Crazy, crazy, crazy lovers <3
Based on this lovely request!
Tags: [18+] crazy, toxic girlfriend!reader x toxic, nerd!jo. Established relationship (dating), whole lotta stalking, mdni, sugessive, agressive gf, manipulation, controlling… wc: 4.7k
You considered yourself the luckiest girl ever when Gojo Satoru accepted your confession and became your boyfriend soon after.
He’s not the flashy, frat, parties every single night kind of boy—quite the contrary, the Satoru you and the whole JJKU campus knows is the quiet, alluringly handsome man who weaves through crowds without the soles of his shoes even making noise but whose presence already attracts everyone’s eyes.
You, like many other girls who thought they had a chance with him, fell quick and hard for his subtle appearance, soft and mellow blue orbs, and clean scent.
He is everything you want to bring back home—educated, smart, sweet… the list could go on.
Maybe that was what got you so hooked.
Your little crush over him which eventually turned into you falling in love with him quickly escalated when you realised you actually wanted him all for yourself.
Far away from prying eyes and hungry college girls who drooled over his appearance like it was the only attractive thing about him.
It started small, you knew his schedule by heart—casually found it out through his classmates after you’d just batted your eyelashes at some desperate nerds who would probably kiss the ground you walk on if you ever asked them to with that honeyed voice you possess—giving you the opportunity to always hover around his circle.
Stand in the far end of the hallway while pretending to chat with Utahime from sports medicine (she shares a hall with the astrophysicists department) while you eyed his every move from your peripheral vision.
For the first few months when you still kept your growing interest at bay, you convinced yourself that you were just living the middle school experience you never had because you never cared enough for the late bloomers at your school.
But then it kept getting worse.
You’d sit near his group in the cafeteria, ditching your peaceful lonely lunches in the roof of the psychology building to sit with your classmates—the plastic personality bitches you can’t believe intend to help people with their mental health one day while they make fun of depressed people over tasteless cafeteria salads—just to overhear his voice and what he’s interested in.
The first week of doing so, you’d already gathered that he likes tuna onigiris a lot but doesn’t have them as frequently anymore because his mom lives overseas now and that he’s bringing Nanami from business to the baseball game Friday?
Did you have tickets for the game? No.
Was there enough time for you to even obtain said tickets a day beginning the event? Also no.
But did you know that one of your classmates brother was a batter and that he once had a crush on you? Yes.
Safe to say it didn’t take much for Aoi Todo to fold and get you a free pass—perks of being his type, you guess.
So, Friday. Deliberately dressed in dark blue because you knew he liked it—yes, you found that out too from eavesdropping on their conversations during break time, along with some other miscellaneous pieces of information—and beat up converses to make it seem like you didn’t actually put too much effort into your appearance, you were sat in the sea of people on the cheap plastic bleachers.
Half scared, half anticipating, 100% hopeful.
Your eyes found him immediately.
Two rows down, not close enough for him to notice you and for the pieces in his head to make it seem like you have been following him, but close enough for you to smell his signature smell—fresh linen, clean musk. Comfortable, him. Already yours without knowing it.
The match continued on. People swinging their hands in the air once their team was in the lead, others screaming at the runners to—you guessed it—run.
You, never the biggest fan of sports, had your eyes on the white tuff of hair down the front.
He wasn’t wearing his glasses, his hair was neatly brushed back—maybe even gelled, maybe not. Staying in place like it was obeying a position it was told to hold. Who wouldn’t listen to Gojo Satoru?
Lost in your thoughts, you barely notice how he’s gotten up from his seat while you zone out—staring off into really nothing, trying to draw into reality how it would feel to brush your fingers through his soft-looking locks.
But once you do come crashing down from your daydream, you’re scurrying onto your feet immediately—a plan of spineless ideas fusing into something stupid.
Something you shouldn’t do because the chances of working are slim.
Something you do anyways.
Dropping your jacket on your seat. Leaving it for your classmate to look after, you skip down the stairs on the side of the seats and follow many steps behind Satoru to the food stands.
You feel your heartbeat pick up when you see that he has done exactly what you anticipated him to do—grab a drink.
He’s holding one comically large blue slushy in one hand, the other shakily grasping the change from the vendor and his wallet at the same time.
Amateur, you momentarily think—mentally rolling your eyes. But when it’s him, it’s almost endearing how much he’s struggling.
Almost enough for you to feel bad for what you’re about to do.
That was when it all started.
Bouncing on your heels, you act like you’re distracted by the match going on in the background while walking towards the same drink stand—a ball flying over the net and becoming visible from where you’re both outside of the field—and…
Crash right into Satoru’s huge blueberry drink!
You didn’t mean to trip too, but it sold your act all the better.
Satoru immediately scrambled to help—stuttering out a long stream of desperate apologies as if he were the one at fault.
You’re drenched, feeling the cold liquid run down your sternum, internally wincing and praying this all works out because you’ve just humiliated yourself bad.
Unfortunately yet fortunately for you, scraping your knee hurt more than you had expected it to, making tears brim your eyes and dampen your eyelashes.
Turning you into some sad angel in his eyes while you recover a bit from the sting and finally look up at his anxious figure looming over you—shielding your vision of the falling sun in the background and basking him in golden lighting.
“I’m—I-“ You can see the strings of his heart tangle in real time as he eyes you all over, from the way your knee is red and raw, from the way your skirt has ridden a bit too far up and exposing just the smallest piece of upper thigh.
To the imprint of the ground on your soft palm and the rocks stuck to it. Then for last, the sight of your glossy lips pulled into a shaky pout and your watery eyes.
Oh Satoru was gone from the beginning for you.
“No! Don’t apologise.” You softly said, mustering up a perfectly practised smile even through the sting of your fresh wounds—worth it.
“But—“ He started which you stopped immediately.
“I wasn’t looking at where I was going.” A pause happened as you push yourself off your hands.
“I’m sorry about your slushy.” You sheepishly say, looking everywhere but those worried azure eyes.
Satoru gasps once you straighten up, immediately jumping and pulling his jacket off—draping it over your shoulders without a second thought.
Without knowing just how much that would drive you insane.
Under the gentle brush of his fingertips over your shoulders, your whole body tenses. Breathing cutting short and mind rewiring.
“It’s—uh-fine. Your shirt…” Now, it was his time to avoid eye contact to not shamelessly stare at the shape of your tits in your bra poking through your wet shirt.
You softly hum after realising what happened, clutching the piece of clothing harder around you—inhaling his scent, losing yourself in it for a brief second.
Recomposing yourself, you breathe out. “Come on, I’ll buy you a new drink.”
“No—There is no-“ Once more, you interrupt. Voice light, gaze warm.
He follows, gets a red slushy after you recommend it, and starts to understand why people think love at first sight exists when you successfully manage to have him spend his first moments with you instead of watching the match.
Things with him felt like being on a never ending honeymoon—granted, the first few months are considered like a holiday.
But you were so sure things would never change between the both of you.
For a while, your excessive need to know everything about him at any moment and anytime subdued as he would keep you in his circle.
Updated about any little thing he would do—when he’d start studying and when he’d end. Where, what he ate, who he was with.
You were immensely satisfied.
You were both just eating lunch under a tree on campus after long hours in Anatomy 101 for you and Physics for Satoru.
A neat arrangement of tuna onigiri and egg rolls were in a bento you made that morning.
Your boyfriend had three egg rolls down his throat when a figure landed behind you.
The footsteps rooted themselves with a small thump that your ears caught.
Satoru choked on the food the second his eyes landed on her.
You had turned to find a girl who didn’t click in your mind—jet black hair, kind green eyes and an outfit that screamed effortless fall and warm cinnamon lattes.
It was so October, maybe because it was.
She slipped into a conversation with him naturally without even assessing you, without even sparing you a single glance until your boyfriend mentioned you after she’d been droning on about how long it had been since she’d seen him.
Over that same orange-leaved, chilly weathered season, more side characters from a time in Satoru’s life where you didn’t exist started to appear.
It bothered you since the beginning.
They’d catch him in the most innocent ways—when he would be studying at the library, sweeping him off his concentration and throwing him into talks of the past.
Making him forget about the hourly updates, resulting in you prying all the time.
It didn’t help when that season you started studying infidelity in relationships, both platonic and romantic and class.
Thus, the seed of doubt falling into your mind.
And losing Satoru was a fear you couldn’t, rather wouldn’t ever swallow.
To say everything escalated would be putting it lightly.
You resorted to the old pen and paper methods—suddenly becoming interested in anything he had to do.
Study in the library when you actually hate the place and it’s uncomfortable, wood chairs? Yes.
Grocery shop with him? Yes.
Go to the laundromat at the crack of dawn, half asleep, because he does his laundry early in the morning rather than late at night or just at a normal time? Yes.
The second you’d blink for too long, there was a new girl trying to cling onto his arm.
The worst part? He did push them off, always drew a line.
So even when the evidence was staring back at you in the face that he wouldn’t leave you.
Growing crazier by the day.
You were convinced you were going insane.
But it turns out you had a reason to.
On a random day just as the November cold was knocking hard on everyone’s door, you decided to surprise your boyfriend with hot cocoa late at night since you knew he was studying.
Carrying a warm mug in your freezing hand, you knocked once on his door to a blonde girl you’d never seen before, half naked, in his room.
He was in the background, on his chair, head buried in his notes.
There was a girl in flimsy pyjamas in his room.
Threw the hot cocoa on her.
Nearly woke up the whole dorm building when yelling at her to leave then accusing Satoru of cheating on you, hitting him in the chest and stepping on the glass shards on the floor while he tried to explain himself.
He’d never seen his sweet, picture-perfect girlfriend act out, let alone lash out on him.
It turned out to be a misunderstanding, apparently.
Apparently she knocked on his door, cold. Saying she needed a place to hide from the cold while she waited for her boyfriend to come.
Pushed him away so harshly that he stumbled over and stared back at you with wide eyes, a mouth parted and limbs uncomfortably twisted as he held himself upright against the desk he’d crashed into.
For the entirety of the next week, you spent it ignoring his every call knowing you were in the wrong if his story was real, and ripping your hair out.
You didn’t leave your room at all after the events. Partly embarrassed because the whole campus had found out about your crash out, and partly because your feet were too injured from the cuts you obtained walking on glass, to walk.
But Satoru came nearly everyday knocking on your dorm door until a week had passed and on day 7 he broke the door down to find you bedridden and still mad.
Your resolve ended up breaking the second you saw tears well up in his eyes at the sight of your feet.
He cleaned up your uncared for cuts and bandaged them up like you hadn’t given a girl first-degree burns for being within his premises in the middle of the night.
You didn’t apologise even when you had to.
You stopped him from apologising, unwilling to hear them by climbing onto his lap and riding him till his thoughts had melted into pools of nothing.
The cycle started somewhere around there, after your feet had healed enough for you to resume classes.
But this time, you walked with a newfound lightness.
Because Satoru had made the big mistake of moving you into his dorm so he could take care of you while you healed.
And you may have added a few tweaks to his room. He’d never notice the barely visible hole in his favourite pikachu decorative plushy right?
However, you noticed the peace that came with him knowing what he was doing in the middle of the night—how he fell asleep on his desk when he studied for too long, how he immediately pumped his dick and groaned loudly when you sent him a picture, only to text you sweet compliments after he took care of himself.
During the daytime you followed him around anywhere that didn’t include his lectures, but you stayed outside, just lurking like you once did before dating when you were free from your classes.
He would’ve never realised the true reason behind your clingyness.
But then of course, his friends.
Suguru was always too perceptive, too sharp.
He kept going “don’t you find it weird that your girlfriend has your passwords? Like for everything?”
“You’re always with her—you always bring her around. Breathe man, it’s like you have a leash on.”
Satoru would always brush him off and late at night come to you asking if you think you both spend too much time together.
You’d get emotional and say you’d feel unwanted if he didn’t want to be around you.
You were good at acting the clingy, loving girlfriend.
Always on top of his interests and future plans.
Always a step ahead of him—guiding him away from what he should or shouldn’t do.
Making sure your sweet little Satoru would never escape your hold!
Even if it meant sending death glares (and some death threats) to lingering eyes and curious girls.
You’re still to naive to think you’re the only one playing this game.
Satoru sleeps very well at night after checking on the multiple seamless, untraceable monitors he has scattered around your cluttered mess of a room.
He knows you’ve had him in your webs from way before the pieces of the game were even laid out.
But he’s the one who put down the table.
Where you think you accidentally bumped into him, Satoru willingly continued walking your way.
Consciously bumped his drink with your chest and accidentally knocked you over when he only intended to get you to follow through with your act.
Where you think you’re one step ahead, aware of everything your boyfriend does, Satoru is way more ahead of you.
Knowing your every thought.
Letting you play your own little game, thinking you’re keeping him away from the girls.
While he keeps anyone else from orbiting around you.
He purposely fucks up on occasions to test you.
Stands you up at a date with the excuse of being caught up in club activies that ran late just to see if you will crawl over to someone else since you can’t monitor him unlike he can when you’re not home.
Gets nervous, actually, when you’re so mad you threathen him with breaking up.
“Oh, baby. Come on, you don’t mean that.” His voice is so sweet, low and kind in that way that has your stomach filling with butterflies.
You slap him across that handsome face of his because he doesn’t look the least bit sorry with that barely suppressed smirk on his face.
“God! What is your issue!?” You yell, turning on your heels like a madwoman storming out. “Fuck you, Satoru!”
“Slow down, baby! You’re going to get hurt!” He follows immediately after, stumbling ofer his own steps as he trails behind you in the kitchen.
“This isn’t the first time you’ve done this! Am I a joke to you, huh?” A humoured chuckle leaves him, again, he fucked up.
You storm out without another word.
Man are you bipolar because you call him a billion times not even half-an-hour later, voice all shaky and sobs ripping from your chest as you cry into the speaker how sorry you are and how much you love him and how it’s fine that he gets held back, that he just needs to warn you because you understand that he is working for the future he promised you both.
He starts getting petty on some days after you both argue over minor things.
You wake up to a cold bed on one of the nights you stay over, a messy sticky note written in what seems like a hurry to escape from your side before you’re even awake that reads: “Need some space.”
Heart lurching, you flood his turned off phone with messages, mind racing with a billion thoughts of what “space” means.
Space??? Inside of another girl???
Meanwhile, Satoru calmly jogs through the football field.
He likes you a little crazy.
Cause you’re not like those other crazy girls.
You’re his kind of crazy.
He loves that you find him running anyway like you have filed somewhere in a notebook where he does at what time and when without him even telling you.
Biting down the proud smirk on his face, his caring, doting facade falls back into place as you come up to him panting from the run over.
“Baby?” You call out, hands settling on his sweaty forearms. He loves how you don’t care about that and keep one of his stolen sweaty shirts in your apartment for when he’s not around and loves that he can watch you through the cameras get off to the smell clinging onto the cotton.
He doesn’t reply just to worsen the case. Entirely enjoying this below his expressionless face.
“Baby?” You repeat, eyes shaking. Growing desperate. “What do you mean you need space? From me?”
“Say something!” You snap, shirking in size immediately when he shows the smallest twitch in his face of fear—all fake and thought out.
“I mean—uh.” He sees you trip over your words, a warm feeling buzzing in his chest.
“Is it over? Is it? I’m so sorry, baby. Is it what I said yesterday? I promise I don’t mean it, ‘toru—I”
It almost stirs a little guilt in him, seeing you almost cry. But he knows he can push your buttons just a little more by trying to walk away.
“‘Toru! Wait! Where are you going?! Stay! Stay with me!”
And you’re both soooo bad for each other.
MASTERLIST, JJK MASTERLIST, TAGLIST.
I have never written anything like this! My first try at insane people… Also I wasn’t really familiar with the song so im sorry if this is bad. Spamming cause my brain is on fire and i needa ride this motivation wagon before i crash and never write again. Also i broke my glasses and cant see and i broke my tailbone sooo…
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