mean!fratboy!gojo and his shy!nerdy!gf
summary! gojo's slowly realising how bad of a boyfriend he is when he walks into the most gut wrenching scene he's ever witnessed, his beautiful, shy girl, upset over his party animal lifestyle choices. but, instead of comforting her, for reasons not even he can comprehend he gets really, really mad. (angst to (not really) comfort, messy, toxic relationship dynamics, gojo is a fuckwit but he learns ig) !! so ooc
disclaimer: this is not a healthy relationship dynamic, i don't feel like i need to explain how rage bait i made this on purpose bc i love to get you guys heated, but yeah, this is not something you should chase.
wc: 4k || pt.2!! || inspo from my mean!sukuna x shy!nerd!reader
dating you was already wayyy out of fratboy!gojo's comfort zone.
don't misunderstand, he loved you. he just had a really fucked up way of showing it.
never had he ever been in a relationship before, his experience hadn't gone past messy hookups followed by an empty bed in the morning.
so, when you came along, or should he say, when he charmed you into this new fancy thing called a 'relationship', he was far from the perfect boyfriend. like, far, far from it..
you were at the other end of his spectrum, where he was a wild party animal, you were soft and quiet. that's what drew him in, you sitting alone in the front row of his economics class, how different you were to his usual indulgences. your pretty outfits and shy demeanor knocked him off his feet, so he sat next to you and that was that, you'd been dating for around five months now and all was going smoothly... well, smoothly by satoru's standards.
the thing was, he'd still attend his insane ragers where almost everyone was half naked, fucking around like rabbits upstairs.
he thrived in this setting, grinding and dancing, laughing and talking shit with his friends, it was his perfect sanctuary.
he could have you at home, waiting for him to come back with open arms and dinner in the oven, as well as doing whatever the fuck he wanted at the frats.
you'd never told him he couldn't after all, so what was the issue? obviously not because you were just too shy to? right? obviously not because you were a complete push over and he
knew that. nah, you were most likely just a chill girl! that's gotta be it.
pffft, whoever said you couldn't have your cake and eat it too was so wrong.
gojo slips his key into the lock, he misses it once, then gets it the second time. he cracks a laugh at himself, he's not drunk just tipsy from whatever garbage punch they served at the mixer.
the hallway light outside your apartment shines behind him, catching on his chain when he leans forward. he giggles something under his breath about the silly maintenance never fixing anything, then pushes the door open with his shoulder.
your place is so quiet, so pretty. he’s gotten used to your decor, the air warm from the little heater you always turn on at night. god, you were so cute.
he scuffs off his jordans at the front door and steps inside, reaching back to tug the door shut.
he pictures you asleep, snuggled up in his shirt that swallows you whole. he smiles a little as he imagines it. cute, sweet, soft. all his.
except, as he draws closer inside, the light from the living room is still on?
the tv is off and the candles are unlit. but you’re on the couch with your legs tucked under you and your shoulders curved in like you’re trying to make yourself smaller.
your phone glows against your pretty little face, you’re so focused on whatever's on the screen you don’t hear him.
your lips are pouty and sad, that alone guts whatever leftover buzz he had going. your eyes look swollen, your lashes wet, cheeks a little blotchy. he’s never seen you like that. never seen that kind of silent with you, it's not the shy kind, it makes his chest feel off balance.
“oh… shit,” he whispers under his breath.
because now he sees the screen.
it’s him shirtless, beta cap turned backward and his chain dangling against his chest. he’s smiling that charismatic smile, mouth open like he just said something funny that made everyone laugh. that one girl in the tiny bikini he barely remembers presses her fingers to his shoulders, leans down, body tilted against his, she takes a shot off his collarbone while her friends cheer. he throws his head back laughing.
really, it was just another moment in the mess of the party. someone yelled his name, shoved salt into his palm, the girl had licked it from his fingers like some pornstar then she poured the tequila and leaned in.
your thumb shakes as you close your phone and stare at the ground.
gojo feels his stomach rip in two, but he forces himself to breathe normal. he lifts his chin, and lets that fratboy grin slide into place.
just act normal. that’s his first instinct. be goofy, be loud, be charming! pretend nothing’s wrong. that always works.
“baby!" he calls lightly, stepping toward you. “you’re up? what’re you doing awake? it’s late, y'know."
you jump a little but you just hum very shyly and don't look at him.
he comes around the side of the couch, he plops down behind you, slipping his arms around your shoulders from behind like he always does when he wants to distract you from something. stretching over the back of the couch, he nuzzles your cheek with a grin.
“i missed you,” he says brightly.
you shudder against his arms.
“hey,” he says leaning a little to see your face. “what’s wrong?” like he doesn't know.
you keep looking down at the floor like looking at him would really break you.
“nothing, toru,” you whisper.
that hits him in a place he seriously doesn’t like.
“doesn’t look like nothing.”
you set your phone on the cushion beside you, eyes stuck on your knees.
gojo watches every tiny move you make, feeling something yucky pull tight in his aching chest. he swings himself over the couch so he’s sitting next to you, one knee bumping yours. he smells like sweat, cheap liquor, and someone else’s perfume. he doesn’t realise it. he doesn’t notice the way you subtly lean away.
gojo drags in a slow breath and leans back against the couch with his legs spread, he feels the tension humming through the room but refuses to let it land anywhere close to him. gross. his irritation rises really fast, he was never good at dealing with girls who don't fight back.
he stares at your knees, not your face, the smile gone. “so,” he drawls, “you gonna tell me what's wrong, y/n? or are ya just gonna sit here and mope.”
you hesitate before trying to respond to him, but that tiny silence ignites something unsavoury.
he scoffs under his breath and sits up straighter. “come on. seriously? you’re acting like i fucking murdered someone.”
you've entered that state where you want to talk, but your throat just won't let you speak.
and god, that sets him off even more. his patience fractures clean down the middle.
“i don’t get why you’re so sad,” he says, louder this time. “like, genuinely. i don’t get it.”
you squeeze at your hands, trying to stay small. trying not to take up space.
“it was just a body shot,” he interrupts. “big deal. everyone does them. it’s not like i kissed her, it wasn’t even fun. the tequila probably tasted like sprax.”
you softly flinch again when he raises his voice. he acts like he doesn't notice as irritation swells in him like static.
“why are you acting blindsided? you know who i am. you knew before you dated me.” he throws his hands up. “i’ve always been like this. i go to parties. i drink. i mess around with my friends. i’m not some stay at home boyfriend who knits blankets on weekends.”
you sit still and small, taking every word. you feel like you deserve it.
it makes him angrier, he can’t explain why. something about the sadness on your face, something about how soft you look, something about how he’s too aware of his own guilt, makes him latch onto the only thing he knows how to do when cornered.
“god, are you really this insecure?” he snaps. “over a party? over something stupid like a shot? this is what college is like, babe. people have fun. you wouldn’t know because you never go to shit like that, you wouldn't have a fucking clue.”
your chin falls as your shoulders tuck in even tighter.
“you just… sit here at night,” he says, waving an arm at the room, “you study, you cook, you watch shows, you bake, you… whatever. you stay in your little routine. and that’s fine, that’s you, but don’t project that shit on me.”
you try so badly not to cry, he hates how that looks on you. it makes his neck muscles jerk.
he leans foward “you don’t get it. you don’t get my life! you don’t get how things work with my friends. you don’t get how parties are. you never have. you’re a shut in, babe. you barely talk to anyone unless they come up to you first. you get nervous around people you don't know.”
your hands get clammy and you squeeze your knees tighter..
but he just keeps on going.
“you think i’m cheating on you? is that it?” he challenges. “you think i’m out there hooking up with girls just because they’re pretty and wearing tiny outfits? you think i’d cheat over some girl licking salt off my hand? seriously?”
your lip tucks inward for a second.
“say something!” he demands. “come on. don’t just sit there like a kicked puppy. if you’ve got something to accuse me of, spit it the fuck out.”
you shake your head frightened. “i’m not... i'm not trying to.. accuse you, toru, i-.”
“then what?” he bites. “what are you so upset about?”
your voice is barely there. “i just… didn’t know you still let girls do things like that.”
he groans and drops his head back against the couch. “oh my god. it’s not deep! why do you always assume the worst?”
your body starts to subtly shake.
“i’m not assum-" you whisper.
“yeah, you are,” he throws back. “you wouldn’t be whining if you weren’t.”
you stiffen but don’t sob.
he digs the heel of his palm into his brow, frustration pulsating through him. “you’re so dramatic sometimes.”
your breath stutters, but you swallow it down fast. your hands tremble just once before you force them still again.
“god,” he mutters, shaking his head.
"...maybe this was a mistake.”
the second the words leave his mouth, he knows they’re cruel. he knows they’re a lie but he’s too far into his childish anger to stop.
that one hurt, because that's all you'd been thinking lately. maybe this was all too much for a girl like you. you'd be a better fit for someone softer and quieter like you...
he stares at you expecting you to argue back or something. to deny it, to grab his sleeve and plead the way past girls did trying to get him to love them, to give him something he understands.
you weren't like them, you were shy and sweet. you hated how hard it was for you to speak up and express how you felt, but that's just how you were.
and something about that makes him crash out harder.
“say something,” he barks. “stop acting like i’m some monster for having a life outside of you!"
you open your mouth but no words come out. you just shake your head softly.
that subtle movement ignites him again.
“you can’t just sit here and look sad every time i go out,” he says. “you can’t expect me to change everything about myself because you get overwhelmed by basic social shit. you’re dating me. me! not some guy who stays home reading textbooks every night.”
your shoulders rise a smidge, then drop.
his stress and confusion doesn’t know how to handle you. he feels cornered by emotions he’s never dealt with before.
“god, you’re impossible,” he mumbles. “i can’t deal with this shy routine when it’s twisted around like this. it’s like talking to a wall. do you even hear me? do you even care how insane this looks? you’re acting like i fucked some chick over a body shot! you need to grow up,” he says sharply.
“seriously. this is college. this is how it works. people party. people have fun. people get stupid sometimes. you can’t expect me to act like some perfect boyfriend when i don’t even know how to be one. i’m trying! okay? this stuff is normal. it’s harmless. you’re just… sensitive. too fucking sensitive.”
your lips open for a second. you want to say something.
again, nothing comes out.
you just nod once, heartbreakingly polite.
and that’s when it all hits him.
it slams into him like a fucking semi truck.
your cheek glistens with one tear.
they slip down your face without a sound, falling over your jaw and landing on your lap, darkening the fabric.
your shoulders don’t shake. your breath doesn’t hiccup. you don’t sniffle or wipe them away.
you just let them topple downward.
gojo stops talking in the middle of his forest speel. the last word dies on his harsh tongue.
your tears keep flowing, you don’t defend yourself. you don’t argue. you don’t yell back. you don’t move away from him or push him or tell him to fuck off like any normal person should of.
letting him rip your heart out and pummel it on the ground over and over and over.
letting him say awful things because you’re too gentle to fight back.
and suddenly he can hear his own voice echoing in his head. every insult. every jab. every cruel, thoughtless messed up word.
fuck, his stomach had never dropped quicker.
he stares at your beautiful face covered in salted tears, at the way you hold yourself so small and polite even while he ripped into your chest.
his throat tightens up, his hands go limp and his whole body goes scarily still.
what the hell did he just do?
the sniff he hears you swallow so fast it barely comes out gouges a deep hole through his brain.
you don't dare look at this man's face. you only wipe at your cheek with the sleeve of your sweater, like you’re apologising for making a mess.
gojo’s breath pulsates in his lungs as if he was about to start sobbing aswell.
he feels like he'd be better off jumping out the window to put you out of your misery.
what the fuck was he doing?
what kind of guy yells at his girlfriend like that?
what kind of boyfriend calls his shy, gentle girl insecure?
what kind of person tears apart someone who wouldn’t dream of hurting him back?
he thought he was irritated. he thought he was defending himself. he thought he was justified.
now he just feels disgusting.
you sniff again as quietly as you can, gojo’s heart implodes and chokes him up.
he presses his knuckles to his mouth, eyes burning while he stares at you while he tries to figure out how to speak without making things worse. he doesn’t know how to say sorry without choking on the words. he doesn’t know how to own what he just did without wanting to shove a knife down his throat.
he tries to open his mouth but he knows if he speaks again he'll sob.
he hates himself for that.
you feel so bad, you feel like you'd just made gojo feel terrible, stressed, like you were an anchor he wanted to free himself from.
before satoru gets the courage to try again, he feels the couch dip as you move closer.
he wants to run away, never burden you with his egotistical attitude ever again, then your arms slip around his bulky side, your cheek pressing into the fabric of his shirt.
he goes completely stiff, you’re... hugging him?
after everything he said, after all the mean ugly things he tossed at you, you’re the one reaching out? he stutters, stunned. he expects you to say you’re leaving his sorry ass, that you’re scared of him, that you don’t want this relationship anymore.
hell, that's what you should say.
his breath stumbles in his throat. he turns to you fast, eyes wide. “what?”
you sniff quietly, still not looking up at him. “i’m… i’m sorry for being clingy. and annoying. and making you feel stressed. i didn’t mean to ruin your night. i... i didn’t know i was doing something wrong.”
fuck he was such an asshole. he can’t believe what he’s hearing. he can’t believe that after everything, you still think it’s your fault.
“hey,” he says, voice cracking. “no. no. stop. baby, no.”
but you keep whispering shakily. “you’re right. i don’t really know how frats work. or parties. i don’t know what’s normal for you. i just… i saw the video and i got overwhelmed. i shouldn’t have made you feel guilty, toru.”
never in his messed up life had he experienced such a pain in his gut.
“sweetheart…” his hand rises halfway, then falls because he doesn’t trust himself to touch you without shaking. “please don’t say that. please don’t apologise. you didn’t do anything wrong.”
you keep clinging to his side gently. it's as if you’re trying to make him feel better about the pain he gave you.
“look at me,” he chokes out.
you don’t, or, you can't. so he moves slowly, tipping his head down until he can see your face. your lashes are stuck together with tears. your eyes stay lowered. your mouth keeps trying to stay steady for him. he hates himself so much he feels nauseous.
he cups the side of your head with a trembling hand. “you’re not annoying. or clingy. or anything like that. i swear, sweetheart... i swear.”
more quiet sobs rack your body as you squeeze him tighter. “no. hey. baby, no, listen. i messed up. this whole thing is on me... just.”
he leans closer pressing his cheek to your forehead. “i shouldn’t have yelled. i shouldn’t have said any of that shit, y/n. i shouldn’t have talked to you like that. i’m… i’m so sorry.”
he feels like scraping his eyes out, he wants to tie his throat closed, but the words spill out, “i’ve never been in a relationship before. i know that’s not an excuse, but it’s the truth. i didn’t know how to handle… feelings. yours or mine. i freaked out and i took it out on you, y/n. i'm just... i'm an insecure piece of shit, i don't deserve you."
you can't handle this, you really can't handle anymore of him on the verge of tears.
“i’m really sorry you saw that video. i'm sorry i was even in it, that i ever did it,” he says. “and i’m sorry i did something that made you feel small. i wasn’t thinking. i wasn’t even trying to hurt you. i was just being self centred... y/n, you have every right to be upset about it.”
when you finally look up his blue eyes are glossy with tears.
“you didn’t deserve a single thing i said,” he whispers. “you didn’t deserve any of it.”
you part your lips, but he shakes his head before you can talk.
“don’t say sorry again,” he mutters. “please. i can’t handle hearing that from you.”
his arm wraps around you, pulling you into his chest. the moment your face tucks against him, he breaks. a wet sound escapes him before he can swallow it down. his arms lock around you tighter as he hides his face against your shoulder.
“i’m sorry,” he borderline croaks. “i’m so sorry, baby. i didn’t mean any of it. not one word. you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and i treated you like that. i’m sorry.”
your hand rises hesitantly and rests over his heart. he clutches your waist like he needs you to breathe.
“i’ll stop,” he says suddenly, desperate. “i mean it. the parties. the dumb shit i do. i’ll stop. if something makes you sad, i don’t want it anymore.”
“i’m not trying to change you, satoru.”
“i want to change,” he insists. “i want to be better. for you.”
he lifts you up, arms sliding under your legs holding you against him. he stands and you cling to his shoulders, he carries you down the hall, steps steady like he’s afraid to jostle you.
when he sets you gently on the bed, he sits beside you, hands resting on your thighs.
“i’ll never talk to you like that again,” he promises. “i swear. i’ll never yell at you. i’ll never make you cry like that. i’ll learn how to be a real boyfriend. i’ll learn how to communicate. i’ll tell you where i’m going, what i’m doing. i’ll cut off anything that disrespects you.”
yeah, you could tell by the tone of voice that he really meant this.
“you can tell me anything,” he sighs, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “no matter how small it feels. even if it’s just that something made you uncomfortable. i want to hear it. i want to know. you matter to me.”
you can see how hurt he looks, how badly he regrets what he did.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers again. “i’m so sorry, baby.”
satoru kisses your cheek, then you wrap your arms around him. he pulls you into his lap, holding you close.
his fingers drift through your hair in slow careful ministration. “you’re my girl,” he murmurs. “my sweet girl. i’ll take care of you. i’ll be better, y/n, i swear.”
he whispers praise until your eyes shut..
gojo slips out of the bed once your breathing settles into a soft, sleepy sound he knows off by heart. he pulls the blanket up to your shoulders, then stands there for a second just staring at you with immense guilt twisting through his bones.
he pushes a hand through his fair hair and lets out a tight breath before heading to his drawer. the cigarette box inside is old, the last time he touched it was months ago, the last time he felt this same sort of self loathing itch.
he grabs one and steps out onto the cold windy balcony, and clicks the lighter with a horribly shaky thumb.
the city vibrates below with the windows of far away apartments glowing, cars driving by, shit, he can't even look at any of it. he just stands there leaning on the railing with his head bowed deep, smoke puffing out of his lip.
every sentence he spat at you floating through his mind, munting him harder each time. he can’t believe how easily he slipped into that revolting version of himself, the one who never cared who he screwed over. he swears he left that guy behind the day he met you. tonight proved he hadn’t.
he hates himself for yelling.
he hates himself for making you cry.
he hates how small you tried to get and how you tried to comfort him even when he was the one who mercilessly ripped you down.
he flicks ash over the railing... no one’s ever trusted him the way you do. he doesn’t get how someone like you ended up loving someone like him.
he lets loose a stray sob, he won’t let tonight happen again. he’ll learn. he’ll grow the hell up. he’ll earn you. he’ll become the boyfriend you deserve, because you deserve the world, everything he can give you.
he makes himself that promise right there on the balcony, whispers it into the night like a vow. he'll never treat you like that, never again.
oou he doesn't deserve us 👎 chat do not take this disrespect from anyone. this is just fiction ! results from the poll !
