into your ear, instinctively doing what usually works for him.
you push off of him with a sneer.
"fuck off!" you yell. "don't be weird."
welp. now satoru wants to die. why can't he be a normal guy in front of you? but alas, his pride persists.
"come on," he drags, shoving his hands into his pockets with faux-nonchalance. "don't play hard to get now."
you roll your eyes, turning away with an air of finality.
"god, this is why i hate frat boys," you mumble under your breath.
as satoru watches you drift into the sea of sweaty bodies, taking a sip of his beer like his heart and ego wasn't just crushed, he thinks that he hates being one too.
notes. i love stupid pining men who don't know how to hit on women. HEHE. next will be nerdjo methinks. in my fluff era right now. also requests are open! love u thank u for reading! <3
Heyy I just found your blog and first off it's SO CUTE omg and your writing is so so stinkin cute too!! I just read both of your Satoru drabbles and you characterize him so well, I can genuinely picture him like this and am already super excited for everything else you're gonna write!! Hope you have a wonderful day (人 •͈ᴗ•͈)
OMG thank you so much YOU'RE the cutest! im geeked this made my dayyy <3 hehe im def gonna write more of him like that (i love pathetic men what can i say...) BAHAHAHAH
frat!jo has a big, fat embarrassing crush on you (and handles it very poorly).
tags. fluff. angst but not really LMFAO. college au. stupidstupid gojo.
satoru has never considered himself to be very charming. sure, he's been with a few ladies here and there, and yeah, he thinks he's pretty good in bed.
the problem? that's with women he doesn't care about. they flock to him like birds when he offers so much as a half-hearted nod of the head.
you, however, are a different case.
no matter now hard he tries, you simply never look in his direction. you don't see him as a person, but rather, a rumor. a whisper. the guy every girl should watch out for.
he's done it all. wearing a t-shirt with your favorite band on it when he knew he'd pass you in the halls. making sure your name is on every party invite list even though you aren't the type to go out on fridays. going to your favorite cafe to "study" and drink strawberry-fucking-matcha lattes because you like that shit and fuck it, so will he if it means he has a chance of running into you.
but nothing. you remain a fragment of his life, out of his reach but within plain sight. it's a modern form of torture, he's sure of it.
he's about to do the usual. it's a party. there's lots of beer and women, which is just enough to distract him from his boy-crush on the girl who sits in front of him in english 101.
but before he can scoop up the first willing, horny, girl, he spots a familiar shadow. he nearly drops his red cup and spills beer everywhere. the girl he was just entertaining? yeah, he leaves her mid-conversation.
it's you.
you don't look too happy about being here, but you're here, alright. leaning against a wall, sipping a definitely non-alcoholic beverage, chuckling lightly at the poor jokes your friend group passes around.
oh god, you're so cute. he's never seen you like this before. your hair is styled in a cute little updo, strands falling to frame your face. your outfit is a simple pair of jeans with a devastatingly tight crop top.
you laugh--this time for real--when someone trips and falls over in a comical manner.
he has to talk to you. now or never.
he's in his element, really. alcohol buzzes through his veins, giving him a false sense of confidence and a glow that he's sure makes him look extra attractive. or so he hopes, at least.
he strides over, slipping through people with practiced ease until he finds himself leaning on the wall next to you.
confidence satoru. godspeed. you're the fucking man.
he takes a deep breath.
"hey, haven't i seen you around somewhere before?"
you turn your head, only just now noticing him. you eye him up and down.
"uh, no?"
okay. nailed that.
he shakes his head, trying to recover.
"maybe look again?" he puts on his best smouldering expression, hoping that he's giving Handsome Man, and not Douchebag.
from the look on your face, he's giving Douchebag.
you snort. "yeah, no. never seen you. hope that doesn't hurt your ego too much." with a light chuckle, you start walking away.
no, no, no. abort mission. change tactics. he can't have screwed up already!
"hey, wait!" he calls out, grabbing your wrist and also the attention of literally everyone else in the room.
it goes still for a moment. not quiet, but still. some people stare. he can already hear their thoughts.
is THE gojo satoru struggling to hit on a girl? sheeeesh.
okay, he needs to be suave so he doesn't look stupid. at that moment, he pulls you backward and into his chest, letting you tumble into him like a damsel in distress.
"not so fast, sweetheart," he murmurs into your ear, instinctively doing what usually works for him.
you push off of him with a sneer.
"fuck off!" you yell. "don't be weird."
welp. now satoru wants to die. why can't he be a normal guy in front of you? but alas, his pride persists.
"come on," he drags, shoving his hands into his pockets with faux-nonchalance. "don't play hard to get now."
you roll your eyes, turning away with an air of finality.
"god, this is why i hate frat boys," you mumble under your breath.
as satoru watches you drift into the sea of sweaty bodies, taking a sip of his beer like his heart and ego wasn't just crushed, he thinks that he hates being one too.
notes. i love stupid pining men who don't know how to hit on women. HEHE. next will be nerdjo methinks. in my fluff era right now. also requests are open! love u thank u for reading! <3
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