✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。the dictionary definition of a rich boy
synopsis. that rich guy who won’t stop asking you out is your partner for this project—send help
contents. pre dating rich boy! gojo, college! au, implications of a zenin being pushy on the first date, satoru being distraught you went on a date lol, pre relationship shenanigans with the cutest loser boy !!
word count. 3.8k (it’s literally all just him being a handful)
notes. thank you niku my most cherished gojo stan for comming this (and giving me the most ridiculous tip) i adore you so much :,) mwah 💋
he’s late—gojo is late. in fact, he’s very late, by forty-five minutes and thirty-two seconds to be exact. you aren’t really the count-by-the-second type of person, but somehow when it comes to that irritating, smug, too-talkative brat that you’re stuck with…well, you can’t help but be petty and use the seconds against him too.
he shows up close to an hour after your agreed time, waltzing in with a grin on his face—and, oh, you should kill him. he has the audacity to send you a wink when he walks over, coming up to your table and pushing his sunglasses down his nose just a bit to look you in the eyes over the lenses.
what kind of person wears sunglasses indoors? surely only the kind that are nothing but trouble.
“aw, you’re here already,” gojo hums, “that excited to see me?”
“you’re late,” you spit.
“am i? i could have sworn—”
“now it’ll get dark by the time we get through what we planned for today,” you glare. he looks enthused, positively delighted by the statement—it’s almost as if you’ve offered him candy.
“well, then i’ll just have to walk you to your apartment,” he offers smoothly.
what a jackass. of course, just as expected, he’s still attempting to worm his way into your personal life (and likely your pants) in the most obnoxious of ways. over your dead body, however, will you ever allow him to know where you live, let alone accompany you on the way. you value your sanity, and having a conversation with gojo satoru longer than you absolutely have to seems like the most efficient way to fry every nerve and brain cell you have left.
“absolutely not,” you grit, “you can call me an uber. you pay.”
“alright,” he nods, “i’ll get an uber for you. but i’ll need your number to make sure you made it home safe. otherwise, what kind of partner would i be?”
typically, any normal pair of partners are meant to exchange numbers for a project—it would be the easiest form of communication, and more importantly, you can spam call if gojo decides not to carry his weight instead of just hoping and praying he checks his socials. but you can’t let him have your number—he’s not trustworthy enough for that. the last thing you need is him bombarding you with texts, or worse: calls, in the middle of work and class. so instead, you strictly inform him that any and all communication will occur via social media.
he pouts at that—it’s a cute pout, you have to admit. it’s slightly dangerous, too, because had you not had the self-control you do, you might have caved. but then he lights up at the prospect of you adding him back on socials.
i’ll get your number one of these days, he says confidently. his confidence is as aggravating as the way he clicks his pen in the middle of class. he still chooses to sit right beside you despite all the free and very available seats the entirety of the lecture hall has.
but no, he insists on sitting right next to you—and you? well, you have to hope you don’t get charged with homicide by the end of every class from the constant clicking he makes you endure. despite all that, gojo is surprisingly smart, which means your project might not be so doomed.
he’s annoyingly smart, actually—he never takes notes, and just when you think the professor has him cornered by asking him a question when he’s seemingly dozing off, he answers immediately with the correct answer.
you hate him.
“absolutely not happening,” you grumble, opening your laptop, “anyway i think we should start with—”
“well, i hate to inform you,” he sighs sadly as if it genuinely pains him to say this, “but i’ve actually deleted all my socials.”
“what?” your eye twitches.
“yeah,” he nods, “it’s a bit of a cleanse if you will. staring at your screen all day and finding value in fake posts is not good for mental health, you know? i’m trying to be more in tune with myself. it’s been a real self-journey.”
before the end of this project, you might either be a college dropout or an inmate at the county jail. you’re not sure, either is equally as possible.
“gojo satoru, i am sick of your games,” you spit, “we both know—”
“and i would hate not being in touch with my partner since it’s a crucial part of this project for us to work together,” he hums, something of a smug look plastered on his aggravatingly gorgeous face, “that thirty percent deduction for ineffective partner communication would be such a shame to get when we’re working so hard already on this, wouldn’t you agree?”
is he threatening you? for your number? with your grade? he is, you realize—and you clench your fist tightly around the phone in your hands as he eyes it with a knowing look on his face. he has you right where he wants you, whether you like it or not.
“you’re an asshole,” you spit.
“i’m a mental health advocate,” he gasps—he has the nerve to act offended, even as he’s so obviously enjoying working you up like this. you wish he’d drop dead immediately. maybe you could take his card from his wallet as his cold body lays lifeless on the table and order yourself a new laptop if he did—that would be ideal.
“i saw you post on your story last night—”
“you didn’t watch it,” he pouts, “i posted a shirtless gym selfie just for you—wait a second, you pay attention to my story, huh?” he cuts himself off with a smirk, wiggling his eyebrows at you, “c’mon, you don’t have to force yourself to skip them. you know you wanna watch them.”
“no, i don’t,” you seethe, “it was just the first one at the top. stop being self-important—”
“anyway,” he drawls, eyeing your phone again. you want to splash your coffee in his face. “i’ll need your number,” he sniffs, “the crushing disappointment of you skipping my story made me realize i’m too focused on getting social media validation, so i’m taking a break. it’s the best thing for me to do in my headspace right now. hope you understand.”
“are you kidding me?” you stare at him. he grins before shaking his head.
“i would never joke about mental health,” he says seriously—it’s not as serious as your desire to slap him, however.
“fine,” you take a long, slow sip of your coffee to calm down, “give me your phone.”
“oh, you’re gonna set your own contact?” he brightens, immediately handing you his phone. it’s brand new—the newest model, in fact. it’s barely been a few days since it dropped. truthfully, you’re not even sure why you’re shocked—of course, he, of all people, would upgrade immediately. “how intimate,” he gushes, “it’s almost like we’re going on a date—”
“do not text me outside of project purposes,” you interrupt, thrusting the phone back into his hands, “got it?”
“you got it,” he grins triumphantly.
—————
like all things he does, gojo finds a roundabout way to keep his word without actually keeping it. it’s his secret talent, you think—finding loopholes through all the technicalities of things.
hey when ur free can u read over my portion? i just finished
btw r u going to that frat party this wknd? u don’t seem the party type haha but u should come
i’ll introduce u to suguru! he’s my best friend he’s super nice u’ll like him
oh and when do u wanna meet this week? promise i’ll be on time this time ;)
you make sure to only respond to the questions regarding your project—just because he technically kept his word and started the conversation centered around the project before getting off topic doesn’t mean you have to indulge him. and the way he types is infuriatingly annoying—who shortens every possible word like that? only him, you think.
okay, maybe you’re just nitpicking now, but every time you see his name pop up on your screen, your mood sours tenfold. you decide to answer as dryly as possible.
k i’ll look. we meet same time as last.
the period at the end should add the perfect touch—you grin to yourself in pride at that one. instantly, bubbles pop up and indicate he’s typing again. your smile very quickly drops.
wow ur a rly dry texter aren’t u?
that’s ok i don’t judge
so how bout the party?
i can be ur escort ;)
it’ll be fun!
from his side of the screen, gojo watches as your contact shows notifications silenced at the bottom. he pouts to himself—no party, then, he thinks.
—————
gojo satoru, the guy who seemingly has everything he could ever want, likes you.
frankly, he’s not really sure why—at first, he finds you mildly amusing, and he thinks it’d be fun to have a short fling with you perhaps. somewhere along the line, however, that changes. he watches you dedicatedly take notes in class, no matter how tired you seem from work the night before. he notices the way you chew on your bottom lip when you’re really focused—it’s actually very cute, he thinks. and he’s entertained by the way you always have some smart little retort waiting on your tongue. you’re not boring—and more than anything, you leave him a little humbled. it’s refreshing, and he kind of likes it, if he’s being completely honest.
he’s never liked anyone before—it’s a weird feeling. at best, he’s had a crush where he could appreciate that someone is generally pleasing to the eye and has a personality that might mesh well with his, but he’s never yearned for someone before.
it just so happens to be his luck that the same person he wants more than anything in the entire world (for the first time ever, too) seems to hate his guts. it also happens to be that the same person he wants more than anything is currently getting asked out by some kid from the zenin family. right in front of him. and you’re saying yes.
why on earth would you say yes to a zenin of all people? don’t you value yourself?
gojo can admit that he’s had his fair share of heart robbing and tear inducing moments—he’s not exactly someone with the best track record for commitment, but at least he doesn’t use people for his own benefit. plus, he does, in fact, actually plan on committing to you. that zenin boy most certainly can’t be any good news if he’s anything like naoya, who gojo has met on a multitude of occasions, and knows very well is a scoundrel of a guy.
“see you at nine?” he hears the zenin (what was his name again?) ask you. you nod, smiling sweetly.
why don’t you smile sweetly at him like that? he buys you coffee every week. sure, he only gets to buy you the coffee because you have no choice but to meet him for the project, but he even offers to get you a slice of cake—you don’t ever accept, though, so he ends up eating both. but you do like coffee, very strong coffee that’s probably not sweet enough for his liking, but you enjoy the coffee he buys you nonetheless, and that has to count for something.
“sure, see you at nine,” you hum.
gojo watches in absolute shock (and abject horror) as you look down shyly. as soon as the zenin boy walks away, he stomps up to you.
“hey, what gives?” he asks petulantly, making your face paint on that irritated look that it always seems to adopt when he’s in the vicinity—how rude.
“what do you mean?” you ask tiredly, “i don’t speak toddler, so please use your words—”
“why’d you say yes to that zenin boy—”
“he has a name. it’s—”
“who cares what his name is? he’s an asshole! he won’t treat you right even if his mother’s life is on the line—”
“oh, and you would?” you raise an eyebrow, glaring at him. how is it his place to tell you who’d treat you right and who wouldn’t? how is it his place to even care?
“i would,” he gasps at the accusation, “you’d date a zenin but not me? how come?”
“because you’re annoying,” you counter like it’s obvious.
okay, now that is technically fair—gojo has heard his fair share of you’re annoying’s from people in his life. in fact, a good amount of them come from his own mother, but he’s also dashingly handsome, very good in bed, has soft hair, is tall and muscular, can buy you whatever you like, and can be smart and funny too if you really don’t care for those kinds of things. he’s the entire package and more. and more importantly, he’s not from the zenin family, and that automatically means you’ll actually be treated with an ounce of respect.
he looks at you incredulously, feelings a little hurt. “that’s not true! name one annoying thing i’ve done—”
“you laughed in the middle of me speaking in class.”
“that wasn’t at you! suguru showed me something funny on his phone—”
“and you took like twenty minutes in line ordering the most sweetest drink on the menu while i was running late—”
“you can’t use that against me, that’s not fair! i’m a paying customer, i should be able to get whatever i want. plus, it’s technically not my fault you were late.”
“you rubbed in the fact that you had a black card.”
“you mentioned it first!”
“you were late to our first meeting for the project.”
“okay, that was an honest mistake! people are allowed to make those, you know—”
“i don’t want to go out with you,” you say frustratedly, “and it’s really annoying when you act like a spoiled brat that can’t handle the word no and keep on insisting, okay? so leave me alone unless it’s to discuss our project—which weighs fifty-five percent of our grade, by the way, so don’t even think about getting lazy.”
he is not lazy, he wants to argue.
but before he can, you roll your eyes and take a step to walk around him, leaving him there to blink in shock. okay, he thinks with a huff, so you’re playing hard to get. that’s no matter, he’s good at the chase anyway.
—————
the date doesn’t seem to have gone well. gojo can tell because your eyes are slightly red and puffy, and you’re extra grouchy today in class. your professor seems to have noticed, too, because instead of calling on you today, she calls on gojo extra as a rare show of mercy.
gojo doesn’t mind—this class is surprisingly easy, and he’s bored half the time anyway. he might as well indulge the uptight professor in an ugly brown pencil skirt and answer her pretentious questions that aren’t as complex as she thinks they are.
“so,” he finally breaks the silence, “how was your date—”
“if you’re looking for a chance to say i told you so, just get it over with, you jerk,” you grumble. he raises his eyebrows in surprise before both hands go up in surrender.
“i wasn’t,” he says genuinely, “you just…uh…you look upset, is all.”
you hesitate for a short second, gauging his sincerity for a moment before sighing and slumping on the desk, cheek resting on your arm. gojo resists the urge to poke the soft flesh—it’ll probably make you mad, and you’re already in a bad mood.
“he was…pushy,” you say quietly, “i don’t really believe in taking things far on the first date. he didn’t like that.” instantly, his fists clench tightly, eyeing you from the side carefully, almost in concern. “nothing happened,” you wave off, “but he did make me feel disgusting,” you mutter.
“yeah, well, he is a zenin,” he points out, “they’re…well, my family’s known them for a while. my mom hates them.”
you look over at him in mild interest, raising an eyebrow. “don’t tell me there’s drama in the rich community,” you gasp, “i thought you all just came as one to sip fancy wine and laugh at the poor together.”
he snorts, throwing you a toothy grin that you think for a moment is kind of cute—but that doesn’t mean he’s any different from the rest of the rich folks. someone of gojo satoru’s caliber has no business mixing with someone of yours—it’s common knowledge. gojo has everything he wants, and if he doesn’t, it’s a simple matter of asking before it’s his. there’s simply no way you can mold into his world to be what he needs you to be, and when the time inevitably comes when he realizes you’re not what he wants, well…you’d like to save yourself the wounded pride and crushed soul while you can.
“sometimes we have fancy appetizers too with the wine,” he jokes, “don’t forget those.”
“oh, my apologies,” you chuckle. gojo likes it when you laugh, he decides. it looks much better than when you’re glum—he thinks seeing your lips quirked in anything other than a smile is a waste of your perfect features, and he can’t have that.
“my mom married my old man in this stupid arranged marriage or something,” he explains casually, like it’s just the norm. you suppose it is—for the rich, at least. you wonder briefly if gojo will have a marriage planned for his future, too, and you wonder if he’s okay with that. surely it’ll be some wealthy and fancy socialite of a girl that fits his family’s standards. someone who’s not you—not that you care anyway, you wouldn’t marry him regardless. “my grandma wanted her to marry the zenin, but she said no. said he treated her like a piece of meat every time they met, so she settled for my dad instead. lucky her, 'cause now i’m her son,” he beams.
settled—something about the way he says it makes you think his parents must not really care for each other as a husband and wife should. it makes you think briefly about what his childhood might’ve been like, not watching his parents happy and in love the way they should be. but still, the way gojo talks about his mother is fond, with a gentle smile on his face as he recalls the things she’s told him. you can’t help but smile a little too.
“i think that makes you the lucky one,” you snort, “you’d still be her son. just that you’d be a zenin.”
he crinkles his nose at the thought, dramatically shivering and making you giggle. “gross,” he gags.
“well, now you have her to thank,” you hum, “your dad would’ve been…whoever the zenin she was supposed to marry is.”
“yeah, well, trust me,” he mumbles, his smile dropping ever so slightly, “my old man’s not that big of an upgrade from a zenin. even my grandfather’s sick of him. imagine being such a douche, your own dad can’t stand you.”
you’re learning more about gojo in one sitting than you ever imagined (or planned) to learn—part of that is because he seems like he’s the type to overshare on the first meet; the other part…well, you have to be honest with yourself, it’s not exactly a bad pastime hearing him talk about himself. gojo is an odd piece of work, and you can’t say you hate learning about the little pieces that come together to make him so weird.
okay, perhaps weird is a bit rude, you think—he’s…unique.
“oh, so you’re the dictionary definition of a rich boy, huh?” you hum, resting your cheek on your hand as you sit up and face him—gojo, for a quick moment, feels his heart stutter when you talk to him like that: with your undivided attention like he’s the only one in the room.
“what makes you say that?”
“daddy issues is like…the first thing in the rich boy starter pack.”
he laughs at that, smooth and almost sweet—it’s a dangerous thing. it’s easy to attract you to him, like a bee to honey, with the way his lips curl like that, showing off his dimples. but the bees can easily turn into maggots—and you don’t want to find yourself as a dead carcass by the end of this.
“i don’t have daddy issues,” he says smoothly, “that old man should sleep with both eyes open. if anything, he has son issues.”
“you’re hands down the oddest person i have ever met,” you mumble.
“what was that? did you say hottest? yeah, i know—”
“shut up, jackass,” you scowl, shoving his shoulder when he leans closer with a bat of his lashes. he laughs, and so do you—and just for one, quick, momentary instance, gojo satoru is not so bad. dangerous and a bad choice maybe, a setup for a big mistake perhaps, something you should stay away from, in fact.
but not so bad.
“how about i show you what it’s like to go on a date with a gojo,” he grins, winking easily. he’s persistent—very persistent, you note. “you might like it a lot more than a zenin.”
“no, thank you,” you hold a hand up, “never going to happen.”
“never say never,” he hums, “you might eat your words.”
—————
“hey, satoru?”
“that’s not my name.”
“that actually is your name,” you say tiredly.
“hmph,” satoru rolls over, dramatically tugging the blankets over his body as he shuffles away from you, “not to you, it’s not.”
you sigh, pursing your lips at his antics. “oh my god. okay—hey, toru?” you correct yourself. and just like that, he turns back around, grinning brightly as he inches closer until his head is resting on your chest.
“yes, baby?” he says sweetly, earning a roll of your eyes as your fingers weave into his hair. it’s soft—you don’t think you ever want to let go.
“it’s way better dating a gojo, by the way,” you murmur, “than a zenin.”
“oh yeah?” he grins smugly, arm draping over your body as he kisses your jaw, “i told you it would be, didn’t i?”
“i haven’t dated other rich families to compare, though,” you tease, “you might get replaced.”
“unlikely,” he chuckles, “no one,” there’s a kiss to your jaw, “will love you,” another kiss to your cheek, “like me.”
finally, there’s a slow, soft kiss to your lips—and when he kisses you like that, you have no choice but to believe him.
satoru sooooo sends multiple texts back to back he just like me for real
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Hi! Can I please request a poly!Marauders x reader where the reader has a secret admirer? The reader is receiving anonymous gifts and letters, making the boys anxious and jealous. If not, it's okay! Thank you, author-san!
omg i love this! thank you so much, baby, hope this is okay! gn!reader x poly!marauders
cw: jealousy and possessiveness, borderline harassment and stalking, hickey
1.1k words
You groaned loudly when you opened the front door only to be greeted by yet another bouquet of flowers. You begrudgingly brought the arrangement into the house, setting it on the countertop.
"Again? That’s like the third this week, and it’s only Wednesday." Sirius said, exasperated and (almost) as annoyed as you.
"Fifth, actually." You hated that you were complaining, you knew you were technically very lucky to receive all these gifts, it was just distressing. And to be frank, getting very old.
"Christ, this person is thirsty." Sirius’ voice was strained, clearly more anxious than he was wanting to let on.
"At least it seems they don’t have much of a chance, anyone worth their salt knows that you hate roses, angel." James said, between mouthfuls of his sandwich.
"I know," You cringed. "Who should I give these to this time? Lily has enough flowers to open a shop" You rolled your eyes. "Speaking of," You reached into your work bag and pulled out two boxes. "There were chocolates at my work when I got there yesterday, and a pair of earrings on monday." You walked over to where Remus and Sirius were cuddled on the couch.
“Geez, dove. Are we gonna have to step up our game?” Remus said, voice tinged with jealousy.
"No, this person needs to step down. Or at least give me a return address or something. All the notes say is ‘from someone who appreciates you, xx.’ It’s actually kind of distressing." You handed the smaller box of earrings to Sirius, "Are these your style, honey?"
"What? You don’t want them?" He sounded surprised. Of course you didn’t! Why would you need presents from a random person when you have three boys who give you all the love you could ever need? (and in the way you like it)
"No, I would feel weird wearing them." You cringed, handing the larger box to Remus. "You can have these, I don’t even like cherry chocolate." Remus took the box like it was filled with poison, a disgusted tilt to his lips, just as Sirius dramatically dropped the jewelry box onto the coffee table.
"I don’t know whose grubby paws have been on this box." He sneered. You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, looking over to James who was still in the kitchen. He had set his sandwich down and was looking like a kicked puppy. It made your heart crack.
"Jamie, what’s wrong baby? Come here." You beckoned him over. He rushed to your side, placing his hand protectively on your shoulder and gripping you tight. You looked at your other two boyfriends, Remus’ jaw was clenched tight and Srius was still looking at the box and scowling.
"I jus’ don’t like it." James said from your side, his voice was small like a child's.
"Wait, hold on," You said, "Are you all actually worried about this?"
"Define ‘worried’ lovely," Remus said, his voice an awful mix of venomous and depressed. “I don’t think any of us like knowing there’s someone out there fighting for your affections.” His eyes had an angry glint to them.
“Guys,” You said, your heart only breaking further. “You have nothing to be worried about, okay?” James’ grip tightened on you. “There is absolutely no competition here, I’m not even giving these the time of day. I don’t want anything to do with the gifts or the person sending them.”
“But you would if we weren’t in the picture.” Sirius said quietly, all too insecure for your liking. You wormed your way out of James’ grasp, resulting in a whine being pulled from his throat, to crouch in front of Sirius. You grabbed his pretty face in your hands, looking into his sad eyes.
“No, I wouldn’t. I’m not impressed by these gifts.” You took a deep breath, not wanting to confess the next part and worry your boyfriends worse. “They actually kind of scare me.” You admitted, making all their eyes snap to you.
“Scared? Of what, darlin’?” James piped up.
“I just,” You cringed. “I don’t like knowing that there is someone this obsessed with me and I don’t know who they are. And that they know where I live and where I work. I mean, who knows how much they know?”
“Well now I feel like an arse.” Sirius grabbed you from the floor and hauled you onto the couch with him and Remus, wrapping himself tightly around you. “Here I was thinking this person was gonna get you away from us, not knowing they were worrying you.”
“You’re not, I promise!” You reassured. “Honestly, if there was someone doing all this for you three I would be really jealous too.” You placed a hand on two of your boyfriends’ thighs, looking over at James, who was still sulking, now sitting on the coffee table in front of you. “But I can assure you, even if I found out who this person was, they, and no one else, would be able to take me from you three. You aren’t getting rid of me that easy. Besides, I don’t like stalkers.” You joked.
Remus pulled you closer to him, gentle but still much more aggressive than usual. Your other two boyfriends had settled, but he was still heated.
“Remmy,” You turned to face him. “I promise, you have nothing to worry about.”
“I know,” He grunted, burying his face into your neck. You wanted to shrink at the ticklish feeling but you allowed him to stay there, knowing he needed it. Remus had a jealous streak, perhaps the most of all your boyfriends. James and Sirius were more subtle in their protectiveness, but Remus started marking you all like a wolf anytime someone let their gaze linger too long. You buried your fingers in his hair and scratched his scalp, trying to relax him.
“As soon as I find out who this is I will get them to stop, I promise.” You said vehemently. You looked guiltily at all your boyfriends, “I’m sorry this is happening, it isn’t fair to you all.”
“It’s not your fault, dolly.” Sirius placed his hand on your back. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for, you aren’t asking for this.” You were about to hug him, but Remus held fast around your waist, you started to protest, but you felt Remus’ lips latch to a spot on your neck, nibbling and sucking hard enough to sting, but not hurt. The sound you let out was half giggle and half moan.
“Christ, Moons!” James barked, “You trying to brand them or something?” The three of you started giggling like children. Remus released your skin from his teeth, observing the red and purple splotch that was left in his wake.
“Gotta make sure they know what’s mine.” He said, possessively. “Don’t worry," His eyes glinted furiously at your two other boyfriends, "you two are next.”
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