Frat!Gojo Who's Obsessed With His Mean Girl GF's Tits
✦ ݁ ˖ SUMMARY - Satoru Gojo, president of Alpha Sigma Ligma and campus golden boy, has exactly one weakness: his girlfriend's tits. Everyone knows it. His frat brothers joke about it. You—the mean girl of campus—pretend to be annoyed by it. But secretly? You love how obsessed he is. Tonight, after he's been extra good, you reward him by riding him with your tits in his face while he loses his mind.
⤷ frat boy!gojo x mean girl!reader | 18+ MDNI ✦
CW: explicit sexual content, established relationship, frat/college AU, body worship, tit worship, he literally cannot keep his hands off them, obsessive behavior (affectionate), groping (consensual and constant), possessive!gojo, golden retriever boyfriend energy, mean girl girlfriend, riding, praise kink, he's pussy drunk, slight mommy kink if you squint, unprotected sex, creampie, he's down ASTRONOMICALLY bad, "you're mine" energy, public displays of affection, he's a simp and proud, soft dom vibes, worshipful sex, they're in love your honor
Satoru Gojo—president of Alpha Sigma Ligma, campus golden boy, heir to the Gojo fortune—is absolutely, shamelessly, down-bad obsessed with his girlfriend's tits. And everyone knows it.
✦ You're the mean girl of campus. President of the most exclusive sorority, always dressed in designer, sharp tongue that could cut glass. You've made grown men cry with a single look. Everyone's terrified of you. Everyone except Satoru, who looks at you like you hung the fucking moon and personally gets hard when you insult people.
✦ The obsession started the night you met at a mixer. You were wearing a low-cut black dress that should've been illegal, and he walked directly into a wall while staring. You called him "pathetic" and he said "yes ma'am" immediately. Been together ever since. His frat brothers still can't figure out how it happened.
✦ He's SHAMELESS about it. You'll be sitting in the library studying and his hand just migrates to your chest like a magnet. You slap it away. He pouts. Five minutes later it's back. "Satoru, we're in PUBLIC." "I know, isn't it great?" Security has asked you both to leave three times this semester.
✦ He talks about them like they're separate entities. "How are the girls today?" "Satoru, they're attached to me." "I know, but they deserve individual attention." He's insane. You're in love with him.
✦ His home screen is you flipping off the camera in a bikini. His lock screen is you at formal in a dress with the most insane cleavage. He shows these to people unprompted. "That's my girlfriend. See her? She's mean as fuck and so hot I could die. Wanna see another picture?"
✦ He's so annoying about it during sex. "Fuck, look at these." "They're perfect." "All mine." "Can't believe you're real." Like sir, we're in the middle of something, can you focus? But then he'll put his mouth on them and suddenly you don't care about his running commentary.
✦ Sometimes you'll catch him just... staring. You'll be doing homework, wearing a normal shirt, nothing special, and you'll look up to find him gazing at your chest with this dopey smile. "What?" "Nothing. Just appreciating the view." "You're such a simp." "Your simp, baby."
✦ After parties, when you're both drunk and stumbling back to his room, he gets even worse. Handsy doesn't begin to cover it. You've had to swat his hands away in the Uber more times than you can count. The drivers have definitely seen things. You tip extra out of embarrassment. Satoru tips extra because he's "grateful for the driver's discretion."
✦ You wore a push-up bra to his game once (he plays club basketball). He missed EVERY SHOT in the first quarter because he couldn't stop staring at you in the stands. Coach benched him. He didn't care. "Worth it. Did you SEE her? In that top? I'm just a man."
✦ His frat brothers have a tally of how many times he's mentioned your tits in casual conversation. They stopped counting at 57 in one week. Suguru has threatened to beat him to death. Satoru just shrugs. "If I die thinking about her tits, I die happy."
✦ You use it against him constantly. Need him to do something? Wear a low-cut shirt. Want him to agree to something? Lean forward. One time you got him to do your entire statistics homework by wearing a lacy bralette under a see-through tank top. He didn't even realize what happened until you were already gone.
✦ He's gotten into TWO fights this semester because guys were staring. Not even cat-calling, just looking. Some sophomore made eye contact with your chest for too long at a party and Satoru had him in a headlock within seconds. You had to drag him off. "He was LOOKING!" "Everyone looks, you psycho!"
✦ His hands are always cold and he uses it as an excuse. "Baby, my hands are cold." "Then put on gloves." "Or I could warm them up..." Already reaching for your chest. You let him. Every time. Because his hands ARE always cold and honestly, it's kind of nice.
✦ He bought you lingerie for your birthday. Expensive, beautiful, completely impractical lingerie that's basically just strategic lace. Makes you model every piece. Takes pictures (for his personal collection, he promises, and you believe him because he's possessive enough that he'd never share). Gets hard immediately every time.
✦ You sent him ONE picture—ONE—of you in his frat t-shirt with no bra while he was in class. He left immediately. Just stood up in the middle of his econ lecture and left. Showed up at your sorority house fifteen minutes later. You didn't leave your room for three hours.
✦ He's a biter. Leaves marks all over your chest where no one can see them. Except you know they're there and he knows they're there and that's enough. You wore a high-neck dress to formal once to hide them and he spent the whole night pouting. "What's the point of my hard work if no one knows?"
✦ The way he looks at you when you wear anything remotely low-cut is OBSCENE. Like a starving man looking at a feast. You've gotten kicked out of two restaurants because the waiter saw his face and decided you needed to "get a room." You did. You always do.
✦ His dream is to fuck your tits. He's mentioned it approximately 400 times. You keep saying no just to watch him beg. "Please baby please I'll do anything I'll buy you that bag you want I'll do your homework for a month please—" You'll give in eventually. Maybe. If he's good.
✦ He falls asleep with his face in your chest at MINIMUM three times a week. Just completely motorboats himself into unconsciousness. You're reading, watching TV, doing homework—doesn't matter. He's face-first in your tits, out cold. It's actually kind of cute. You won't admit that out loud.
✦ He's gotten so good at unhooking your bra one-handed that it's genuinely impressive. You've tested him. Drunk, sober, distracted, in the dark—doesn't matter. Three seconds flat every time. It's his only practical skill and he's incredibly proud of it.
✦ Tonight, after the latest frat party (where his hands barely left your body for three straight hours), you're going to reward him for his devotion. He's been so good lately—aced his finals, planned an amazing date, dealt with your attitude when you were stressed about sorority drama. He deserves a treat.
"Baby," Satoru whines, sprawled across his bed in just his boxer briefs, hair messy from your fingers, lips swollen from kissing. "Come here."
"So needy," you tease, but you're already climbing onto the bed, straddling his lap. You're wearing one of the sets he bought you—baby blue lace that he swears was made for you.
His hands immediately go to your waist, sliding up to cup your chest through the lace. "Fuck, you're so perfect."
"Yeah?" You roll your hips, feeling him already hard beneath you. "You've only told me about fifty times tonight."
"I'll tell you fifty more." His thumbs brush over your nipples through the fabric and you shiver. "Could stare at these all day. Could touch them all day. Actually—" He grins up at you. "—I basically do."
"You're obsessed."
"Guilty." He sits up, bringing his mouth to your chest, kissing through the lace. "Can't help it. They're perfect. You're perfect."
You reach behind yourself, unclasping the bra and letting it fall away. His eyes go wide, pupils blown.
"Jesus Christ," he breathes. "I'm the luckiest man alive."
"You're also the horniest man alive."
"That too." He leans forward, taking a nipple into his mouth, and you gasp, fingers threading into his hair.
"Fuck, Satoru—"
"Love hearing you say my name," he mumbles against your skin. "Love the way you taste. Love—" He switches sides. "—everything about you."
His hands are everywhere—cupping, squeezing, appreciating. He's genuinely worshipful about it, like he's been granted access to something holy.
"Need you inside me," you breathe, grinding down on him.
"Yeah? Can't wait?" His hands slide down to your hips, helping you lift up while he shoves his boxer briefs down just enough to free himself. "Need me that bad?"
"Don't get cocky—"
"Too late." He grins, lining himself up. "I'm always cocky when it comes to you."
You sink down slowly, both of you groaning. He's big enough that even after six months, the stretch is intense.
"Fuck," he gasps, head falling back. "Always so tight. Always so perfect for me."
You start moving, finding a rhythm, and his hands immediately return to your chest. Like a homing beacon. Like he can't help himself.
"There they are," he says happily, watching them move with each roll of your hips. "My girls."
"You're ridiculous—"
"I'm in love." He sits up, wrapping his arms around you, face pressed between your breasts. "In love with you. In love with these. In love with the way you feel around my cock—"
"Satoru—" You're already close, the angle hitting perfectly, his hands and mouth on your chest driving you crazy.
"That's it, baby." He's babbling now, drunk on you. "Ride me just like that. Use me. Take what you need."
"Touch me," you demand, even though he already is.
"Where?" His hands squeeze. "Here? Or—" One hand slides down between your bodies, finding your clit. "Here?"
"Both—fuck—both—"
"Greedy girl." But he sounds delighted about it. "Love when you're greedy for me. Love when you use me like this."
The combination of his cock, his fingers, his mouth on your chest—it's overwhelming. You're riding him harder now, chasing your release.
"Gonna come," you gasp. "Gonna—"
"Do it." His teeth graze your nipple and you shatter. "Come for me, baby. Wanna feel it."
You clench around him, crying out, and he groans.
"Fuck, yes, just like that—so good—you're so good—"
He's still rock hard inside you when you come down, and you realize he hasn't finished.
"Your turn," you breathe, starting to move again.
"Wait—" His hands grip your hips. "Stay just like this. Need—" He buries his face in your chest again. "Need this."
You ride him slowly, deliberately, keeping your chest at face-level. He's in heaven—moaning against your skin, hands gripping your ass, helping you move.
"So good," he's mumbling. "So perfect. All mine. Can't believe you're mine—"
"All yours," you confirm, because you know it drives him crazy.
"Yeah?" He thrusts up to meet you. "These are mine? This pussy is mine? You're mine?"
"Yes—fuck—yes—"
"Gonna come—" His voice is strangled. "Gonna fill you up—"
"Do it." You grind down hard. "Come for me, baby."
He does—buried deep, face pressed against your chest, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. You feel him pulsing inside you, warm and perfect.
