FTM Frat!Gojo x Male!Reader
note: Frat!Gojo x Male!Reader. MLM because I said so. Also, trans Gojo slightly implied because this is my world, and I do what I want. Gojo being drunk and dumb while his poor boyfriend has to pick him up.
Gojo was campus-famous—the most popular guy, some said. Everyone thought they knew him: big dick, player, flirty, cocky. Untouchable.
And did Gojo play into it? Of course he did. He loved it.
Basically, everything they said was true… well. Maybe not. But that didn’t matter. What people believed was more important than what was real.
It was another party, and, of course, Gojo had been invited. He was the life of the party — why wouldn’t he be? The second he stepped inside, it was like the music turned up just for him. Girls were already crowding close, hands sliding over his chest and arms. Guys clapped him on the back, laughing too loudly, acting like they were lifelong friends because everyone knew being Gojo’s friend automatically made you cooler.
He was wearing something casual, comfortable — like always. A white shirt tight enough to show every line of muscle, stretching across his chest and shoulders. Grey sweatpants hung low on his hips, the band of his boxers peeking out whenever he lifted his arms, and the shirt rode up with it. A black hat sat backwards on his head, white hair poking through the opening. Effortless.
The party blurred on — bass heavy, lights low — when suddenly a camera flash went off from somewhere in the crowd.
He lifted one arm, flexing his bicep with an exaggerated smirk. The silver chain around his neck caught between his teeth as he curled his tongue against it. His shirt rose slightly from the movement, “Calvin Klein” on his boxer waistband clearly visible. A silver bracelet flashed on his wrist as he winked one bright blue eye at the camera.
Hours later, though, he was absolutely wrecked.
People were still dancing, still shouting over the music. Gojo felt like he could hear colours and see the air moving around him. Everything was warm, hazy, and funny. He was giggling at nothing, swaying a little where he stood — but he kept glancing down at his phone.
He wouldn’t ignore him, right?
Third: daddy needs you here xx
And then they just kept coming, each one less coherent than the last.
babydrunkcomeJacobs housebaby car
He was texting like he knew ten words total. Could you blame him? A few minutes later, someone yelled over the music, “Yo, someone call over y/n?”
Y/n was liked. Admired. But he wasn’t a jock. People weren’t constantly watching him, measuring him. And that was good.
Because when Gojo heard it, he straightened a little and called out, “Oh—” hic “—it’s my… my buddy. Pickin’ me up.” His words slurred together as he pushed through the crowd, laughing at nothing.
Outside, the night air hit him hard. He stumbled down the steps and practically collapsed against the passenger door of the car.
Y/n didn’t even get to step out before Gojo was pressing his phone against the window, showing him the picture — the flexing one. The wink. The chain between his teeth.
“Look,” Gojo grinned, flushed and glassy-eyed. “Aren’t I hot?”
He was bold tonight. Too bold. Probably because he was drunk. Because people couldn’t know about them.
Y/n’s car was expensive. The kind of expensive that made people pause mid-conversation and glance out the windows. Even the ones lingering outside couldn’t help staring, trying to figure out who it belonged to. The headlights alone screamed money.
But Gojo didn’t care about the car.
All he saw was the silhouette in the driver’s seat. His boyfriend. His ride.
If he were sober, maybe he would’ve felt bad about dragging y/n out at one in the morning with a string of cryptic, barely literate messages about being drunk. Maybe he would’ve realised how concerning “baby car” sounded with no context.
Poor y/n was probably worried sick.
From inside, he watched Gojo lean his full weight against the passenger door, phone still pressed dramatically to the glass. He could already tell how gone he was. Y/n’s shoulders drooped slightly, a slow exhale fogging the inside of the windshield. Of course. Of course this was how his night was going to end.
The window slid down just enough.
“Very,” he said smoothly, answering the question Gojo had asked seconds earlier about being hot. “I see it.” His voice was steady, controlled in a way that contrasted sharply with Gojo’s loose energy. “Now get in.”
God. Even slurred and swaying, Gojo reacted instantly to that tone. It always did something to him.
Y/n knew what was coming next before Gojo even opened the door. He’d either keep shoving the phone in his face to admire the picture again, or he’d dissolve into half-coherent rambling about how everyone at the party loved him. Maybe both.
And his boyfriend would listen. He always did.
He’d nod at the right moments, hum like he understood every tangled sentence, even when Gojo’s words blurred together. He’d keep one hand on the wheel, and the other ready in case Gojo leaned too far into his space.
Because for all the campus bravado, for all the “player” rumours and flexed biceps and camera flashes — this version of Gojo was his. Drunk. Clingy. Needy. And completely unaware of how soft he looked when he smiled just for him.
Gojo fumbled with the door handle, finally getting it open and collapsing into the passenger seat. He was grinning like an idiot, his eyes glazed and his cheeks flushed. The car smelled like y/n— that musky scent he always wore. It made Gojo feel warm and tingly inside.
Y/n didn’t say anything as Gojo practically fell into the passenger seat, but his eyes were glued to him. Tracking every movement. Making sure he didn’t hit his head, didn’t twist wrong, didn’t hurt himself in some careless, drunken way.
"Didja see?" Gojo slurred, shoving his phone under his boyfriend's nose. The picture was blurry due to his shaking hand, but he could still make out everything. The flex. The wink. The chain between his teeth. "I'm, like, so hot. Everyone thinks so."
His boyfriend flinched slightly when the phone was suddenly shoved inches from his face. He looked down at the picture again.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice softening despite himself. “Very hot.” It was practically a coo. He reached over to roll the window back up and pulled the door shut fully once Gojo was inside. The tinted glass sealed them off from the world, muting the noise of the party behind them. Privacy restored.
“Look at you,” Y/n added, glancing at the screen again before meeting Gojo’s flushed face. “Flexing in the picture. The man, aren’t you?”
He giggled, then leaned over to rest his head against y/n's shoulder. His hat fell off in the process, white hair sticking up every which way. Gojo didn't seem to notice or care.
He didn’t react when Gojo leaned heavily against him. He was used to it, the way Gojo folded into his space as if he belonged there. The man reached down when the hat slipped off his head, tossing it carelessly into the back seat without looking.
"You're here," he mumbled, nuzzling into y/n’s neck. "You came. I told ya I needed you, right?"
His words were running together, not making a whole lot of sense. But his hand found his boyfriend's thigh, squeezing it like he needed to make sure this was real. Like he needed to touch him to know he was actually there.
Gojo’s head tilted, nuzzling into his neck, warm and clingy. “Of course I came,” y/n muttered, voice low near his ear. “The texts ‘baby, car, Jacobs house’ aren’t really that comforting.”
"I danced with this girl," Gojo said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But I didn't, like, actually dance-dance with her. I just, like, grinded on her a little. 'Cause the music was bumpin' and I was feelin' it, y'know?"
He was rambling now, words tumbling out in no particular order. Y/n just had to listen and try to make sense of it. Which he always did. He was just so good at handling Gojo when he was like this — drunk and talkative and all over the place.
"Oh! And then I took a picture," Gojo said, holding his phone up again. "Lookit. I'm, like, the man. The strongest. Everyone says so."
He was still grinning, still proud of himself. Still acting like he was the shit, even though he could barely string two sentences together.
"But you're, like, the strongest too," Gojo said, his words starting to slow down a little. "'Cause you're, like, actually here. And you're, like, way hotter than anyone at that party."
He was drunk, and he was being sappy. But he meant it. Every word. Even if he couldn't quite say it right.
