【 五 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐒 】 ─── ❝ SAVE ME FROM MYSELF ❞
ㅤㅤㅤ══⊹⊱≼ fratjo × top!male!reader × nerdjo ≽
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : smau . no smut . drug usage . reader rightfully freaking out . out of character . sexual assault / harassment . angst? . drunk driving . DUI . actual written part . fratjo being a flirt despite all odds . hurt no comfort? . reader comes off as an asshole . misogyny? . objectification of women . sexism . getting drugged . rape ( can be interpreted as real or a dream, but the first half is real ) . non-con . alcohol .
𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑❜𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : I don't know how to feel about this one mainly because finding pictures for what I actually wanted was not possible so I tried to make do. I hope it still makes sense.
"Gojo?" you knocked on the door to his hospital room. Tenatively. In case of the worst, you didn't know if you should brace yourself for the worst or be glad he isn't dead at all.
The sight was almosr macabre. His entire right arm was wrapped taut with bandages, a faint red starting to bloom through the fibres. He had an oxygen mask on and a few (that's a severe understatement) more gauzes around his head and other arm. The only parts that were unconcealed by the weighted blanket.
Your steps were feather-light, afraid to wake him. Afraid to face the possibility that he may no longer be around.
You were not indebted to him. You didn't even tolerate him. But no one deserves to go the way he did. A true waste of the gift called life. And with someone as blessed as him? It really made no sense why he would be so reckless with his mortality.
The way you eyed whatever part you could of him wasn't subtle.
The way you tugged at the sleeves of your worn hoodie was telling.
The way your breathing never managed to even out, staring at his like you were trying to coax his breath out of him.
You were terrified, that was certain. Your own experiences never managing to numb themselves down. Even if this wasn't uncommon, you never got used to it.
"Ugh..." you heard the rasp. Your eyes perked up to his, your thighs practically glued to the outside of his hospital bed, expectant. Hopeful.
"Beats me." he remarked. He did so with conviction and confusion, but the slight haze in his eyes was a dead giveaway. But you chose not to press. He had to come clean himself.
Some moments pass, a silence you had always lived with. Not him. He couldn't bear it.
You stood there, waiting for him to start. "Rager at the house, as always." Of course. "Booze, bitches, loud-ass music." He managed to cackle — though weakly. You didn't even bother correcting him on referring to women properly, but what would that do?
"We drank. Got bored so we bailed. Too many people, too little alcohol."
"Went to get more bottles. Dudes from another campus came in and mentioned a party. So we got an address and went there instead."
Drove drunk twice and managed to survive? Was he just tipsy? Or has he just built a habit out of it enough that he could somehow function with alcohol in his bloodstream?
"Sad to say," he tsked. "That rager was way more of a rager than whatever the fuck we had."
Of course he'd be disappointed.
"God, they even had edibles. Poppers. It was wild." A wide grin stretched across his lips, the skin pulling apart due to the lack of proper hydration the amount of booze had left him in.
"The chicks were way out there too, like, damn." he hissed. "Swear to God some were straight-up hookers. But even the normal girls were hot as fuck."
"One of 'em came up to me. Proportions were wack. I swear she had them done but she insisted she's all natural. Said she thought I looked good as fuck," he licked his lips, wiggling his eyebrows (barely). "'Course I fed into her bullshit. Another chick to bag? Slender with heavy naturals? Sign me up."
You fought yourself from sighing or slapping him unconscious, opting to focus on knowing what had actually happened.
"Slutty, little waist; that hourglass figure was unbelievable. Full lips, she looked liked the perfect little thing to wreck. Imagine how those plump lips would feel around my cock. And I'm talking about both sets of lips."
Unamused was the least you were feeling with that statement, just waiting for when the tirade of his objectifying would end. Preferrably permanently.
"Imagine her crying when she gags. Like, imagine."
This shit needs to hurry the fuck up.
"Anyway, she came onto me, I came onto her. Suddenly, she was on my lap and pressing her tits into my face. She was a cocktease. Wore the tiniest fucking frock and got shy when she sat on my rock-hard cock. I grabbed her before she could clamber off my lap. She insisted that she wanted to take it slow but I knew she was creaming on my lap. Hell, I saw the fucking stain."
He cackled, though groaned shortly after from the pain stabbing into his ribs.
"She told me she wanted me then handed my drink to me." he shrugged. "Don't know why. But I downed it and followed her."
"We ended up in a room and she kept shaking like she was scared, but I bet it was just cuz she was so goddamn horny that she just wanted to get out of her so-called dress."
"Next thing I knew," he sighed. "She was going down on my cock. Slobbering over it, mascara running down her face. I don't even know what happened between stepping into the room and what I 'woke up' to." He curled two fingers of his left arm — the still relatively functional one — to sign air quotes. "Then I blacked out again."
"When I woke up, I swear she was slamming herself onto my cock. I just felt like a dumbass mix of heavy and light. It was like — what — 3 seconds? Then I don't remember what happened after."
He closed his eyes after that. Whether he was really trying to recollect the truth of that scene or if he was just trying to forget, you didn't know.
"I guess one of my frat bros barged in and woke me up. Kept raving on about nailing bitches. I couldn't tell if he was talking about me or him or some bastard, I don't fucking know." He sighed heavily, gulping from the parchness of his throat.
"He dragged me out and we joined back into the party. Got higher. Drank even more. Then suddenly we were in the car. And I got rolled into an ambulance."
You stared. He laid there. Your mind was wracking through any possible answer. You knew what effects the substances he consumed could do, and if it was that bad to the point where he couldn't determine reality from 'dreams', you were flooded with emotions: fury, worry, panic, you might have cried had you not been so overwrought with emotions that your body simply couldn't react from the constant signals overloading your system.
Before you registered it, you had your hand under his left one, barely caressing his knuckles like you were scared that he might break.
He looked right at where your hands were joined then instantly into your eyes.
Your eyes were darkened to a pool of concocting emotions. There was anger, there was pain, there was empathy, there was recognition, familiarity, nostalgia, disgust; you looked like you've been through hell and back.
He looked away. Fearful of the intensity.
Your gaze persisted. Inside, you weren't even aware that you were staring.
Gojo grew uncomfortable, twitching his fingers as best he could, hoping that it might snap you out of it.
It wasn't until a nurse announced herself, soothing in voice and tone — that you blinked out of your stupor. You stepped aside, letting go of his hand; and Gojo didn't even realise that his barely chased after yours with a light twitch, missing the warmth and tenderness of your hold.
You listened to her report intently while Gojo was lost on it. Even though he should be the one listening, he didn't.
You were the one pressing questions, you were the one asking for his recovery period, what he can and can't eat; how long he had to stay hospitalised; how intense treatment would be; if there were and adverse effects, any neurological or internal damage, if any possible damages might be expected. The whole she-bang.
He just stared. He wasn't even impressed. He didn't even know why he just laid there without interjection.
The nurse was beautiful, he would usually jump at the chance to flirt with someone like that. But he didn't.
His stomach churned, unsure on why he felt — what he could only describe as — queasy. He could barely feel anything below his hips but that was a massive improvement from the state he was in just not too long ago.
Almost in the blink of an eye, he watched the nurse leave, barely catching something about contacting his parents.
When the door clicked closed, he came back to his senses. He let his gaze search around the room before settling on you still by his bed, your own gaze set on him.
"You're even more of an idiot than I thought you'd ever be."
"But you do love me." he winks, a full stop to the conversation.
Before he let out a groan then muttered, "I shouldn't have done that..."
ㅤㅤ ──────────── ❝ 【 TIMESKIP 】 ❞ ────────────
A pronounced gust of breath vapour left your mouth almost the instant you stepped out of the doors.
You had your head dropped back, eyes closed, willing yourself to get over what had just transpired.
At times like this, you really wanted a cigarette.
But no. You made yourself a promise. You made that promise for someone. And you were not going back on it.
The vapour would have to do it for you.
The gently nipping sensation of frost hit the tip of your nose. Slowly, you opened your eyes to witness a singular snowflake slowly cascading according to the wind.
You took your time to admire it, watching as it hit the asphalt and slowly melting away.
Before long, the streets were misted with a thing layer of snow-white wonder. And it would have been that, if it weren't for the events of the night.
It was technically the next day.
Last you checked your phone was when it was 11:47 P.M.
It must have at least been half an hour by now. You couldn't be bothered to confirm. You just let the snow fall around you, letting the cold and the sounds of the world do its talking. You closed your eyes, enjoying the little gift nature had decided to give you.
A special occasion, but usually better spent with—
You snapped out of it. Your eyes opened, head back where it usually is. The peace now replaced by disappointment.
The other person moved, the soles of their shoes scraping against the mix of snow and stone. You weren't interested in turning.
"You want to be like one of them now?"
"You're that desperate for recognition?"
"You want to end up like them?"
Your questions never stopped, each latching onto the other person: hook, line, and sinker.
"I can't even look at you, Satoru."
The way you said his name made him freeze, the frosty air now even colder as a cold flash shot through his body.
You were more than just disappointed. He knew that.
Bile crept up his throat, but no words could come out of his maw. If he wasn't careful, what came out may only be unintelligible noises; all more pathetic than the last.
He didn't even look up to witness the growing distance. It would only hurt more and he knew he'd start bawling if more than one of his senses had to bear the weight of your departing.
Snow confused itself with his tears, staining the grey of the asphalt. He felt weak but his body wouldn't crumble. He shook, hands conflicted on balling into fists or laying limp.
Why did he let it happen?
No one told him to but himself.
He thought back to the barrage of pointed questions you hurled at him.
Maybe he did want all that.
He had so much going for him. None of those things ever mattered to him. Why did he crack? What for? All that came out of it was losing the one person who never saw him the way everyone else did.
What could he even answer with?
His mind couldn't help but think back to the moments you managed to spend together. The text messages and pictures you sent each other.
He willed himself to stop thinking about them because all it did was hurt him more and more.
But how could he? You made him feel good. Special. Those moments were treasured and serotonin-inducing. When he was alone, when he felt down, he'd think back to your time together through text or by physical proximity.
Just the thought of you made his day. Hearing your name, seeing or revisiting your texts, it all made him feel like the world wasn't as bad as it is.
Before he knew it, slobber shot out of his mouth when it got too much that his body reacted against his will. Snot came out in tandem.
One Gojo Satoru; beauty known to many to be etheral or even otherworldly, now marred by human emotions.
His parents would laugh at him.
Did they see him, or what he could bring to the family? Did they have faith in him because he was who he was or because he was a Gojo?
Everyone leaves. This isn't new information.
Eventually, people part ways. Even if it hurts. Even if he didn't want it. Even when he begged them to stay.
But when the begging was done in silence, is it really a plea?
Nails dragging down his throat.
Who is he anymore? Was he ever someone?
Was he playing a character? Was he ever true to himself?
When was the last time he did something for himself? Did that ever happen?
His knees gave out without his brain even processing it. His hands still unable to move due to his own confusion. He was hunched over, the frost biting into his skin. He didn't even fight it or brush it off.
Maybe he didn't deserve the good things.
Maybe he didn't deserve you.
His body curled into itself as best it could with his knees nailed to the cold ground. His shoulders tried to cover himself as best they could in response to the frigid air.
Flashes of hot and cold assaulted his body — inside and out. He was a complete mess. His body couldn't even process any signal properly.
He left himself to rot in the hospital's parking lot.
Despite the doors to the ER being right there, he didn't move.
Tears blurred his vision so horribly, but he let them flow, down his reddened cheeks; others dripping directly to the pavement.
No amount of apologies could fix this. How could he hope for a second chance?
You were so clear with your stance on irresponsibility and wasting lives. You complimented and commended him for being so unlike average dudes. You appreciated him for it. You loved him for it.
He did not feel like himself when he did all that. He may have felt happy. Maybe a little better than usual. But they're all such fleeting moments for when the inevitable comes: reality.
A temporary escape as dangerous as alcohol or drugs was detrimental. He knew this. Of all people, he knew this.
Why did he let it go this far?
Why did he bother showing up?
Why did you have to see him like that?
What happens between you and him?
Would you ever come back to him?
© MOROSENTHAL ꒷꒦︶ ๋ 2026 ꒷꒦︶꒷ : : DO NOT use, plagiarise, copy, steal, repost, feed to ai for training, etc. for any of my works. layouts & themes are credited to me, do not copy or take inspiration from those either.
