𝜗𝜚 fratjo and his emo girlfriend!
reader has piercings, fratjo w/ a tongue piercing, both sfw + nsfw themes
Nobody ever, ever expects you and bf!fratjo to be dating. Like, nobody. Everybody usually expects that a six feet tall (and throw a generous few more inches on top of that), extroverted, extremely loud frat president would end up with somebody who matches him more. Visually, that is; you’d probably anticipate his girlfriend to be a ditsy sorority girl, one who he can take to all of his parties and flaunt her new bleached-and-toned hair.
And her personality would probably be the same too, they imagine.
Instead, if somebody wants to find Gojo’s girlfriend, they have to take a diversion from the frat house and walk half an hour around to the liberal arts college, where they’ll probably find you perched in a quiet corner of the cafe sketching something into a book with your head down.
Bf!fratjo, who met you totally by accident. He was trying to find the best place to balance a bucket of ice water on a doorway to soak the new pledges, which just so happened to be the door you needed to pass through for your lecture on art restoration. Because he was so engrossed in squinting at the doorframe, stupid backwards baseball cap catching the light, he didn’t actually realise you were there until you sidestepped him.
“Sorry.” You’d murmured, “I need to get past here.”
“Oh, sure, sure.” He’d said breezily, confidently waving you past like any other student- but then he saw your face, and almost choked on his next sentence.
Bf!fratjo, who was instantly smitten with your precise wings of eyeliner and reams of interesting jewellery, chunky cuffs stacked up on your arms that catch the light in the building as they grasp your pin-covered bag on your shoulder. “Are… you okay?” You’d said, eyeing him up suspiciously. “Yes!” He’d said back immediately, “yes. A lot. Very.”
Bf!fratjo, who saw you again the week after, balancing the bucket of icy water above the same doorframe as last time. Gojo stands back, proud of himself, before his perfect face immediately drops when he sees you walking towards the door. And, more pressingly, the absolutely huge bucket on top of it.
“Wait, don’t-“ Gojo shrieks uncharacteristically, shoving you out of the way. You stumble sideways and turn back around, pissed off because just who the fuck does this frat president think he is? “What the hell are you doing- oh!” You blink, makeup-shimmered eyes wide in shock.
Gojo stands in front of you, soaked and shivering in icy water, leaking right through his shirt so it clings to his sculpted chest and arms. But you’re more concerned about his face, the way he looks genuinely embarrassed and just a tad proud of himself for managing to save you. You laugh right in his face, and Gojo just keeps grinning abashedly. “I’ll buy you a coffee in thanks.”
Bf!fratjo, who eagerly accepts your invitation and bounds all the way after you to your favourite artsy cafe in the building, then gets told to ‘shush!’ by at least two different guys pouring over science textbooks and receives multiple dirty looks from all the history students working on their essays. But, you just smile and pay for his coffee- and the rest was history, if you ask him.
Bf!fratjo, who pleads for months to get you to attend a frat party, only to choke on his own breath when you knock on the door. If he thought you couldn’t look any better, he was wrong (as usual)- because here you are, your makeup meticulous and nothing like most other girls in the building, your outfit even more of an alternative to all their clothes. Which aren't necessarily bad, but you look so stunning it dazzles the rest of them out of the way completely. And Gojo can’t get enough.
Bf!fratjo, who’s favourite activity is to rifle nosily through your wardrobe as your playlist hums in the background- he’ll add some of those songs to his later- and pick out combinations of clothes you wouldn’t have considered otherwise. He also likes letting you practice your eyeliner on him, but he struggles with keeping his eyes open long enough for you to do his waterline.
Bf!fratjo, who comes with you to any concert and stands behind you for the full set, biceps wrapped around your chest as he protects you from the crowd surges. He doesn’t look like he should be there at all, a mess of white hair and expensive jeans, but when people see you holding hands they tend to understand.
Bf!fratjo, who also acts as a stand-in muse for your classes, allowing you to gently angle his face into different lighting and sits there for hours as you sketch his features onto paper.
“Hey, babe, maybe I could be a nude model next.”
You snort. “Yeah, I think my professor is good.”
Bf!fratjo, who- while he loves your eyeliner as it is- unlocked something inside himself the first time you turned your face over your shoulder during sex and he realised how much it was smudged across your face; along with eyeshadow and whatever else you’d applied beforehand, all of it rested smeared against your cheeks and temples.
And Gojo came immediately, of course, but you were so fucked-out he didn’t think you cared.
Bf!fratjo, who also has a penchant for fucking you in the outfits you wear. He likes bunching fabric up, tearing through fishnets and patterned tights, thumbing over the ruffled fabric of your layered shirts and grabbing at bracelets. “Such a shameeee,” he coos, voice singsong and irritating as usual. “I really liked these tights on you, baby, the purple looked super sexy.”
You roll your eyes the best you can while scrabbling at his back. “Buy me another pair, then, a-asshole- shit, there!” You gasp, hips bucking as Gojo manages to rub his veined length across all of your sensitive spots.
You have many piercings visible, ones decorating your ears and nose and one punctured through your eyebrow; you're also debating on your lips. But that's the one category your boyfriend beats you in, but he only has one piercing- and it's on his tongue. Bf!fratjo likes to take his time dancing the silver orb over your clit and grinning as you squirm on his mouth.
Bf!fratjo, who's greedy with the way you taste. He'll rip through whatever underwear you're wearing before shoving his already glimmering face into your swathes of slick, head shaking obscenely side to side as his hands reach up to yank your bra down and play with your tits.
Bf!fratjo, who almost went insane when you got your nipple piercings done and had to wait the agonisingly long healing period before you let him touch them. And when he was granted permission, finally, he almost sobbed tears of joy at "just how fucking pretty they are" before swiftly swiping his fingers over the sensitive peaks of skin.
"I love you," he sighs happily, kissing profusely along your spit-slicked chest. "You're the hottest girl I've ever seen."
Bf!fratjo, who generally refuses to study at all, but takes great pleasure in distracting you from your work. “Not now, Satoru, I’m writing my essay.” You groan, trying to shove his wandering hand away from your chest. “Well talk to me about it, then.” He whines petulantly, “please?”
Bf!fratjo, who likes listening to you talk. It could be anything- your favourite bands, lore of a game he hasn’t heard of (like, ever), and even lore of games he has heard of, because you always manage to know more about it than him.
“What do you mean you didn’t know Henry Emily and William Afton is like, one of the biggest ships in the fandom?” You say, “that’s almost sacrilegious. I bet you’re gonna tell me you don’t know about warrior cats next.”
Gojo blinks at you, wide blues heavy with confusion. “What?”
“Oh my god,” you despair, absentmindedly fidgeting with your eyebrow piercing, “how are you so uneducated on this? Not even Brendon Urie? Not even-“ you gasp, “-Deftones? Surely you know Deftones, a lot of people don't even count them as emo-“
“Oh, no I know those.” Gojo nods proudly, “I posted an insta dump to ‘I watched you change’ last week.”
“That’s... not the song name.” You groan.
Bf!fratjo, who loves you in full makeup, dressed up with styled hair and shoes and stacks of jewellery and handmade bracelets- but he also loves when you’re just you. Not to say he doesn’t think you’re you when you’re fully ready, but he likes when you collapse on his bed after a full day of classes.
Bf!fratjo, who lives for when you scrub off all your makeup and scrape your hair back, clatter your jewellery on the side, then crawl into bed next to him in one of his shirts and your underwear. “Bad day.” You murmur into his chest, and his arms gladly accept you to pull you closer. “Terrible, even.”
“That suuuucks, babe.” Bf!fratjo sympathises, “we should, like, watch a movie or something, and I have some of those snacks you kept asking about in my minifridge.”
You look up at him, barefaced and hopeful. “Really? Can we watch The Craft this time?”
Gojo flashes you his perfect, frat-pres smile. “Whatever you want, babe.”
a/n: disclaimer that I’m not emo in the slightest so I tried to make this as ambiguous as I could to every possible subculture of the style <3 + this was a req- ty anon for the idea!
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