Hobie Brown Brain Rot

“...you’re pretty.” you muttered stupidly, allowing this familiar stranger to help you slump onto the couch. you couldn’t tell if they were drunk too, or if your compliment had gotten to them, but his face had an undeniable blush spread across it.. “..thanks. you’re drunk.” his voice was gruff, yet soothing. you would hear it all day. you wanted to.

“oh really? i couldn’t tell.”

he let out a scoff at that, seemingly annoyed with you. but he didn't move from his position next to you.

“.. he does this a lot too.” there was a pause after you said that, as if the stranger was contemplating on whether or not to ask further. he brushed a hand through his unruly blonde hair, “who’s he?”

“my ex. he acted juuust like you.” you booped his nose as if for emphasis. “he’d act all tough, but he didn’t leave me. well, i guess he did leave, but that's besides the point.”

you didn’t see anyone next to you for a brief moment, making you think you hallucinated the whole thing, before a bottle of water was abruptly shoved in your face. “drink.”

he slid next to you again like it was natural, his hand moved to go around you by instinct, before he retracted it, you grabbed onto his arm. “..please.”

as if on cue he cradled you to his chest, taking the opportunity to press his head against the top of yours. “you feel like him too.” you mumbled, “sweaty hands and everything.”

he didn’t laugh, but you felt his smile against your head.

it was comforting, the best you’d felt in the months following your break up. you felt the drowsiness overcoming you, prompting you to move your head closer to his chest and lay against his heart. it felt like the same heart that served as your lullaby for years.

“..i hope he misses me.” your eyes were closed, that familiar feeling of comfort and space welcoming you, though the last words that echo through your mind and fuel your dreams sound just like katsuki’s.

pointing to one of the lip balms, “ones for you so we can match.”

and he just laughs a huff out his nose.

when all the items get scanned through he nudges you and you pull out your phone to show your membership card so you can collect points. “i’m saving up my points for a new hairdryer.”

“how many do you need?” he hums, pulling out his wallet and licks his thumb to count his cash.

“about ten thousand.”

“how many do you have?”

“three hundred.”

he glances over at you, a raised eyebrow and cocked jaw. you can read him clearly, he thinks you’re being a little… optimistic. he hands three clean bank notes over to the cashier.

“thanks man.” he says to the cashier who looks at him with starry eyes. a dynamight fan you can only assume.

then to you, “i’ll just buy it for you. that’ll take you ages.”

he lets you take the bag of chocolate so you can nibble on some on the way and he grabs the two boxes of condoms, your blush, your multivitamins and the two lip balms in one hand.

“i just keep using them but i’m going to try. imagine a free hairdryer.”

takes your hand with his other hand and pulls you under his arm.

Bicep pic — jjk men 💭

pairing/characters: jjk men x f!reader | gojo, nanami, yuji, megumi, toji, sukuna synopsis: how the jjk men react to you asking them for a bicep pic! cw: cussing, suggestive jokes, fluff, petnames, fratkuna not canon sukuna masterlist

sukuna was scary — many people on campus made sure to try not to cross paths with him. the face tattoos, the rough,deep voice and his pure hight and muscles attracted many girls while still scaring away half.

there was really no inbetween being inlove with him or hating him. not that he cared about that anyway. because since he laid his eyes on you for the first time something clicked in his brain — he wanted, no, needed you to be his.

to his surprise,you, the sweet, shy girl, weren't scard of him — the opposite, you always looked at him with this loving expression it made him feel strangely warm.

to many people it didn't make any sense how he got with a sweet girl like you. everytime someone asked you why in the hell you would choose someone like sukuna your eyebrows furrowed in confusion becuase, what's wrong with sukuna?

well, they probably wouldn't expect the king of fratboys to spend his day tasting the sweets you baked, or watching a badly written romance movie under a baby pink blanket.

" you made this for me?"

he was sound asleep when you decided to knock on his door an a saturday morning, still hungover from the night before. he was ready to lash out on the person who decided to wake him at this hour, quickly desregarding any anger he felt the moment he openend the door — seeing you stand there in a cute outfit, hair styled and a fresh batch of cookies in your hands.

you're looking up at him smiling, letting yourself in when he stands at the side to make space for you to come in. "yeah, i know you're always hungry after partying all night so i wanted you to have somethning fresh to eat!"

and bless your heart, you don't realise what you're doing to your boyfriend, his chest warming as he trails behind you back to his room, where you put the cookies down.

"do you have a headache? i can get you some painkillers if you need some." the way you'Re worrying makes him almost smile if he weren't so tired. he unexpectedly pulls you into a hug, burrying your head into his chest, his head ontop of yours inhaling the strawberry vanilla shampoo scent.

you let out a quiet surprised squeal, quickly adapting and trying, keyword trying, to wrap your arms around him. "are you alright babe?" voice muffled against his chest.

he lets out a huff, thightening his embrace before pulling back just enough to tilt your chin up to make you look at him with those adorable eyes he loves. "what did i do to deserve such a sweet girl like you hm?" his voice is sleepy, but full of honestly, like he seriously can't wrap his head around how he got you.

you blush, shying away from the eye contact. "i just made you something to eat it's nothing special." you mumble but he still hears you cleary.

"f'course it is." he doesn't explain further, dragging you back to bed with him, laying ontop of you. "let me sleep with you and after i'll eat your cookies." it's not a question, his arms trapping you under him, making it impossible to escape, and he's already snoozing off.

In which crazy gf!reader argues with Boyfriend!Sukuna on a bridge in broad daylight

“It was a fucking milkshake!” he roars. 

“It was cheating!” you shriek. People look and point. You ignore them. “You paid for a girl’s milkshake! That means you want her milkshake! I see your infidelity. Real eyes realise real lies, asshole!”

Sukuna groans, face in hands. This day was going from bad to worse — waking up late because you turned his alarms off, getting a ticket when you leaned over to beep the horn at a police car, almost getting into a fist fight after you shoved him into a random man, and now? 

Now, he’s stuck on a bridge because his vengeful girlfriend’s pissed he treated a classmate to a milkshake. Apparently, milkshakes are equivalent to head in your books. Suffice to say, he’s ready for the day to end.

And it’s not even 12pm yet.

“Jesus, you drive me fucking insane,” Sukuna grits out. His foot taps relentlessly against the cement, muscles in his face ticking, jaw flexing. “You’ve got a real skill for ruining my goddamn life, I swear to god, woman.”

“Oh? Well, if your life sucks so much, then make a new one without me!” you screech, arms flailing wildly. “In fact, lemme help you out by just, I don’t know, jumping off this goddamn bridge!”

“Yeah, please fucking do! I’ll join you!”

People passing by whisper: “Oh my god, they’re causing a scene,” “should we step in?”, and “are they actually going to jump?” Or some variations of those. Concerned, an old lady steps forward and offers, “My dear, if you need help, we’re here for you.”

You whirl around, throwing the death glare you had at them instead of your boyfriend. That isn’t enough for them to take the hint, it would seem. Taking a deep breath, you give Sukuna only a second to brace himself before you proceed to start…barking. Like a chihuaha. Yipping is probably more accurate. You bark and bark and bark until even more people stop to look. They flinch back, aghast. The old lady splutters, “What on Earth is wrong with you?”

“Fuck you, you old bat,” Sukuna snaps, angry for a new reason. “Never heard a woman bark before? Grow the fuck up and get the hell away from us — our foreplay’s none of your goddamn business.”

Blanching, they stumble back. Then, they march away from the train wreck of a couple making a scene on the bridge flustered and embarrassed. You watch them leave. “Ugh, people these days,” you scoff. “No manners.”

Sukuna grunts in agreement. “Weirdos.” He glances down at you. “Where were we?”

You hum in thought, then beam. “I was gonna jump off the bridge.”

“Oh, yeah.” Shaking tension back into his body, he moulds his face back into an angry scowl. “You can’t keep threatening to jump every time you don’t get your way!”

“Says who?” you yell.

Across the bridge, two policemen sigh and shake their heads at the people silently questioning if they’re going to do something. All they say is, “They’re here every week.”

It happened every time Sukuna would nap, his stomach mouth would awaken like another whole entity itself and start talking to you, somehow sensing your presence every time.

Its voice, deeper than Sukuna’s yet still extremely similar, drawled out slowly. “I have always wondered what you’d taste like, woman.”

Your throat bobs nervously. “Can’t you taste things from both mouths?”

He hummed ‘no’, lip twitching up into a smirk. “Care to appease my wishes? I can already feel you throbbing on my thigh.”

You shift upon Sukuna’s lap, the man himself still deep in sleep. He remained with his eyelids fluttered closed as you slipped off the silk robe you were wearing and discarded your underwear, slowly shuffling up his abdomen until you were hovering over the stomach mouth.

“Don’t leave a starved man waiting,” the stomach growled beneath you, breath touching in between your legs and making your thighs squeeze against either side of his torso.

Hesitantly, you lowered yourself down until the thick tongue pressed flat against your heat, sinking into your slick and licking a long strip fron your hole to your clit. Your nails dig into your husbands skin immediately, lower lip tucked between your teeth to try and quieten your moans.

“Are- are you sure about this?” You ask tentatively, glancing up at Sukuna sleeping soundly.

“Mmm,” the mouth hums in pleasure. “Very sure.”

You writhed and moaned atop him, head tipping back in ecstasy, any remaining sensibility leaving your brain the second the long, thick tongue delved into your hole and ate you out as if you were its last meal and it was the sweetest thing it had ever tasted.

You’d finished twice already when Sukuna grumbled on the bed, hands twitching and eyes flickering, threatening to open and expose you of your current act. The speed at which you pull off his stomach makes the bed shake violently, throwing the discarded robe over your naked body as quickly as possible.

It’s your erratic movements that causes your husband to fully wake, slipping from unconsciousness and blindly reaching for you. You settle down next to him casually. “I’m here, Ryo.”

“Hm,” he grumbles sleepily. “Did you rest?”

You nod. “Mhm.”

“Good.”

There’s a beat of silence as you both settle down to sleep again.

“Liar. I can taste you on my tongue.”

when your husband is supposed to be the calm, rational one, you don’t expect to find him standing at the foot of the bed with his cock in his hand, whining into the dark.

but that’s where satoru ends up. tank top pushed halfway up his ribs, belt hanging useless from one loop, pants around his knees. his fist works up and down the fat length of his cock in rough, punishing strokes, spit and precum smeared down to his balls. he’s staring at you the whole time—at the soft curve of your hip under the sheet, the flutter of your lashes against your cheek. pregnant. glowing. carrying his baby.

and he’s rutting into his hand like some desperate virgin.

the panties he stole from the laundry basket are bunched in his other hand, pressed to his face. he inhales like he’s drowning, shuddering so hard the flimsy fabric trembles against his nose. your musky scent has him sobbing out a noise that doesn’t sound him at all.

“fuck, baby—” it rips out of him, pitched way too high. “smell so good... oh fuck, i can’t—can’t stop.”

his cock is obscene. flushed dark, veins raised under the skin, the head slick enough to shine in the faint glow of the bedside lamp. precum drips in heavy strings down his balls, thick enough to coat his knuckles. every stroke drags more slick out of him, messy and loud—schlick, schlick, schlick.

he sucks at the fabric like it could feed him, panting between licks, nose buried deep so he could breathe you in while his tongue works. “god, i'd eat you out for days if i just—mnhm!—if i just had the chance...”

his hips snap forward into his own fist, cock smacking his stomach with each thrust. precum splatters onto his tank top, dripping onto the hardwoods in obscene drops.

disgusting. a husband rutting into his fist because he’s too scared to touch his pregnant wife.

but satoru can’t stop. he’s babbling now, words spilling fast and needy. “want it so bad–fuck, i’d worship you, i'd never stop—”

he chokes on a sob as his balls tighten up, cock jerking violently in his grip. the sound he makes is humiliating, a high and euphoric whine. his thighs shake.

cum spurts out in heavy ropes, hot and endless, painting his stomach, his abs, his fist, the floor. lewd, thick jets that won’t stop, spilling like his body is trying to empty years of frustration at once. it drips down the backs of his fingers, strings across his knuckles, sprays his shirt. he gasps, still pumping through it, cock still twitching violently.

“ah—mnhg—fuck, t-too much, i can’t...” his voice cracks, strangled, but his fist won’t let go. more cum leaks out, drooling down his cock, streaking his thighs. his knees buckle and he braces one hand on the nightstand, forehead dropping against the wood with a hollow thud.

when it’s finally over, when the spurts slow to tiny dribbles, he’s still shaking so hard he can barely breathe. his cock still twitches against his stomach, still half-hard like it doesn’t know how to stop.

and you’re still asleep, lips parted beautifully while he stands there.

You stared curiously at the peculiar muscle on your husband’s toned stomach, currently closed as he naps beneath you on his chaise lounge. One finger reaches forward, lightly tapping against the outline of the mouth before pulling back.

To your surprise, it opens, lips curling into a cocky grin before it starts… speaking?! Its voice is deep and matches Sukuna’s perfectly, large tongue flicking out.

“Curious, hm?” It drawls slowly, flashing the sharp canines that had been hidden just seconds ago. You lean over to the nearby table, pulling a strawberry from the box and holding it tentatively near the mouth.

“Do you eat food?” You asked, sounding a little stupid talking to your husband’s stomach.

It laughs lightly, lips spreading in amusement. “I do, woman. What do you have in mind? A finger? An arm?”

You grimace. “Ew. No, I have a strawberry.” You press the tip of the strawberry against the tongue, watching it pull the fruit from your grip and chew loudly, red juice staining the sharp teeth.

You watch mesmerised at the unusual body part, noting how expressive it was and how it still managed to work even when Sukuna himself was asleep.

“Do you want another?”

“Hm.” The mouth hums for a second before the tongue flicks out and presses down flat against your two fingers resting against his lower abdomen.

Hesitantly, you lift them, saliva coating your fingers as Sukuna’s mouth stomach sucks on them greedily as if trying taste their flavour. You’re sat in awe, entranced as lewd sucking sounds fills the room.

“Ngh-“ Ryomen grunts suddenly, arm lifting from over his eyes as they flicker open. Immediately, his mouth pulls away from your fingers, closing innocently and leaving you both dumbfounded and aroused.

“What are you doing, wife?”

Sukuna’s developed an irritating habit. Whenever he’s fed up with you, or whenever he doesn’t want to entertain one of your questions, he’ll simply stay quiet and gesture towards his stomach. It’s kind of like saying ‘talk to the hand’. But in his case, it’s ‘talk to the stomach mouth’. 

Then his stomach mouth will shoot you this wide, smug grin, like it’s more than happy to converse with you. And you’ll just toss up your hands and groan, annoyed that your husband won’t even bother to speak with you face to face. 

But recently you've taken Sukuna up on his offer, turning the tables to give him the silent treatment while still chatting away with his stomach. Because Sukuna underestimated just how much that mouth of his likes to rile someone up. Even if it’s the rest of his body. 

Now, Sukuna’s lounging on the bed, limbs draped carelessly along the mattress. He’s trying to feign indifference. Trying to pretend he’s unphased by the fact that you haven’t spoken to him in four whole days. 

But you know better. You see the slight clench in his jaw, the scowl that deepens on his face each time he steals a look your way. He watches as you sit by the window, gazing at the scenery outside. 

When the silence stretches on longer than he can bear, Sukuna sets his pride aside to clear his throat and ask, “Are you still doing this?” 

You don’t even spare him a glance, continuing to look out the window. “Middle Mouth,” you say, “will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I have no idea what he’s talking about?”

Sukuna scoffs in disbelief, but that mouth of his flashes its teeth and singsongs, “Sukunaaaa. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard you,” Sukuna huffs, speaking to you instead of his stomach.

He hates this whole situation. Hates that you're not speaking with him. Hates that you’ve given his stomach mouth a nickname. And he hates that the mouth is entertaining it at all. 

 His jaw clenches once more, and he sighs before saying, “You’re ignoring me.” 

He’s not wrong. For almost a week, you’ve been avoiding your husband, refusing to interact or even look at any part of him other than his stomach maw. But despite all of his sulking and sour moods, you act as if nothing is amiss.

“Middle Mouth, will you please inform the rest of Sukuna that I am not ignoring him. You and I just had a lovely conversation, didn’t we?”

“Sukunaaaa,” the mouth singsongs again. “She isn’t ignoring you…well, me.” That grin returns, and you can’t help but let out a quiet laugh. Why didn’t you start speaking with your husband’s stomach mouth sooner? He really is entertaining.

“Stop that. Don’t humor her,” Sukuna scolds.

“Middle Mouth, you can converse with me as you please.”

“I intend to,” his maw replies. 

Sukuna’s eyes narrow, but he’s not sure whether to direct his glare at you or his abdomen. “How long do you intend to keep up these antics?”

You brush an imaginary piece of lint from your clothes and say, "Middle Mouth, please inform the rest of Sukuna that I’m still waiting on a proper apology from him." 

“I’m warning you, do not–”

“Sukunaaaa. She is waiting for a proper apology from you.”

Sukuna stares murderously down at his lower half. He’s finally met his match. The only ‘enemy’ that he can’t silence by force. Himself. 

And secretly, you think that he slightly enjoys that you’re speaking with his stomach mouth. It shows him that despite this silent treatment, you still desire some form of communication with him. 

So he’ll put up with the teasing, the inside jokes, and the fact that his wife is being stolen by his own body.

You decide to press your luck a little bit further, and say something you know will send your husband over the edge. “Middle Mouth–”

“Not again,” Sukuna groans, tossing his head back.

“Do you remember what I told you? What we talked about last night?”

“What?!?" Sukuna demands, sitting up abruptly and sending the covers around him flying.

“Oh, I remember,” his maw says, immediately grinning and playing into it. 

“Well, I was thinking about it and–”

“Why are you speaking with my wife at night?”

“Our wife. And what we discuss during late hours does not concern you.” 

“Anyways, as I was telling you, Middle Mouth, before I was rudely interrupted–”

“No. This ends now."

In seconds, Sukuna’s beside you, all 7 feet of him towering over you intimidatingly. He rubs a hand across his jaw, like he has to physically force the words out of his mouth. “I.. apologize for not answering when you asked me which of my cocks I urinate from.”

“…”

“The answer is both of them.”

Immediately, your mood lifts. You turn away from the window, smiling and facing your husband like nothing was ever wrong. “Apology accepted.” And then to his stomach mouth, “We’ll continue our conversation later.”