Chapter Text
Did you really want to go to this frat party? No. Was it on the to-do list for the beginning of the year? Yes. That and you promised your friends that you'd introduce them to the world of frat parties. Secretly you prayed that they, like you, would also get bored of it and find other more exciting things to do like check out the underground scene.
As you waited for the doorman to open the door and approve all four of you for entry, you examined all of your friends. Kitty was checking and rechecking her jacket pockets for candy that she was absolutely sure she'd stored away. Angel had her headphones on which signaled that she was in "Quiet Mode". Honey was staring off into space, likely trying to find a constellation between the tree branches. And then there was you, sour-faced, motorcycle jacket clad, short skirted, fishnet-wearing, cigarette smoking you—nicknamed "Clover" or "Clove" for short.
You examined your nails to pass the time, tired of doomscrolling on your phone. Everybody you wanted to talk to was standing right with you and you all needed a moment to gather your own bearings before walking inside. You checked your hearing protection, making sure they were lodged safely in your ears because you'd be damned before you started losing your hearing from shitty trap music. When were you going to outgrow your love of black stiletto nails? Probably around the same time you'd stop smoking when you're stressed: never.
The door opens and you're hit with the smell of weed and booze. It's almost enough to turn you away, but you're not backing down in front of your friends. An obnoxious looking blond man wearing a nametag reading "Naoya" immediately zeroes in on you and your friends. You were right, miniskirts were the currency around here.
"Freshmen?" he interrogated Angel for some unknown reason. She was still in "Quiet Mode" and waved him off, adjusting her white thigh-highs. You had to applaud her ability to ignore men when she didn't want to speak to them. Kitty and Honey hold back their tittering long enough for you to save the day.
"Sophomores, actually," you lie effortlessly. You know this man can't tell women apart if he was paid a yearly salary and wouldn't bother cross-checking, "Took a year off to Italy." It wasn't an entire lie, but who needed details. Naoya glares at you for seeming even remotely cultured but waves you all in anyway. You hear Honey shriek as the sound of Naoya slapping her ass faintly reaches your ears. She hurries up next to you.
"You know I can kill him and make it look like an accident," you tell her, glancing back to the man who's ushering in another set of ladies. She squeezes your hand in reassurance that your disposal services were not needed…yet. Inside the party looks almost exactly how you thought it would except for the proselytizing Magic the Gathering player, that was a new feature. That and the confetti. What the fuck?
In the kitchen you're disappointed to know that the beer is half Heineken and half Budweiser and you'll have to be the bartender. You grab four red solo cups and do quick 2 ingredient cocktails. Cranberry and vodka for Honey, rum and coke for Kitty, gin and juice for Angel, and lastly Dr. Pepper and whiskey for yourself.
"Heineken? Seriously?" Kitty holds up a bottle in disgust, "They didn't even give us bottle openers."
"At that rate just eat bread. It's tastier," you hand out the cups to the group and immediately rehash the game plan.
"I don't care what happens, if you feel uncomfortable, run and find us," Kitty starts off after taking a swig from her cup, "Mid-sex, mid makeout session, beer pong, doesn't matter. One goes, we all go." She came up with that rule when you all first met. It was important that you all had each other's backs. You couldn't afford to blow off someone's concerns.
"The cops show up, what do we do?" Angel's already finished her cup and is shaking it nervously to prevent someone from drugging it.
"If we're indoors, act like we don't know what's going on. If we're outdoors, run. If we can reach the exits before they spot us, leave." Honey is counting the scenarios on her fingers.
"What are the signs to leave?" she asks the final question and the one that we've had to go over multiple times to get it to stick.
"The fun people are gone, someone busts out coke, guys start fighting," you reply and then add, "Someone starts talking about religion." You all exchange glances, ready for any questions that might pop up. After a phone check (passwords, battery, speed dial) you all split up and go your separate ways. Angel stays at the kitchen, Kitty goes to the smoker's circle, Honey goes upstairs, leaving you to figure out where to go. You finally decide to wait a minute before going upstairs.
After dodging several couples you make it to the second floor where you see a game of strip poker in progress. A white haired guy stumbles out of the room laughing hysterically, saying he'll be right back just before you enter the room. You decide to sit on the couch next to a few other people and watch the game unfold.
"You cannot be fuckin serious bro—I paid 200 bucks for that shirt!" a guy with a body built for sin and a scar on the side of his mouth is already irate and the game barely even started.
"Well idk man, maybe stop gambling?" a guy with an devilish expression, gauged ears, and a prettier face than he deserved snatches the shirt out of the clothing pile and drops it on his lap.
"Rules are rules Toji. Don't like it? Don't play," another guy with pink hair and a dark undercut places his cards facedown and folds his hands under his chin, "Plus you're scaring the ladies." His eyes dart in your direction. Toji grits his teeth and picks up his cards.
A few minutes later they're settled into another game. You're wondering if you want to join in if only for the thrill of it, starting with your jacket. You sip your drink and relax, taking in your observations. Toji is an impulsive player. Prettyboy is extremely sly and cautious—he also keeps rage-baiting Toji. Pink hair looks like he's not having fun and will probably fold with just his shirt gone, not that he seems to mind.
"Hey, you girl!" he calls out to you, "Take over for me."
"You can't do that Sukuna!" Prettyboy yells.
"I'm cool with it," Toji is grinning as if his faith in humanity has been restored.
"Fine by me," you reply, shrugging off your jacket, "It's genuine leather, worth 700 dollars. I want a new set of cards." You drop your jacket on the pile of clothes and everyone throws in their cards and a new game begins. A woman named Iori with a nasty scar but a pretty face cuts the deck and deals the cards out.
"Make me proud, Doll," Sukuna throws up deuces before he leaves.
You know a thing or two about poker and your parents taught you to gamble a few times. You got lucky on a few horse races and tripled your allowance once—they never let you do that again. You didn't have the best poker face, but no one here knew that except for the Prettyboy who may or may not have guessed your hand by the way your eye twitched when you glanced at your cards. Anyway, what you really wanted to know is if Mr. Loriel Paris had his nipples pierced. That was it.
"Suguru you can't keep cheating like that!" Iori smacks him in the shoulder.
"Ow! I wasn't!" he protests, clutching his shoulder in fake pain. Oh but he was, you noticed it. It was probably the same way he'd managed to get Toji's shirt. Oh no, this wouldn't do. You needed to get his shirt and shoes at least. You take off your garters and add it to the pile, giving Toji an eyeful under your skirt. He was part of your plan too, and Suguru needed to know that.
Several minutes later Toji and Iori fold but Iori stays to keep score. You managed to get Toji to rage quit by winning his belt and got Surguru to finally bet his own shirt. You were disappointed that his nipples weren't pierced but seeing his physique was enough for you. Now he just needed to stay shirtless the whole night.
"How're you feeling about your hand, babe?" he asks you, a smirk gracing the corner of his mouth. You give a low whistle.
"I don't know liebe, we've been at it for a minute now…" you don't bother trying to feign defeat, "Did you want to raise the stakes or something?" He considers it a moment, dark hair falling into his eyes.
"If I win, I get to see those tits of yours and pound your pussy," he tosses a condom from his pocket onto the clothes, "And if I enjoy it, you get your clothes back. If not, you can always try again. I can go all night." He gives you what can only be the male equivalent of bedroom eyes. The air goes tense as everyone waits for your reaction.
This man is so cheeky you can tell he only graduated about a year ahead of you. Part of you wants to just fold just so you can find out just how much heat he's packing. But your instincts can't be overrun by your desire to win. And unfortunately for this guy…
"I'm cool with that," you agree to his terms, "If I win, I get all the clothes here and…" he cocks an eyebrow, "I also get all the money in your wallet." His expression changes to one of disappointment. You take the condoms out the side of your boot and throw it onto the pile, "And I'll fuck you if I like what you're working with." Someone in the room straight up laughs at the number of condoms you've dropped. Suguru's eyes go wide and he licks his lips nervously, as if he probably oversold his stamina.
"Alright, if you two agree to the terms, show your hands!" Iori raises her hand and drops it.
Suguru has a flush.
You have a full hand.
"Your loss Pretty Boy."