yung-notorious

[yung-notorious]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹🍒 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧’ 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 🍒⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐠! 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞! 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐮𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐱𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭.

𝐜𝐰: 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 (𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲), 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐨����𝐬, 𝐦𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐬𝐦𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐣𝐮𝐚𝐧𝐚

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

you’d been pushing yourself too much lately—classes, exams, and squeezing in time to braid hair for extra money. everybody on campus seemed to be letting loose early for spring break, but you were still up at night, hands cramping from parting and braiding hair until your eyes blurred.

when the last girl left your dorm room with fresh knotless braids and cash in hand, you just sat on the bed for a minute, staring at your phone. spring break. freedom. everybody else had their fun lined up and had upcoming beach trips, parties, smoke sessions planned.

you’d never touched anything. never smoked, never drank. your mom’s voice always in the back of your head telling you to keep your head straight. but now? the thought of just letting go for once? it didn’t sound so bad.

your thumb hovered over your messages for a while. you thought about who you could even ask. who did you know that’d actually respond without making it weird?

and then you thought of him.

connie springer. everybody knew him. not just because he was always posted outside the student center in some jordan fit with his chains glinting every time it hit the sun, but because if anybody wanted to smoke, connie was the one they hit.

you clicked over to his instagram. you followed him, but never actually talked. he posted pics like he lived in his own music video—car shots, money fans, flicks with his boys.

your fingers trembled a little before you typed.

hey do you sell?

you hesitated for about three seconds before pressing send.

the reply came fast.

damn ma, you finally textin me? 👀

what u need?

you bit your lip, typing slow.

um just weed. i’ve never tried it before tho.

a bubble popped up right away.

oh so u hittin me up for your first time?

i feel special.

you rolled your eyes even though your cheeks felt hot.

ur literally the only person i know who sells.

nah don’t play me like that

you lowkey been tryna text me, huh

connie. please. 🧍🏽‍♀️

relax, i’m just messin wit you

how much you want?

you hesitated again.

i don’t know… like, enough for just me?

another quick reply.

cute.

i’ll put you together somethin light.

but if it’s your first time, u gotta let me pull up n show you how. can’t have you tweakin by yourself.

you stared at the screen.

you don’t have to.

nah what kinda plug would i be if i left you hangin?

plus, i been waitin on u to hit me up.

your chest felt tight, like he could see straight through your nerves.

i guess that’s fine.

bet. send the addy.

you cleaned your room without even meaning to, folding the throw blanket on your bed twice over and spraying your perfume around like it’d cover the nerves sitting in your chest.

when the knock finally came, your stomach dropped.

you opened the door and there he was—hoodie half zipped over a white tee, sweatpants, and his signature jordans like he didn’t even try but somehow still looked put together. his chain caught the hallway light when he grinned.

“damn,” he leaned on the doorframe, eyes dragging over you, “you lookin like i just interrupted somethin important.”

“just… cleaning,” you muttered, stepping aside.

he walked in easy, daps you up like you been friends. he smelled good like something clean, faint cologne under the sharp scent of what he carried in the bag.

“so this your lil spot?” he asked, looking around while heading to your room and dropping his bag on your desk. “cozy.”

you followed and sat on the bed, tucking your legs under you. “yeah. nothing special.”

he pulled out a small jar, the green inside glinting under the light. he set it down, then looked at you with that same smirk.

“you nervous?”

you swallowed. “a little. i don’t know what to expect.”

he chuckled low. “nah, don’t trip. i got you. first time, you gon be chillin. just listen to me, aight?”

you nodded.

he pulled out papers, started breaking it down with quick fingers like he’d done this a million times. you watched, fascinated by the way he moved so precise but casual.

“so what made you finally hit me up?” he asked without looking up, voice smooth.

you hesitated. “just wanted to try something new, i guess. everyone else is doing stuff for spring break, and i feel like i never do anything.”

he looked up then, raising a brow. “you? nah, you don’t strike me like everybody else. you different. i can tell.”

heat rose in your cheeks. “different how?”

“innocent,” he said simply, licking the edge of the paper before sealing it. “but in a good way. makes me wonder what else you never tried.”

you tried to laugh it off, heart skipping. “probably a lot.”

he leaned back, holding up the joint. “well, lucky for you, i’m a good teacher.”

he lit it, took the first pull, then handed it over. “alright, baby steps. hold it like this ma… yeah. now just pull in slow. don’t force it.”

your lips touched the end and you inhaled. it burned, sharp in your chest, and you coughed right after.

he laughed softly, rubbing your back. “it’s cool, it’s cool. everybody coughs the first time. means it’s hittin.”

you looked at him, watery-eyed but trying to smile. “that was awful.”

“nah,” he shook his head, grin tugging at his mouth, “you look cute tryna thug it out. go ‘head, try again.”

you did, slower this time, letting the smoke roll out your mouth.

“there you go,” he said low, watching you. “you a natural.”

a warmth started creeping into your body, not just from the smoke but from the way he kept looking at you like you were letting him in on a secret.

it didn’t take long before you felt it like a slow warmth stretching across your body, the edges of the room softening, your shoulders dropping loose for the first time in weeks. you leaned back against your headboard, blinking at connie.

“oh my god,” you whispered, laughing under your breath, “everything feels… weird.”

he smirked, already leaning back in your desk chair with the joint between his fingers. “weird how?”

“like… floaty. and my face feels funny.”

he chuckled, low and easy. “yeah, that’s the high. you relaxin now. don’t fight it.” he passed the joint back, watching the way your fingers brushed his. “you look cute like this.”

you rolled your eyes, taking another drag just to prove you could. “you keep saying that.”

“cuz it’s true.” he got up from the chair, coming to sit next to you on your bed, his shoulder brushing yours. “you don’t even know. everybody on this campus loud as hell, tryna be seen. but you? sittin here mindin your business, doin hair, actin like you ain’t the prettiest one around.”

your chest fluttered at the way he said it, casual but sure. “you don’t even know me.”

“i know enough,” he said, eyes on you now. “know you been tryna stay lowkey. know you the type that don’t hit nobody up unless you really trust ‘em. so when you texted me? yeah, i noticed.”

you shifted under his gaze, the smoke making it harder to keep your thoughts straight. “i just… i didn’t know who else to ask.”

“nah,” he said, grin tugging his lips, “you coulda asked a few people. but you wanted me. i ain’t mad at it.”

your laugh slipped out soft, shaky. “you’re so full of yourself.”

he leaned closer, shoulder pressing into yours now, his voice dropping like he was letting you in on something. “nah, i’m just observant. and right now, i’m seein you relaxin for the first time since i walked in. kinda like it.”

you didn’t say anything, too busy feeling how close he was, how warm his arm felt against yours.

he tilted his head, watching you with half-lidded eyes. “tell me what’s runnin through your head right now.”

you hesitated, words sticking in your throat. “that… you’re kinda… different than i thought.”

his grin widened slow. “different good or different bad?”

“good,” you admitted, your voice almost a whisper.

he nodded, satisfied, passing you the joint one last time. “that’s all i needed to hear.”

the high hit all at once—like the world softened, music humming low from the hallway outside sounded sweeter, and every color in your room felt warmer. you leaned back against the wall, giggling without meaning to.

“why does everything feel… like this?” you asked, covering your face with your hands.

connie laughed, pulling them down gently. “cuz you high, ma. welcome to the club.”

“i feel stupid,” you admitted, though you were still smiling.

“nah, you look happy. i like it.” he stretched out on your bed now, one arm behind him, the other close enough that his hand brushed your thigh when he moved. “you should smile more.”

you blinked at him, caught off guard. “you say stuff like that too easy.”

he smirked, tilting his head. “and you believe it too easy. means you not used to hearin it.”

you tried to roll your eyes, but it came out softer this time, your cheeks warm. the high made it impossible to hide how flustered you felt.

“see?” he teased, leaning a little closer. “you tryin to fight it, but you like hearin me talk to you like that.”

you shook your head, but he just grinned, brushing the back of his fingers over your hand where it rested on your leg. the touch was light, but it sent heat rushing through you.

“you okay?” he asked, voice low now.

you nodded, staring at his hand against yours. “just… feels different.”

“yeah?” his thumb traced along your knuckles lazily. “good different?”

you swallowed. “yeah.”

he leaned in then, his breath warm against your cheek. “you want me to stop?”

your chest tightened, the question spinning in your head before you managed to shake it. “no.”

that grin tugged at his lips again, but softer this time. he shifted closer, tilting his head just enough for his nose to brush yours, testing the space.

and then you closed it.

his mouth was warm, the kiss unhurried—like he wasn’t in a rush, just letting you feel it. he tasted faintly like smoke and mint gum, his lips moving slow against yours, his hand sliding from your knuckles to hold your jaw gently.

when he finally pulled back, just barely, he kept his forehead against yours, his voice low and teasing.

“told you… i’m a good teacher. lemme teach you something else.”

next thing you know, connie has you on your knees, sunken into the carpet while your hands gripped the sides of the mirror, bent forward just enough to see your own reflection staring back. connie on his knees behind you, one hand firm on your lower back, the other guiding himself against your folds.

“damn,” he muttered, eyes locked on the way you looked spread out for him, “you don’t even know how fine you look right now. first time and you already got me losin my mind.”

the blunt from earlier still lingered on your lips, but all you could focus on was the stretch when he pushed in slow, inch by inch. your mouth fell open at the burn, your body tight around him.

“shhh,” he soothed, rubbing circles into your hip with his thumb. “relax for me, baby. breathe… yeah, just like that. takin me so good.”

you whimpered, watching your own face twist in the glass as he bottomed out, hips flush against yours.

“eyes up,” he told you, leaning over to kiss your shoulder. “don’t run from it. i want you to see how perfect you look takin this dick.”

he pulled back, sliding out halfway before sinking into you again, slow enough to make your legs tremble.

“fuck, you so tight,” he groaned, grip tightening on your waist. “like this pussy was waitin on me.”

you moaned, the sound muffled against your arm, but he reached forward, tugging it away.

“nah, let me hear you. don’t hide nothin from me.” his thrusts picked up, steady but deep, every stroke making your reflection shiver. “good girl… that’s it, moan for me.”

your body gave in, rocking back into him without thinking, your eyes glassy as you watched the way he filled you.

“look at you,” he said, voice dropping, “throwin it back already, like you know exactly what you doin. first time, and you movin like you mine for real.”

his words wrapped around you, pulling more sounds out of your chest with each thrust.

“say it,” he urged, pressing down on your lower back to arch you deeper. “tell me who you belong to.”

“y-you connie,” you gasped, nails clawing at the mirror frame. “i’m yours.”

his smirk showed in the reflection, sweat glinting on his neck as he drove into you harder, the slap of skin filling your dorm.

“that’s my girl,” he groaned, voice rough. “my pretty little first-timer, takin it like a champ.”

your arms shook against the mirror frame, each thrust making the glass rattle faintly. connie’s grip was firm on your waist, pulling you back onto him like he wanted you to feel every inch.

“fuck, you feel too good,” he groaned, eyes glued to where you joined in the reflection. “look at that—pussy grippin me like you don’t wanna let go.”

your mouth dropped open, moans spilling out unrestrained now. the burn of being stretched had melted into heat that curled low in your stomach, spreading sharp and sweet until it was all you could focus on.

“connie,” you whined, voice thin and shaky, “it’s— it’s too much.”

his hand slid from your hip to your stomach, holding you steady. “nah, baby, that’s not too much. that’s your body catchin up. you right there—i can feel it.” his voice dipped, steady and coaxing. “don’t fight it. let go for me.”

your legs trembled, your vision blurring as the rhythm of his hips drove into you. every snap against your ass echoed, every praise spilling from his lips made your chest tighten more.

“so good for me,” he muttered into your ear, leaning down until his chain brushed your back. “first time and you already makin me proud. keep them pretty eyes on the mirror. watch yourself cum on me.”

your body gave in before you could think, your knees nearly buckling as the orgasm ripped through you, sharp and overwhelming. you cried out, clutching the mirror frame like it was the only thing holding you up, your reflection a blur of glassy eyes and parted lips.

“thaaat’s it,” connie praised, voice rough but full of pride. “there she go. that’s my girl. tight as fuck, squeezin me just right.”

he slowed his thrusts but not stopping, letting you ride it out, one hand rubbing soothing circles over your hip while the other pressed against your stomach to ground you.

“breathe, baby,” he whispered against your neck, kissing the damp skin there. “you did so good for me. so fuckin good.”

your chest heaved as you blinked at your reflection, sweat shining on your skin, your body still trembling.

“see that?” he murmured, brushing your hair back so you had no choice but to look. “that’s what it looks like when i make you mine.”

your body was still twitching from the previous orgasm, forehead pressed to the cool glass while you tried to catch your breath. connie didn’t let go of your hips, his thrusts slowing only for a moment before he started rolling back into you again, deeper now, heavier.

“you feel that?” he groaned, dragging himself out slow just to slam back into your heat. “pussy still clenchin on me like you don’t wanna let go. you gon make me lose it, baby.”

you whimpered, your body sensitive, every stroke pulling more sounds out of you.

“mm, that’s it,” he muttered, teeth gritted as he kept his pace steady. “first time, and you lettin me fuck you like this. takin every inch like a good girl. look at you in the mirror, baby see how perfect you look gettin fucked?”

your eyes fluttered open, hazy, catching sight of yourself in the reflection—sweaty, hair messy, connie’s chain glinting against your back as he started thrusting into you again, his jaw tight with focus.

“god, you so fine,” he grunted, fingers digging into your waist. “tightest shit i ever had. you know that? nobody ever gon do you like me.”

his breathing turned ragged, thrusts getting rougher, hips smacking loud against your ass. he leaned over you, chest pressing to your back, his voice low and strained in your ear.

“say it again,” he demanded, voice shaking. “say you mine.”

“i’m yours,” you gasped, barely able to keep your grip on the mirror frame. “all yours, connie.”

“fuck,” he growled, slamming into you harder. “that’s it, baby. keep sayin it.”

“i’m yours,” you repeated, moaning loud as he drove into that spot again and again.

his rhythm faltered, his groans spilling into your neck as his hips stuttered. he pulled you flush against him, burying himself deep with one last thrust.

“shit—fuck—” his voice broke, muffled against your shoulder as he came, holding you tight while his release spilled hot inside you.

he stayed there, chest pressed to your back, both of you breathing hard, your reflections hazy with sweat.

after a long moment, he kissed your shoulder softly, his hands rubbing gentle circles on your waist.

“damn, baby,” he whispered with a lazy grin, still catching his breath. “first time and you already got me tappin out. told you—you was made for me.”

[yung-notorious]

LEAVE A TRAP ON THE NET, ONLY REASON YOU REACHED OUT ‘CAUSE ALL YOUR FRIENDS THINK IM SO PRETTY! — ♡

🆕 insider look into 'never lose me' reader's & gojo's close friends story on instagram 📱💕

— never lose me (read here on a03) baddie!reader x college!gojo, multi-chapter, word count: 108K+, ongoing. "oh girl...they're definitely talking about you in a group chat." — feat. satoru gojo

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[yung-notorious]

your two latest fic were so good!! i just know what you’re cooking for nlm is going to eat

awww thank you! I have a long day of school ahead of me so this cheered me up a lot!

[yung-notorious]

Lil' Kim for Rolling Stone Magazine, 2003.

[yung-notorious]

"ONE MORE SHOT, I'M SUPER TWEAKED! THAT LIQUOR TURN ME TO A FREAK!"

— “That’s what boyfriends do, right? Show out. Keep your girl and her friends happy.” — ft. ryomen sukuna

+18 MDNI. WARNINGS. baddie!reader x boyfriend!sukuna, porn w/ plot, clubbing culture, houston club scene, mentions of alcohol, drinking, ryomen treating the girls, plotting to get your boyfriend drunk, established relationship, f*cking off the liquor, unprotected sex, dom/sub undertones, possessive, praise & body worship, creampie, edging, nasty rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare. notes. image sourced from pinterest. word count 4.5k. title: Latto - Liquor

The bass hits so hard it shakes the cup in your hand, bubbles fizzing against your tongue as you lean into your best friend’s ear to laugh about something stupid she just said. The club is a whole different planet tonight— strobe lights flashing, bodies moving like they’ve got something to prove, perfume, smoke, and sweat mixing in the air until it’s thick enough to taste.

You’ve been dancing for what feels like forever now, your heels biting into your feet, with your hair sticking to the back of your neck. So when one of the girls yells, “Bathroom break!” you’re the first one to agree. 

The four of you spill into the restroom like it’s home base, laughing too loud, clutching onto each other as you wobble on unsteady heels. There’s a line for the stalls, so everyone crowds around the mirrors— phones out, purses open, liner getting touched up.

You’re halfway through blotting your lipstick when one of your friends leans in with a pointed look. “So…is your man good out there?”

You glance at her in the mirror. “Whatchu’ mean?”

“I mean he looks bored, like he doesn’t wanna be here.” Another pipes up, fixing her curls. “Yeah, I don’t think he looked away once the whole time we were dancing.”

“Girl, stop.” You laugh, but they’re all giving you that you know we’re right look.

“She’s not lying.” Your best friend says, smoothing her leave-out down with a pocket brush kept stashed in her purse. “He looks tense. Like, scary tense. You think he’s having fun?”

You hesitate, dabbing the corners of your lips with gloss. “…Probably not. No. You know he doesn’t go out. Clubs aren’t his thing.”

“Okay, but he came out for you.” Another says, pointing at you with her powder puff. “So don’t let him sit there looking like Secret Service all night. He’s scaring the hoes.” 

“That part!” One of your friends calls from inside a stall, the door clicking shut behind her. 

You laugh again, but softer this time, tucking the gloss back into your purse. She’s only saying that because earlier she thought some guy had curved her— too intimidated to come up to the section y’all are in to talk to her. 

“I’m just saying.” She adds, zipping her purse. “Maybe pull him in a little. Dance with him, something. Make him feel part of it before he kills somebody.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you fix the strap of your dress. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“Please girl, ‘cause I could finish another bottle. It’s too early to be going home.”

When you finally push back into the crowd, the heat hits you again— music pounding in your chest, lights flashing across sweat-slick faces. Your boyfriend Sukuna is still sitting exactly where you left him, posted at the edge of the booth like he owns it. Well, technically he does for the night at least. Shades still on, jaw tight, phone in his hand like he’s scrolling, you catch a cup shifting in his grip every now and then— he’s making himself look busy, but you know damn well he’s not looking at anything important.

And now he’s watching you cross the floor. Slow. Head to toe. Like every second you were gone cost him something. If looks could kill, half the club would be gone by now. Maybe it’s the way his grip on that small cup tightens for a second when your eyes meet, something about it makes your stomach twist.

“Hey, baby!” You purr, sliding up next to him and slipping your arm through his like you’re calming down a pit bull. “Miss me?”

Lowering his shades, he drags his eyes from your legs to your face, mouth twitching with a shrug. “Nah, just countin’ how many guys stared at you since we walked in.”

You laugh, lifting off him to reach for the pitcher of water on the table in front of you to pour yourself a glass.

“Don’t do that. It’s a club. That’s what people do.”

“Yeah, well…” His gaze drags slowly over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch and curve. “They need to un-do it before I cause a problem up in here.” 

You just smirk, sipping slow. “Mm. Somebody’s jealous.”

“Somebody’s real fuckin’ observant.” He mutters, tugging you closer by the waist like that’s gonna fix anything. He’s not mad at you, pissed for coming here if anything. You’ve seen him at his worst enough times to tell the difference.  

He always hated this kind of scene— the blaring music, the crowded dance floors, the neon lights bouncing off bodies pressed together. He’d made that clear every time you and your girls went out, but tonight, after a heated argument about him being too controlling, he decided to prove a point.

Spitefully. He bought a whole section for you and your friends, smugly declaring that if you wanted the club, he’d give you the club. But you know him too well; he didn’t drink much, hated the chaos, hated the tight outfits you wore, the way you acted when you had one too many drinks in your system. He was already twitching at the first thump of the bass when y’all walked in. 

Thinking to yourself— you’ve got to do something, because his attitude is not going to be what sours your mood tonight. Maybe if you get him a little tipsy, loosen that iron grip just enough for him to let go and have fun without realizing he was enjoying himself, then maybe y’all both can have a good night.

Spotting your girls making their way closer to your section, you lean into him further, brushing your lips against his ear just to watch him twitch. Something about the way he tilts his head back makes you wonder if he’s already had a little drink before this.

“‘Relax, ‘Kuna. Matter of fact, how about we get us some more shots?’ 

He blinks at you, deadpan like you said something off. “Us?”

“Yeah.” You point over to where your girls are. “That’s what boyfriends do, right? Show out. Keep your girl and her friends happy.”

“Where they start doing that at?” He laughs like you’ve lost your mind for asking, setting his cup held in his hand down on the table. The look on his face makes you grin so wide your cheeks hurt. He hates this. You know he does, that’s why you love doing it.

So maybe you did lose your mind. Getting the section was already a stretch, but it’s a fact to everyone who knows Sukuna that he doesn’t give handouts, let alone to your homegirls, but it’s worth a shot. 

“If you ain’t treating, you ain’t tricking.” You set your finished glass down next, kicking a leg up and over his lap, letting it rest there just long enough to make him shift. His hands wrap around your legs like he wants to do more than just look.

He freezes for a beat, jaw tight, trying to hide the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t play with me.” He says, narrowing his eyes, voice low, like he’s counting down how many seconds you got left to cut it out.

Rising to your feet, you let your hips sway just enough to draw his eyes, fluttering your lashes slow and deliberate.

“Baby, I’m not playin’. We like Casamigos…” You drag the words out, letting your smirk do half the talking.

He exhales, leans back, giving you that slow, knowing look, and you grin to yourself, satisfied— because let’s be real, you’ll always get your way one way or another.

With a playful toss of your hair, you turn back toward your girls to meet them on the dance floor, letting him watch as you disappear into the crowd, the smirk still lingering on your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sliding back into the booth with your girls, and there’s a tray of shots on the table— glasses clinking like music. You cheer with them, throwing back tequila like water, and before long you’re warm and giggly, pressed against his side with your fingers hooked in his belt loop. 

“Kuna’, help us finish this bottle. Can’t have it go to waste.”

You’re close enough now that your knee brushes his thigh every time you shift. His eyes drop there, then back up at you with that lazy, irritated stare that really means he’s thinking something else.

“You really want me drunk?” His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb grazing skin like he’s trying to distract you. “For what?”

“So you’ll stop mean-muggin’ everybody in here.” You giggle, leaning off him to pour a shot halfway, holding it to his lips like you dare him to refuse.

He does. Instead tilts it towards you, watching as you take it slow, his fingers brushing your lips on purpose. Heat rushes to your face, but you play it cool, reaching for the bottle of cranberry juice to fill up a cup, throwing it back quickly like the burn didn’t faze you. 

“Two more— me and you.” You lift the bottle up, showing how much is left. He hasn’t had a taste of this liquor yet, though you know he caught a sip of something earlier, just enough to make his eyes linger on you differently. Meanwhile, between you and your girls, you lost count a couple shots ago.

“Look at you, already drunk.” His voice dips, rough in a way that makes your stomach tingle, taking the bottle from your grip.

“This how you get when I’m not around?”

Your lips curve as you let him have it, leaning in close enough that your breath grazes his jaw. “I’m not that drunk. Tipsy if anything, but not drunk.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” His eyes cut to yours, lingering like he’s searching for the lie. 

“Please? Finish it with me?” You whine

“I still have to drive, don’t I?” He sets the bottle down slow, like he wants you to know he’s the one in control— even when you’re trying to play. 

“Call your friends over. We all can split it since we’re not wasting.” 

Calling your girls back over, Sukuna moves to pour six shots, one for each of you, nearly finishing the bottle out. The girls cheer like it’s the biggest win of the night, clinking their glasses against his before tossing theirs back. He hesitates for half a beat, then downs it, jaw flexing as the tequila burns its way down.

“See? Was that so bad?” You grin like you just scored a winning shot. He shakes his head, setting the empty glass down, but you’re already moving to pour another. 

“Don’t get cute.” He grumbles.

“Too late.” You laugh, sliding it toward him before he can protest. “C’mon. Loosen up. Dance with me after this one.”

That earns you a sharp side-eye, but you know you’ve got him. It’s in the way his hand is already resting on your thigh, squeezing just enough to remind you who you’re teasing. He tips the second shot back without another word, face balling up. He slams the glass down with a whistle, shaking out his arms, and that’s when you know the heat of the liquor starting to run through him.

The bass drops hard enough to rattle the table, and you don’t even wait for him to think twice. Fingers laced through his, you pull him up, ignoring the curse that slips from his mouth as you drag him into the smoke and the lights, a grin breaking across your face when you feel him follow without resistance.

You can’t say what happened between then and now, other than the fact that you’re down in the garage being buckled into the passenger seat of his car. Your entire body light, lips buzzing from laughter and lime, the world feels like it’s tilting, like it’s been set to a softer, slower spin.

His hands are steady on the seatbelt buckle, veins in his forearms jumping as he clicks it into place before jumping into the driver’s side then turning to ask if you’re all good, before backing out.

The drive is quiet except for the hum of the engine and your shallow breaths, your thighs pressed together because every time his hand slides up your leg at a red light, your body lights up feeling sensitive. If you were any more sober, you’d be less ashamed to tell what followed next when his fingers brushed against your pussy, but that’s what tints are for.

By the time you make it through the front door of your shared condo, you’re not sure if you walked in or if he carried you. Everything's a blur now— the slam of the door, the sound of your heels hitting the floor, his jacket dropping somewhere you don’t care to look— because the only thing you can focus on is him. His weight against you as your back meets the bed, his breath hot and sharp in your ear.

“Had me sittin’ there watchin’ you all night, little ass dress ridin’ up, dancin’ like you ain’t got nobody at home. You know how bad I wanted to drag you outta there?”

Your head is spinning, but it’s not just the tequila— it’s him. The way his mouth claims yours before you can even think of an answer, the taste of liquor on his lips, his hands everywhere at once like he’s trying to make up for every second you kept him waiting. You melt easily under it, giggling into his kisses when he lifts you clean off the bed just enough to slip your dress and thong off, like you weigh nothing.

The bed catches you in a soft bounce, his mouth brushes yours again, slower now, teasing, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth until your toes curl.

“Look at you.” He murmurs against your chin, voice rough.

“Drunk off your ass and still so fuckin’ pretty. You know how many dudes were starin’? How many I wanted to break in half for even thinkin’ about you?”

Your laugh is breathless, shaky. “You’re so jealous…so fucking jealous.”

“Damn right.” His smirk is dangerous, something serious behind it, that makes your stomach tingle. “They get to see you like this. Only me.”

When he kisses you again, it’s slower, deeper, like he’s trying to swallow every sound you make. His tongue slides against yours, sloppy and hungry, and you can taste the tequila on his breath when he groans into your mouth.

Your hands tug at his hair, as your knees fall open without thinking, giving him space to press in. A moment after, he’s trailing wet kisses from your chest to your stomach, pausing to swirl his tongue just above your lower belly before traveling further to kiss at your pussy. Within seconds those kisses turn into licks with his tongue flat against your clit, heavy enough to make you feel pinned in the best way.

“You feel that?” His voice rings, lips brushing your inner thigh as you catch your breath.

“Been wantin’ this all night. Watchin’ you out there, dressed like that, lettin’ those bastards look at what’s mine.”

You can’t even answer— just a breathless whimper when his fingers slip in slowly for you to feel every inch of them, curling. Then he moves, flips you like it’s nothing, strong hands guiding you flat onto your stomach.

Your face sinks into the sheets, hips tipped up just enough for him to squeeze your ass, the sound of his belt loosening and pants dropping to the floor quieter than your moans as you rock back needy, chasing his fingers to fill you up again. Pushing his dick through your slick folds, he sinks in deep from this angle. The sound you make when he bottoms out is filthy, your head spinning as he sets a brutal rhythm— each thrust punching the air from your lungs. 

He groans, palm sliding up spine, pressing until your stomach flat against the mattress and you’re taking him the way he wants.

“Stay like that. Don’t move. Just lay there and take it for me.” 

You do. You take it, face buried in the sheets, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth as he fucks you hard, your body rocking with every deep, punishing stroke. You’re too inebriated to make this any sexier for him, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head each time he hits up against that bundle of nerves that makes your toes curl. 

For all that shit he talks about hating you drunk, you know he eats it up. Love how loose you get, all giggly and slick-mouthed, talking back like you don’t know who you’re speaking too. Loves how easy you are to handle, body gone soft, limbs like damn Jell-O every time he puts his hands on you.

Drunk sex is your favorite for a reason— because when you’re like this, he takes full advantage, folding you into any position he wants, fucking you deep until you can’t do anything but moan and whimper.

Right as you reach a hand back to spread one of your cheeks, he pins your wrist back down, hips slow, almost stop, and you whine at the sudden loss of motion. He’s still deep, buried so far it aches, but he just stays there, pulsing inside you like he knows you’re seconds from falling apart. His mouth drops to your ear, voice low and hot enough to make your stomach tingle.

“You feel that, baby?” His words flow like honey, coming off more as taunt than a question.

You nod quick, breath shuddering, but that’s not enough for him. Never is. “How that feel?” He presses, hips giving the smallest grind that has your toes curling. 

“‘So good.” You whine, pushing back hard, desperate to get more of him, all of him, anything but this teasing. 

“More! More! More!” You rock against him, needy, trying to force the rhythm back, but he’s stronger— holding you there, feeling his smile against your back as your walls flutter around him. Then he eases his hand, shifting his weight off you to give you just enough freedom to grind back on him, pussy hugging him tight. “Fuck— Fuck— Yes! More!”  

“Fuck…you’re so wet baby. I’m not even moving, that’s all you.” He murmurs against your shoulder, hot breath fanning against your skin. You can hear it in his voice how weak you got him, and it makes you whimper even louder, feeding him every broken whine slipping past your lips.

“Move! Please! I wanna cum, I wanna squirt on you.” Your words come out rushed, as if begging alone could make him snap.

You don’t care how desperate you sound, you need him fucking you so hard you’re gushing around him when it’s due. You think you hear him growl out something along the lines of promising to give you exactly that, but you’re too drunk, too wrecked, too focused on the grip of his hands pinning your hips down.

You feel the mattress dip on your right as he hikes a leg up, planting it besides your head, shifting into a new angle that gives him even more leverage to fuck into you. The thrusts hit deeper, rougher, downright nasty. His dick got you so stretched out you already know the second he busts, that cum’s going to be spilling easily.

With one hand gripping the sheets to keep yourself from riding up the bed, the other slips between your thighs, fingers circling your clit in messy, desperate strokes. Your body trembles with every pass, that familiar heat rushing to your pussy as you inch yourself closer and closer to your orgasm.  

“This my pussy!?” He growls low through clenched teeth, his weight crashing down on your ass as he pounds into you back to back, he’s fucking into you like a man possessed— hips snapping, strokes deep and ruthless, not a single flutter in his pace.

“Yes!” You cry out brokenly, you’re so close, so damn close, already starting to feel your pussy squish around him, your wetness trickling down your thighs. You’re about to squirt— you can feel it, fuck, he can feel it too— your whole body gives it away in the way your voice and legs start to shake.

“This always gonna be my pussy?” His question rips through the air right before the sting of his hand landing upside your ass. One slap, then another, and another, each one knocking a moan out of your throat. Your fingers don’t stop— they can’t stop— tight circles spinning on your clit like your life depends on it. Sex feels so fucking good drunk, right behind being high. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Yes!” It’s almost a sob.

“Huh!?” Another smack, even sharper, echoing. “You never gonna give nobody my pussy?”

“No! Fuck— No!”

“C’mon then! Show me this my pussy!” His voice is pure sin, all possessive and demanding.

“Yes— yes— Kuna’, baby— don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” It rips out of you, wild and shameless, right as your orgasm hits, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your whole body shakes, squirting around him, wetness gushing down your legs as his name keeps falling off your lips like a prayer. A brutal, nasty groan rumbles from his chest, as he buries himself to a hilt, dick twitching, filling you full.

For a second, all you can hear is the wet, filthy sound of your pussy talking back, sucking him in. He pulls out slow, then sinks back in even slower, humming like he wants to memorize the way you feel.

When he finally pulls out of you completely, it’s with a wet pop that has your hips trembling. He crashes back against the mattress, breathing like he ran a 4K. You’re no better with your chest heaving, face buried in the sheets, trying to remember how to breathe. Your thighs are still trembling so you’re half convinced they might give out if you even think about moving. The sheets under you are a mess— sticky, damp, and smelling like cum. 

Beside you, you hear him exhale sharp through his nose, humming deep and satisfied. For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing— before the mattress dips again. 

“You made a fucking mess.” He murmurs, voice rough, sliding a hand down the curve of your spine. Stopping at your ass, squeezing lazily, messaging the muscle out. His fingers then drag through the slick between your thighs, and you flinch, hips jerking.

“Kuna’” You whimper, breath still catching. Your voice sounds wrecked, throat raw from all the crying and moaning you’ve been doing. 

“What?” He leans down, lips brushing your ear as his hand presses down against your lower back, keeping you still. “Don’t start actin’ shy now. You just squirted all over this dick like a good girl.”

You groan into the pillow, heat flooding your cheeks as his fingers glide through the mess of your pussy, lazy and teasing. When you look back, you catch him bringing them up to his mouth with zero shame, sucking them clean with a hum that sends another shiver through your spine.

“Drunk sex ass.” He teases, lips curling against your skin as he kisses the back of your neck. “Got you talkin’ all that ‘don’t stop, baby’ shit like you wasn’t tryna fight me when I first got in it.”

You let out a breathless laugh, face still buried in the sheets, too tired to argue. He’s fucking right. And he knows it. For a moment, neither of you move. His hand stays on your ass, thumb stroking lazy circles, while you feel your heartbeat slow to something steady. It’s quiet now— except for the soft hum of the A/C in the background and the faint wet sounds when he drags his fingers through you one last time before finally letting go. 

“C’mere.” He says, voice softer now. Grabbing a handful of tissues he wipes you down slow, surprisingly gentle for someone who just fucked you into the mattress like that. You peek back at him, lashes low, and he smirks, tossing the tissues aside before pulling you into his chest. His skin is hot and sticky with sweat, and you sink into him without thinking, letting his arms lock around you, as he throws the blankets over you both.

“That’s my pussy.” He mutters again, low and possessive against your temple, before pressing a wet kiss there that makes your face ball up. You should say something smart, roll your eyes and tell him to shut the hell up. But all you can do is hum, eyes feeling heavy, because if this is what being his means— warm and wrecked and too tired to move— you’re not complaining.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 

“I said that?” He shoots you a look over his shoulder, stirring the creamer he just added into his coffee. The two of you are in the kitchen, enjoying breakfast this morning— delivery, of course, spread out across the table, because neither of you were fit enough to stand over a stove after last night.

For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been recapping everything that went down, from estimating the amount of liquor you drank, to what the bottle girls wrote on their signs each time they marched out.

For the most part, you’re on the same page— until you got to the part where he cracked you down so good, he knocked out before he could clean his own nut off the bed. He doesn’t remember anything after getting through the front door, barely recalls driving home, or the filthy shit he was talking while he was deep in you. Sukuna’s always been possessive— you knew that a month into dating him, when he made you delete every guy in your phone and proved exactly why. But last night? Last night was something out, and it definitely needs a conversation.

“Yes! Yes, you said that! You don’t remember?” You press, driving a knife through your pancakes a little harder than intended. You’ve been going back and forth for minutes now, and he’s refusing to admit he could have possibly said the things he said. 

“No.” He mutters, turning back to his coffee with a lazy shrug. “I was drunk as fuck.”

“You had two shots! Two!” You throw up both hands, fork and knife tight in your grip like you’re holding the evidence in court. 

He glances at you then, grin slow and sharp. “Could’ve been two shots of anything.” He taps the spoon against his mug and sets it down with a clink. “Maybe I’m a lightweight.”

You blink at him, stunned, squinting like you’re trying to figure out which alternate reality you woke up in. Because this? This makes zero sense. 

“What the fuck did you drink then?” You hit back with, and he just looks at you and laughs.

[yung-notorious]

"ONE MORE SHOT, I'M SUPER TWEAKED! THAT LIQUOR TURN ME TO A FREAK!"

— “That’s what boyfriends do, right? Show out. Keep your girl and her friends happy.” — ft. ryomen sukuna

+18 MDNI. WARNINGS. baddie!reader x boyfriend!sukuna, porn w/ plot, clubbing culture, houston club scene, mentions of alcohol, drinking, ryomen treating the girls, plotting to get your boyfriend drunk, established relationship, f*cking off the liquor, unprotected sex, dom/sub undertones, possessive, praise & body worship, creampie, edging, nasty rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare. notes. image sourced from pinterest. word count 4.5k. title: Latto - Liquor

The bass hits so hard it shakes the cup in your hand, bubbles fizzing against your tongue as you lean into your best friend’s ear to laugh about something stupid she just said. The club is a whole different planet tonight— strobe lights flashing, bodies moving like they’ve got something to prove, perfume, smoke, and sweat mixing in the air until it’s thick enough to taste.

You’ve been dancing for what feels like forever now, your heels biting into your feet, with your hair sticking to the back of your neck. So when one of the girls yells, “Bathroom break!” you’re the first one to agree. 

The four of you spill into the restroom like it’s home base, laughing too loud, clutching onto each other as you wobble on unsteady heels. There’s a line for the stalls, so everyone crowds around the mirrors— phones out, purses open, liner getting touched up.

You’re halfway through blotting your lipstick when one of your friends leans in with a pointed look. “So…is your man good out there?”

You glance at her in the mirror. “Whatchu’ mean?”

“I mean he looks bored, like he doesn’t wanna be here.” Another pipes up, fixing her curls. “Yeah, I don’t think he looked away once the whole time we were dancing.”

“Girl, stop.” You laugh, but they’re all giving you that you know we’re right look.

“She’s not lying.” Your best friend says, smoothing her leave-out down with a pocket brush kept stashed in her purse. “He looks tense. Like, scary tense. You think he’s having fun?”

You hesitate, dabbing the corners of your lips with gloss. “…Probably not. No. You know he doesn’t go out. Clubs aren’t his thing.”

“Okay, but he came out for you.” Another says, pointing at you with her powder puff. “So don’t let him sit there looking like Secret Service all night. He’s scaring the hoes.” 

“That part!” One of your friends calls from inside a stall, the door clicking shut behind her. 

You laugh again, but softer this time, tucking the gloss back into your purse. She’s only saying that because earlier she thought some guy had curved her— too intimidated to come up to the section y’all are in to talk to her. 

“I’m just saying.” She adds, zipping her purse. “Maybe pull him in a little. Dance with him, something. Make him feel part of it before he kills somebody.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you fix the strap of your dress. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“Please girl, ‘cause I could finish another bottle. It’s too early to be going home.”

When you finally push back into the crowd, the heat hits you again— music pounding in your chest, lights flashing across sweat-slick faces. Your boyfriend Sukuna is still sitting exactly where you left him, posted at the edge of the booth like he owns it. Well, technically he does for the night at least. Shades still on, jaw tight, phone in his hand like he’s scrolling, you catch a cup shifting in his grip every now and then— he’s making himself look busy, but you know damn well he’s not looking at anything important.

And now he’s watching you cross the floor. Slow. Head to toe. Like every second you were gone cost him something. If looks could kill, half the club would be gone by now. Maybe it’s the way his grip on that small cup tightens for a second when your eyes meet, something about it makes your stomach twist.

“Hey, baby!” You purr, sliding up next to him and slipping your arm through his like you’re calming down a pit bull. “Miss me?”

Lowering his shades, he drags his eyes from your legs to your face, mouth twitching with a shrug. “Nah, just countin’ how many guys stared at you since we walked in.”

You laugh, lifting off him to reach for the pitcher of water on the table in front of you to pour yourself a glass.

“Don’t do that. It’s a club. That’s what people do.”

“Yeah, well…” His gaze drags slowly over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch and curve. “They need to un-do it before I cause a problem up in here.” 

You just smirk, sipping slow. “Mm. Somebody’s jealous.”

“Somebody’s real fuckin’ observant.” He mutters, tugging you closer by the waist like that’s gonna fix anything. He’s not mad at you, pissed for coming here if anything. You’ve seen him at his worst enough times to tell the difference.  

He always hated this kind of scene— the blaring music, the crowded dance floors, the neon lights bouncing off bodies pressed together. He’d made that clear every time you and your girls went out, but tonight, after a heated argument about him being too controlling, he decided to prove a point.

Spitefully. He bought a whole section for you and your friends, smugly declaring that if you wanted the club, he’d give you the club. But you know him too well; he didn’t drink much, hated the chaos, hated the tight outfits you wore, the way you acted when you had one too many drinks in your system. He was already twitching at the first thump of the bass when y’all walked in. 

Thinking to yourself— you’ve got to do something, because his attitude is not going to be what sours your mood tonight. Maybe if you get him a little tipsy, loosen that iron grip just enough for him to let go and have fun without realizing he was enjoying himself, then maybe y’all both can have a good night.

Spotting your girls making their way closer to your section, you lean into him further, brushing your lips against his ear just to watch him twitch. Something about the way he tilts his head back makes you wonder if he’s already had a little drink before this.

“‘Relax, ‘Kuna. Matter of fact, how about we get us some more shots?’ 

He blinks at you, deadpan like you said something off. “Us?”

“Yeah.” You point over to where your girls are. “That’s what boyfriends do, right? Show out. Keep your girl and her friends happy.”

“Where they start doing that at?” He laughs like you’ve lost your mind for asking, setting his cup held in his hand down on the table. The look on his face makes you grin so wide your cheeks hurt. He hates this. You know he does, that’s why you love doing it.

So maybe you did lose your mind. Getting the section was already a stretch, but it’s a fact to everyone who knows Sukuna that he doesn’t give handouts, let alone to your homegirls, but it’s worth a shot. 

“If you ain’t treating, you ain’t tricking.” You set your finished glass down next, kicking a leg up and over his lap, letting it rest there just long enough to make him shift. His hands wrap around your legs like he wants to do more than just look.

He freezes for a beat, jaw tight, trying to hide the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t play with me.” He says, narrowing his eyes, voice low, like he’s counting down how many seconds you got left to cut it out.

Rising to your feet, you let your hips sway just enough to draw his eyes, fluttering your lashes slow and deliberate.

“Baby, I’m not playin’. We like Casamigos…” You drag the words out, letting your smirk do half the talking.

He exhales, leans back, giving you that slow, knowing look, and you grin to yourself, satisfied— because let’s be real, you’ll always get your way one way or another.

With a playful toss of your hair, you turn back toward your girls to meet them on the dance floor, letting him watch as you disappear into the crowd, the smirk still lingering on your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sliding back into the booth with your girls, and there’s a tray of shots on the table— glasses clinking like music. You cheer with them, throwing back tequila like water, and before long you’re warm and giggly, pressed against his side with your fingers hooked in his belt loop. 

“Kuna’, help us finish this bottle. Can’t have it go to waste.”

You’re close enough now that your knee brushes his thigh every time you shift. His eyes drop there, then back up at you with that lazy, irritated stare that really means he’s thinking something else.

“You really want me drunk?” His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb grazing skin like he’s trying to distract you. “For what?”

“So you’ll stop mean-muggin’ everybody in here.” You giggle, leaning off him to pour a shot halfway, holding it to his lips like you dare him to refuse.

He does. Instead tilts it towards you, watching as you take it slow, his fingers brushing your lips on purpose. Heat rushes to your face, but you play it cool, reaching for the bottle of cranberry juice to fill up a cup, throwing it back quickly like the burn didn’t faze you. 

“Two more— me and you.” You lift the bottle up, showing how much is left. He hasn’t had a taste of this liquor yet, though you know he caught a sip of something earlier, just enough to make his eyes linger on you differently. Meanwhile, between you and your girls, you lost count a couple shots ago.

“Look at you, already drunk.” His voice dips, rough in a way that makes your stomach tingle, taking the bottle from your grip.

“This how you get when I’m not around?”

Your lips curve as you let him have it, leaning in close enough that your breath grazes his jaw. “I’m not that drunk. Tipsy if anything, but not drunk.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” His eyes cut to yours, lingering like he’s searching for the lie. 

“Please? Finish it with me?” You whine

“I still have to drive, don’t I?” He sets the bottle down slow, like he wants you to know he’s the one in control— even when you’re trying to play. 

“Call your friends over. We all can split it since we’re not wasting.” 

Calling your girls back over, Sukuna moves to pour six shots, one for each of you, nearly finishing the bottle out. The girls cheer like it’s the biggest win of the night, clinking their glasses against his before tossing theirs back. He hesitates for half a beat, then downs it, jaw flexing as the tequila burns its way down.

“See? Was that so bad?” You grin like you just scored a winning shot. He shakes his head, setting the empty glass down, but you’re already moving to pour another. 

“Don’t get cute.” He grumbles.

“Too late.” You laugh, sliding it toward him before he can protest. “C’mon. Loosen up. Dance with me after this one.”

That earns you a sharp side-eye, but you know you’ve got him. It’s in the way his hand is already resting on your thigh, squeezing just enough to remind you who you’re teasing. He tips the second shot back without another word, face balling up. He slams the glass down with a whistle, shaking out his arms, and that’s when you know the heat of the liquor starting to run through him.

The bass drops hard enough to rattle the table, and you don’t even wait for him to think twice. Fingers laced through his, you pull him up, ignoring the curse that slips from his mouth as you drag him into the smoke and the lights, a grin breaking across your face when you feel him follow without resistance.

You can’t say what happened between then and now, other than the fact that you’re down in the garage being buckled into the passenger seat of his car. Your entire body light, lips buzzing from laughter and lime, the world feels like it’s tilting, like it’s been set to a softer, slower spin.

His hands are steady on the seatbelt buckle, veins in his forearms jumping as he clicks it into place before jumping into the driver’s side then turning to ask if you’re all good, before backing out.

The drive is quiet except for the hum of the engine and your shallow breaths, your thighs pressed together because every time his hand slides up your leg at a red light, your body lights up feeling sensitive. If you were any more sober, you’d be less ashamed to tell what followed next when his fingers brushed against your pussy, but that’s what tints are for.

By the time you make it through the front door of your shared condo, you’re not sure if you walked in or if he carried you. Everything's a blur now— the slam of the door, the sound of your heels hitting the floor, his jacket dropping somewhere you don’t care to look— because the only thing you can focus on is him. His weight against you as your back meets the bed, his breath hot and sharp in your ear.

“Had me sittin’ there watchin’ you all night, little ass dress ridin’ up, dancin’ like you ain’t got nobody at home. You know how bad I wanted to drag you outta there?”

Your head is spinning, but it’s not just the tequila— it’s him. The way his mouth claims yours before you can even think of an answer, the taste of liquor on his lips, his hands everywhere at once like he’s trying to make up for every second you kept him waiting. You melt easily under it, giggling into his kisses when he lifts you clean off the bed just enough to slip your dress and thong off, like you weigh nothing.

The bed catches you in a soft bounce, his mouth brushes yours again, slower now, teasing, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth until your toes curl.

“Look at you.” He murmurs against your chin, voice rough.

“Drunk off your ass and still so fuckin’ pretty. You know how many dudes were starin’? How many I wanted to break in half for even thinkin’ about you?”

Your laugh is breathless, shaky. “You’re so jealous…so fucking jealous.”

“Damn right.” His smirk is dangerous, something serious behind it, that makes your stomach tingle. “They get to see you like this. Only me.”

When he kisses you again, it’s slower, deeper, like he’s trying to swallow every sound you make. His tongue slides against yours, sloppy and hungry, and you can taste the tequila on his breath when he groans into your mouth.

Your hands tug at his hair, as your knees fall open without thinking, giving him space to press in. A moment after, he’s trailing wet kisses from your chest to your stomach, pausing to swirl his tongue just above your lower belly before traveling further to kiss at your pussy. Within seconds those kisses turn into licks with his tongue flat against your clit, heavy enough to make you feel pinned in the best way.

“You feel that?” His voice rings, lips brushing your inner thigh as you catch your breath.

“Been wantin’ this all night. Watchin’ you out there, dressed like that, lettin’ those bastards look at what’s mine.”

You can’t even answer— just a breathless whimper when his fingers slip in slowly for you to feel every inch of them, curling. Then he moves, flips you like it’s nothing, strong hands guiding you flat onto your stomach.

Your face sinks into the sheets, hips tipped up just enough for him to squeeze your ass, the sound of his belt loosening and pants dropping to the floor quieter than your moans as you rock back needy, chasing his fingers to fill you up again. Pushing his dick through your slick folds, he sinks in deep from this angle. The sound you make when he bottoms out is filthy, your head spinning as he sets a brutal rhythm— each thrust punching the air from your lungs. 

He groans, palm sliding up spine, pressing until your stomach flat against the mattress and you’re taking him the way he wants.

“Stay like that. Don’t move. Just lay there and take it for me.” 

You do. You take it, face buried in the sheets, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth as he fucks you hard, your body rocking with every deep, punishing stroke. You’re too inebriated to make this any sexier for him, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head each time he hits up against that bundle of nerves that makes your toes curl. 

For all that shit he talks about hating you drunk, you know he eats it up. Love how loose you get, all giggly and slick-mouthed, talking back like you don’t know who you’re speaking too. Loves how easy you are to handle, body gone soft, limbs like damn Jell-O every time he puts his hands on you.

Drunk sex is your favorite for a reason— because when you’re like this, he takes full advantage, folding you into any position he wants, fucking you deep until you can’t do anything but moan and whimper.

Right as you reach a hand back to spread one of your cheeks, he pins your wrist back down, hips slow, almost stop, and you whine at the sudden loss of motion. He’s still deep, buried so far it aches, but he just stays there, pulsing inside you like he knows you’re seconds from falling apart. His mouth drops to your ear, voice low and hot enough to make your stomach tingle.

“You feel that, baby?” His words flow like honey, coming off more as taunt than a question.

You nod quick, breath shuddering, but that’s not enough for him. Never is. “How that feel?” He presses, hips giving the smallest grind that has your toes curling. 

“‘So good.” You whine, pushing back hard, desperate to get more of him, all of him, anything but this teasing. 

“More! More! More!” You rock against him, needy, trying to force the rhythm back, but he’s stronger— holding you there, feeling his smile against your back as your walls flutter around him. Then he eases his hand, shifting his weight off you to give you just enough freedom to grind back on him, pussy hugging him tight. “Fuck— Fuck— Yes! More!”  

“Fuck…you’re so wet baby. I’m not even moving, that’s all you.” He murmurs against your shoulder, hot breath fanning against your skin. You can hear it in his voice how weak you got him, and it makes you whimper even louder, feeding him every broken whine slipping past your lips.

“Move! Please! I wanna cum, I wanna squirt on you.” Your words come out rushed, as if begging alone could make him snap.

You don’t care how desperate you sound, you need him fucking you so hard you’re gushing around him when it’s due. You think you hear him growl out something along the lines of promising to give you exactly that, but you’re too drunk, too wrecked, too focused on the grip of his hands pinning your hips down.

You feel the mattress dip on your right as he hikes a leg up, planting it besides your head, shifting into a new angle that gives him even more leverage to fuck into you. The thrusts hit deeper, rougher, downright nasty. His dick got you so stretched out you already know the second he busts, that cum’s going to be spilling easily.

With one hand gripping the sheets to keep yourself from riding up the bed, the other slips between your thighs, fingers circling your clit in messy, desperate strokes. Your body trembles with every pass, that familiar heat rushing to your pussy as you inch yourself closer and closer to your orgasm.  

“This my pussy!?” He growls low through clenched teeth, his weight crashing down on your ass as he pounds into you back to back, he’s fucking into you like a man possessed— hips snapping, strokes deep and ruthless, not a single flutter in his pace.

“Yes!” You cry out brokenly, you’re so close, so damn close, already starting to feel your pussy squish around him, your wetness trickling down your thighs. You’re about to squirt— you can feel it, fuck, he can feel it too— your whole body gives it away in the way your voice and legs start to shake.

“This always gonna be my pussy?” His question rips through the air right before the sting of his hand landing upside your ass. One slap, then another, and another, each one knocking a moan out of your throat. Your fingers don’t stop— they can’t stop— tight circles spinning on your clit like your life depends on it. Sex feels so fucking good drunk, right behind being high. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Yes!” It’s almost a sob.

“Huh!?” Another smack, even sharper, echoing. “You never gonna give nobody my pussy?”

“No! Fuck— No!”

“C’mon then! Show me this my pussy!” His voice is pure sin, all possessive and demanding.

“Yes— yes— Kuna’, baby— don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” It rips out of you, wild and shameless, right as your orgasm hits, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your whole body shakes, squirting around him, wetness gushing down your legs as his name keeps falling off your lips like a prayer. A brutal, nasty groan rumbles from his chest, as he buries himself to a hilt, dick twitching, filling you full.

For a second, all you can hear is the wet, filthy sound of your pussy talking back, sucking him in. He pulls out slow, then sinks back in even slower, humming like he wants to memorize the way you feel.

When he finally pulls out of you completely, it’s with a wet pop that has your hips trembling. He crashes back against the mattress, breathing like he ran a 4K. You’re no better with your chest heaving, face buried in the sheets, trying to remember how to breathe. Your thighs are still trembling so you’re half convinced they might give out if you even think about moving. The sheets under you are a mess— sticky, damp, and smelling like cum. 

Beside you, you hear him exhale sharp through his nose, humming deep and satisfied. For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing— before the mattress dips again. 

“You made a fucking mess.” He murmurs, voice rough, sliding a hand down the curve of your spine. Stopping at your ass, squeezing lazily, messaging the muscle out. His fingers then drag through the slick between your thighs, and you flinch, hips jerking.

“Kuna’” You whimper, breath still catching. Your voice sounds wrecked, throat raw from all the crying and moaning you’ve been doing. 

“What?” He leans down, lips brushing your ear as his hand presses down against your lower back, keeping you still. “Don’t start actin’ shy now. You just squirted all over this dick like a good girl.”

You groan into the pillow, heat flooding your cheeks as his fingers glide through the mess of your pussy, lazy and teasing. When you look back, you catch him bringing them up to his mouth with zero shame, sucking them clean with a hum that sends another shiver through your spine.

“Drunk sex ass.” He teases, lips curling against your skin as he kisses the back of your neck. “Got you talkin’ all that ‘don’t stop, baby’ shit like you wasn’t tryna fight me when I first got in it.”

You let out a breathless laugh, face still buried in the sheets, too tired to argue. He’s fucking right. And he knows it. For a moment, neither of you move. His hand stays on your ass, thumb stroking lazy circles, while you feel your heartbeat slow to something steady. It’s quiet now— except for the soft hum of the A/C in the background and the faint wet sounds when he drags his fingers through you one last time before finally letting go. 

“C’mere.” He says, voice softer now. Grabbing a handful of tissues he wipes you down slow, surprisingly gentle for someone who just fucked you into the mattress like that. You peek back at him, lashes low, and he smirks, tossing the tissues aside before pulling you into his chest. His skin is hot and sticky with sweat, and you sink into him without thinking, letting his arms lock around you, as he throws the blankets over you both.

“That’s my pussy.” He mutters again, low and possessive against your temple, before pressing a wet kiss there that makes your face ball up. You should say something smart, roll your eyes and tell him to shut the hell up. But all you can do is hum, eyes feeling heavy, because if this is what being his means— warm and wrecked and too tired to move— you’re not complaining.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 

“I said that?” He shoots you a look over his shoulder, stirring the creamer he just added into his coffee. The two of you are in the kitchen, enjoying breakfast this morning— delivery, of course, spread out across the table, because neither of you were fit enough to stand over a stove after last night.

For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been recapping everything that went down, from estimating the amount of liquor you drank, to what the bottle girls wrote on their signs each time they marched out.

For the most part, you’re on the same page— until you got to the part where he cracked you down so good, he knocked out before he could clean his own nut off the bed. He doesn’t remember anything after getting through the front door, barely recalls driving home, or the filthy shit he was talking while he was deep in you. Sukuna’s always been possessive— you knew that a month into dating him, when he made you delete every guy in your phone and proved exactly why. But last night? Last night was something out, and it definitely needs a conversation.

“Yes! Yes, you said that! You don’t remember?” You press, driving a knife through your pancakes a little harder than intended. You’ve been going back and forth for minutes now, and he’s refusing to admit he could have possibly said the things he said. 

“No.” He mutters, turning back to his coffee with a lazy shrug. “I was drunk as fuck.”

“You had two shots! Two!” You throw up both hands, fork and knife tight in your grip like you’re holding the evidence in court. 

He glances at you then, grin slow and sharp. “Could’ve been two shots of anything.” He taps the spoon against his mug and sets it down with a clink. “Maybe I’m a lightweight.”

You blink at him, stunned, squinting like you’re trying to figure out which alternate reality you woke up in. Because this? This makes zero sense. 

“What the fuck did you drink then?” You hit back with, and he just looks at you and laughs.

[yung-notorious]

All tea all shade bitch all offense.

me on call with @yung-notorious:

me @1:30am: you wanna write?

lala: you wanna kys?

lmfao!!!!!!!!!

mood tho. tbf its only 10:30pm for me.

[yung-notorious]

flickr

[yung-notorious]

heyyy moot, can u maybe write a fic where we give toji sloppy head? like toe curling, him biting his fist to keep from being too loud type of dome. let ur demons take ova pls

POOKIE. STAWP. yk i had to add to the wife!reader x husband!toji franchise! YOU HIT THE PENTAGON WITH THIS

toji was laid up in bed, one arm behind his head, the other resting on your thigh.

a random tv-show that you both couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to played on the screen.

he was wearing his infamous grey sweatpants, no shirt, chain still on his neck from earlier, chest rising slow like he was finally relaxing.

you were posted next to him in your favorite night-dress.

the blue and yellow one with the print down the middle and the loose sleeves. your bonnet was still on. your thighs were bare underneath the dress. and he’d been palming the inside of them the whole night without even realizing it.

it was something he always did unconsciously.

you looked over and up at him. at how good he looked just laying there, face all calm, brows relaxed. and then your eyes trailed down from his chest, biceps, to the half-hard and heavy imprint sitting fat against his thigh.

you tilted your head, blinking. “…you hard?”

he glanced over to you and then down. he scoffed.

“damn near always am when you sittin’ next to me,” he muttered. “why?”

you shrugged. chewed your lip. your hand slid over his abs real slow, fingertips tracing over the ridges.

“wanna suck it.”

he blinked at you, slight confusion taking over his expression as his brows softly furrowed. “…for what?”

“no reason. i jus’ do.”

your eyes dropped back to the bulge in his pants. “you don’t want me to?”

“shit.” he exhaled sharp through his nose. “you ain’t even gotta ask.”

you pulled the covers down and slightly over your head as you settled between his legs, knees tucked under you on the soft mattress. he helped you tug his sweats low. no boxers. just his thick dick and heavy balls, sitting relaxed.

he was already hard when you pulled them down. he was thick and big—enough to make you feel as if you were getting ripped apart—his mean mushroom tip flushed and red.

you let your wet lips part, tongue sliding out to lick across the head—slow. lazy. like you were trying to savor it.

he groaned. hand laying softly against your check. thumb slightly flexing at your jaw.

“shit, ma—why you act like this dick yours?”

“’cause it is,” you whispered, looking up at him as you take him in deep.

he moaned. deep in his chest. head tilted back against the pillow, eyes fluttering. “o-oh…”

your throat squeezed around him. spit bubbled and popped every time you pulled back. his dick was so big ‘n fat, your thumb could barely reach your fingers.

and you slurped—nasty, obscene, wet noises echoing off the walls. he looked down and nearly passed out at the sight.

you, all pretty in your bonnet and moomoo, drooling on his dick like he was your first meal in days.

slapping your tongue against the underside, sucking on his mean tip like candy, eyes big and shiny like this was the best thing you ever tasted.

“shit—shit, mama, s-slow down—f-ffuuck.”

you didn’t slow down.

in-fact, you sped up. gripped his thighs and pushed them apart, lowering your face until your nose brushed his shaft.

he choked on a moan. loud. ugly. back arched forward, abs jerking.

“b-baby please—! oh my ffuuckin’—”

his hands moved to your head and trembled. one leg twitching.

you stroked the base while your mouth worked the top—spit running down your chin, lips puffy and glistening, throat making the nastiest little gulp noises every time you swallowed him whole.

“g-gon’ cum,” he whimpered. “haaah, i’m gon’—b-baby—ma, i’m—”

and he did. hard. hips almost off the bed, loud moan tearing from his throat, eyes squeezed shut.

ropes of cum flooding your mouth, hot and tasty, so much it almost leaked out the corners. you swallowed what you could. wiped your chin with the back of your hand.

he tried to breathe. chest rising and falling like he just ran sprints.

but you weren’t done. you couldn’t be. not when he tasted this good. not when he looked so pretty crying and moaning over you.

you sucked him back in.

toji gasped. twitched. his thighs jerked like he’d been electrocuted.

“oh-oooh shhitt, w-wait—ffuuck! mama, i can’t—i jus’—!”

“mhm.” you moaned around him. bobbed your head faster. used your hands again.

“hah—! o-oh my—n-no, baby—shit, you’re fffuuckin’ crazy.”

you looked up. tears were falling down his cheeks. real ones. his lip was trembling. his body was stuck in this lil shaky loop, muscles jerking every time your tongue slid under the head.

you pulled back just to speak. your voice was sweet. mean.

“you actin’ like i ain’t seen you nut through worse, pa. come on. be good f’me.”

he whimpered.

you dove right back in.

wrote this in 30 mins guys stop. nutted 400 times just at the thought ughhhhhh toji WILL be seeing me & my moo-moo tnite.

[yung-notorious]

"ONE MORE SHOT, I'M SUPER TWEAKED! THAT LIQUOR TURN ME TO A FREAK!"

— “That’s what boyfriends do, right? Show out. Keep your girl and her friends happy.” — ft. ryomen sukuna

+18 MDNI. WARNINGS. baddie!reader x boyfriend!sukuna, porn w/ plot, clubbing culture, houston club scene, mentions of alcohol, drinking, ryomen treating the girls, plotting to get your boyfriend drunk, established relationship, f*cking off the liquor, unprotected sex, dom/sub undertones, possessive, praise & body worship, creampie, edging, nasty rough sex, dirty talk, aftercare. notes. image sourced from pinterest. word count 4.5k. title: Latto - Liquor

The bass hits so hard it shakes the cup in your hand, bubbles fizzing against your tongue as you lean into your best friend’s ear to laugh about something stupid she just said. The club is a whole different planet tonight— strobe lights flashing, bodies moving like they’ve got something to prove, perfume, smoke, and sweat mixing in the air until it’s thick enough to taste.

You’ve been dancing for what feels like forever now, your heels biting into your feet, with your hair sticking to the back of your neck. So when one of the girls yells, “Bathroom break!” you’re the first one to agree. 

The four of you spill into the restroom like it’s home base, laughing too loud, clutching onto each other as you wobble on unsteady heels. There’s a line for the stalls, so everyone crowds around the mirrors— phones out, purses open, liner getting touched up.

You’re halfway through blotting your lipstick when one of your friends leans in with a pointed look. “So…is your man good out there?”

You glance at her in the mirror. “Whatchu’ mean?”

“I mean he looks bored, like he doesn’t wanna be here.” Another pipes up, fixing her curls. “Yeah, I don’t think he looked away once the whole time we were dancing.”

“Girl, stop.” You laugh, but they’re all giving you that you know we’re right look.

“She’s not lying.” Your best friend says, smoothing her leave-out down with a pocket brush kept stashed in her purse. “He looks tense. Like, scary tense. You think he’s having fun?”

You hesitate, dabbing the corners of your lips with gloss. “…Probably not. No. You know he doesn’t go out. Clubs aren’t his thing.”

“Okay, but he came out for you.” Another says, pointing at you with her powder puff. “So don’t let him sit there looking like Secret Service all night. He’s scaring the hoes.” 

“That part!” One of your friends calls from inside a stall, the door clicking shut behind her. 

You laugh again, but softer this time, tucking the gloss back into your purse. She’s only saying that because earlier she thought some guy had curved her— too intimidated to come up to the section y’all are in to talk to her. 

“I’m just saying.” She adds, zipping her purse. “Maybe pull him in a little. Dance with him, something. Make him feel part of it before he kills somebody.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling as you fix the strap of your dress. “Fine, fine. I’ll talk to him.”

“Please girl, ‘cause I could finish another bottle. It’s too early to be going home.”

When you finally push back into the crowd, the heat hits you again— music pounding in your chest, lights flashing across sweat-slick faces. Your boyfriend Sukuna is still sitting exactly where you left him, posted at the edge of the booth like he owns it. Well, technically he does for the night at least. Shades still on, jaw tight, phone in his hand like he’s scrolling, you catch a cup shifting in his grip every now and then— he’s making himself look busy, but you know damn well he’s not looking at anything important.

And now he’s watching you cross the floor. Slow. Head to toe. Like every second you were gone cost him something. If looks could kill, half the club would be gone by now. Maybe it’s the way his grip on that small cup tightens for a second when your eyes meet, something about it makes your stomach twist.

“Hey, baby!” You purr, sliding up next to him and slipping your arm through his like you’re calming down a pit bull. “Miss me?”

Lowering his shades, he drags his eyes from your legs to your face, mouth twitching with a shrug. “Nah, just countin’ how many guys stared at you since we walked in.”

You laugh, lifting off him to reach for the pitcher of water on the table in front of you to pour yourself a glass.

“Don’t do that. It’s a club. That’s what people do.”

“Yeah, well…” His gaze drags slowly over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch and curve. “They need to un-do it before I cause a problem up in here.” 

You just smirk, sipping slow. “Mm. Somebody’s jealous.”

“Somebody’s real fuckin’ observant.” He mutters, tugging you closer by the waist like that’s gonna fix anything. He’s not mad at you, pissed for coming here if anything. You’ve seen him at his worst enough times to tell the difference.  

He always hated this kind of scene— the blaring music, the crowded dance floors, the neon lights bouncing off bodies pressed together. He’d made that clear every time you and your girls went out, but tonight, after a heated argument about him being too controlling, he decided to prove a point.

Spitefully. He bought a whole section for you and your friends, smugly declaring that if you wanted the club, he’d give you the club. But you know him too well; he didn’t drink much, hated the chaos, hated the tight outfits you wore, the way you acted when you had one too many drinks in your system. He was already twitching at the first thump of the bass when y’all walked in. 

Thinking to yourself— you’ve got to do something, because his attitude is not going to be what sours your mood tonight. Maybe if you get him a little tipsy, loosen that iron grip just enough for him to let go and have fun without realizing he was enjoying himself, then maybe y’all both can have a good night.

Spotting your girls making their way closer to your section, you lean into him further, brushing your lips against his ear just to watch him twitch. Something about the way he tilts his head back makes you wonder if he’s already had a little drink before this.

“‘Relax, ‘Kuna. Matter of fact, how about we get us some more shots?’ 

He blinks at you, deadpan like you said something off. “Us?”

“Yeah.” You point over to where your girls are. “That’s what boyfriends do, right? Show out. Keep your girl and her friends happy.”

“Where they start doing that at?” He laughs like you’ve lost your mind for asking, setting his cup held in his hand down on the table. The look on his face makes you grin so wide your cheeks hurt. He hates this. You know he does, that’s why you love doing it.

So maybe you did lose your mind. Getting the section was already a stretch, but it’s a fact to everyone who knows Sukuna that he doesn’t give handouts, let alone to your homegirls, but it’s worth a shot. 

“If you ain’t treating, you ain’t tricking.” You set your finished glass down next, kicking a leg up and over his lap, letting it rest there just long enough to make him shift. His hands wrap around your legs like he wants to do more than just look.

He freezes for a beat, jaw tight, trying to hide the grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t play with me.” He says, narrowing his eyes, voice low, like he’s counting down how many seconds you got left to cut it out.

Rising to your feet, you let your hips sway just enough to draw his eyes, fluttering your lashes slow and deliberate.

“Baby, I’m not playin’. We like Casamigos…” You drag the words out, letting your smirk do half the talking.

He exhales, leans back, giving you that slow, knowing look, and you grin to yourself, satisfied— because let’s be real, you’ll always get your way one way or another.

With a playful toss of your hair, you turn back toward your girls to meet them on the dance floor, letting him watch as you disappear into the crowd, the smirk still lingering on your lips.

Fifteen minutes later, you’re sliding back into the booth with your girls, and there’s a tray of shots on the table— glasses clinking like music. You cheer with them, throwing back tequila like water, and before long you’re warm and giggly, pressed against his side with your fingers hooked in his belt loop. 

“Kuna’, help us finish this bottle. Can’t have it go to waste.”

You’re close enough now that your knee brushes his thigh every time you shift. His eyes drop there, then back up at you with that lazy, irritated stare that really means he’s thinking something else.

“You really want me drunk?” His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb grazing skin like he’s trying to distract you. “For what?”

“So you’ll stop mean-muggin’ everybody in here.” You giggle, leaning off him to pour a shot halfway, holding it to his lips like you dare him to refuse.

He does. Instead tilts it towards you, watching as you take it slow, his fingers brushing your lips on purpose. Heat rushes to your face, but you play it cool, reaching for the bottle of cranberry juice to fill up a cup, throwing it back quickly like the burn didn’t faze you. 

“Two more— me and you.” You lift the bottle up, showing how much is left. He hasn’t had a taste of this liquor yet, though you know he caught a sip of something earlier, just enough to make his eyes linger on you differently. Meanwhile, between you and your girls, you lost count a couple shots ago.

“Look at you, already drunk.” His voice dips, rough in a way that makes your stomach tingle, taking the bottle from your grip.

“This how you get when I’m not around?”

Your lips curve as you let him have it, leaning in close enough that your breath grazes his jaw. “I’m not that drunk. Tipsy if anything, but not drunk.”

“Could’ve fooled me.” His eyes cut to yours, lingering like he’s searching for the lie. 

“Please? Finish it with me?” You whine

“I still have to drive, don’t I?” He sets the bottle down slow, like he wants you to know he’s the one in control— even when you’re trying to play. 

“Call your friends over. We all can split it since we’re not wasting.” 

Calling your girls back over, Sukuna moves to pour six shots, one for each of you, nearly finishing the bottle out. The girls cheer like it’s the biggest win of the night, clinking their glasses against his before tossing theirs back. He hesitates for half a beat, then downs it, jaw flexing as the tequila burns its way down.

“See? Was that so bad?” You grin like you just scored a winning shot. He shakes his head, setting the empty glass down, but you’re already moving to pour another. 

“Don’t get cute.” He grumbles.

“Too late.” You laugh, sliding it toward him before he can protest. “C’mon. Loosen up. Dance with me after this one.”

That earns you a sharp side-eye, but you know you’ve got him. It’s in the way his hand is already resting on your thigh, squeezing just enough to remind you who you’re teasing. He tips the second shot back without another word, face balling up. He slams the glass down with a whistle, shaking out his arms, and that’s when you know the heat of the liquor starting to run through him.

The bass drops hard enough to rattle the table, and you don’t even wait for him to think twice. Fingers laced through his, you pull him up, ignoring the curse that slips from his mouth as you drag him into the smoke and the lights, a grin breaking across your face when you feel him follow without resistance.

You can’t say what happened between then and now, other than the fact that you’re down in the garage being buckled into the passenger seat of his car. Your entire body light, lips buzzing from laughter and lime, the world feels like it’s tilting, like it’s been set to a softer, slower spin.

His hands are steady on the seatbelt buckle, veins in his forearms jumping as he clicks it into place before jumping into the driver’s side then turning to ask if you’re all good, before backing out.

The drive is quiet except for the hum of the engine and your shallow breaths, your thighs pressed together because every time his hand slides up your leg at a red light, your body lights up feeling sensitive. If you were any more sober, you’d be less ashamed to tell what followed next when his fingers brushed against your pussy, but that’s what tints are for.

By the time you make it through the front door of your shared condo, you’re not sure if you walked in or if he carried you. Everything's a blur now— the slam of the door, the sound of your heels hitting the floor, his jacket dropping somewhere you don’t care to look— because the only thing you can focus on is him. His weight against you as your back meets the bed, his breath hot and sharp in your ear.

“Had me sittin’ there watchin’ you all night, little ass dress ridin’ up, dancin’ like you ain’t got nobody at home. You know how bad I wanted to drag you outta there?”

Your head is spinning, but it’s not just the tequila— it’s him. The way his mouth claims yours before you can even think of an answer, the taste of liquor on his lips, his hands everywhere at once like he’s trying to make up for every second you kept him waiting. You melt easily under it, giggling into his kisses when he lifts you clean off the bed just enough to slip your dress and thong off, like you weigh nothing.

The bed catches you in a soft bounce, his mouth brushes yours again, slower now, teasing, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth until your toes curl.

“Look at you.” He murmurs against your chin, voice rough.

“Drunk off your ass and still so fuckin’ pretty. You know how many dudes were starin’? How many I wanted to break in half for even thinkin’ about you?”

Your laugh is breathless, shaky. “You’re so jealous…so fucking jealous.”

“Damn right.” His smirk is dangerous, something serious behind it, that makes your stomach tingle. “They get to see you like this. Only me.”

When he kisses you again, it’s slower, deeper, like he’s trying to swallow every sound you make. His tongue slides against yours, sloppy and hungry, and you can taste the tequila on his breath when he groans into your mouth.

Your hands tug at his hair, as your knees fall open without thinking, giving him space to press in. A moment after, he’s trailing wet kisses from your chest to your stomach, pausing to swirl his tongue just above your lower belly before traveling further to kiss at your pussy. Within seconds those kisses turn into licks with his tongue flat against your clit, heavy enough to make you feel pinned in the best way.

“You feel that?” His voice rings, lips brushing your inner thigh as you catch your breath.

“Been wantin’ this all night. Watchin’ you out there, dressed like that, lettin’ those bastards look at what’s mine.”

You can’t even answer— just a breathless whimper when his fingers slip in slowly for you to feel every inch of them, curling. Then he moves, flips you like it’s nothing, strong hands guiding you flat onto your stomach.

Your face sinks into the sheets, hips tipped up just enough for him to squeeze your ass, the sound of his belt loosening and pants dropping to the floor quieter than your moans as you rock back needy, chasing his fingers to fill you up again. Pushing his dick through your slick folds, he sinks in deep from this angle. The sound you make when he bottoms out is filthy, your head spinning as he sets a brutal rhythm— each thrust punching the air from your lungs. 

He groans, palm sliding up spine, pressing until your stomach flat against the mattress and you’re taking him the way he wants.

“Stay like that. Don’t move. Just lay there and take it for me.” 

You do. You take it, face buried in the sheets, drool pooling at the corner of your mouth as he fucks you hard, your body rocking with every deep, punishing stroke. You’re too inebriated to make this any sexier for him, eyes threatening to roll to the back of your head each time he hits up against that bundle of nerves that makes your toes curl. 

For all that shit he talks about hating you drunk, you know he eats it up. Love how loose you get, all giggly and slick-mouthed, talking back like you don’t know who you’re speaking too. Loves how easy you are to handle, body gone soft, limbs like damn Jell-O every time he puts his hands on you.

Drunk sex is your favorite for a reason— because when you’re like this, he takes full advantage, folding you into any position he wants, fucking you deep until you can’t do anything but moan and whimper.

Right as you reach a hand back to spread one of your cheeks, he pins your wrist back down, hips slow, almost stop, and you whine at the sudden loss of motion. He’s still deep, buried so far it aches, but he just stays there, pulsing inside you like he knows you’re seconds from falling apart. His mouth drops to your ear, voice low and hot enough to make your stomach tingle.

“You feel that, baby?” His words flow like honey, coming off more as taunt than a question.

You nod quick, breath shuddering, but that’s not enough for him. Never is. “How that feel?” He presses, hips giving the smallest grind that has your toes curling. 

“‘So good.” You whine, pushing back hard, desperate to get more of him, all of him, anything but this teasing. 

“More! More! More!” You rock against him, needy, trying to force the rhythm back, but he’s stronger— holding you there, feeling his smile against your back as your walls flutter around him. Then he eases his hand, shifting his weight off you to give you just enough freedom to grind back on him, pussy hugging him tight. “Fuck— Fuck— Yes! More!”  

“Fuck…you’re so wet baby. I’m not even moving, that’s all you.” He murmurs against your shoulder, hot breath fanning against your skin. You can hear it in his voice how weak you got him, and it makes you whimper even louder, feeding him every broken whine slipping past your lips.

“Move! Please! I wanna cum, I wanna squirt on you.” Your words come out rushed, as if begging alone could make him snap.

You don’t care how desperate you sound, you need him fucking you so hard you’re gushing around him when it’s due. You think you hear him growl out something along the lines of promising to give you exactly that, but you’re too drunk, too wrecked, too focused on the grip of his hands pinning your hips down.

You feel the mattress dip on your right as he hikes a leg up, planting it besides your head, shifting into a new angle that gives him even more leverage to fuck into you. The thrusts hit deeper, rougher, downright nasty. His dick got you so stretched out you already know the second he busts, that cum’s going to be spilling easily.

With one hand gripping the sheets to keep yourself from riding up the bed, the other slips between your thighs, fingers circling your clit in messy, desperate strokes. Your body trembles with every pass, that familiar heat rushing to your pussy as you inch yourself closer and closer to your orgasm.  

“This my pussy!?” He growls low through clenched teeth, his weight crashing down on your ass as he pounds into you back to back, he’s fucking into you like a man possessed— hips snapping, strokes deep and ruthless, not a single flutter in his pace.

“Yes!” You cry out brokenly, you’re so close, so damn close, already starting to feel your pussy squish around him, your wetness trickling down your thighs. You’re about to squirt— you can feel it, fuck, he can feel it too— your whole body gives it away in the way your voice and legs start to shake.

“This always gonna be my pussy?” His question rips through the air right before the sting of his hand landing upside your ass. One slap, then another, and another, each one knocking a moan out of your throat. Your fingers don’t stop— they can’t stop— tight circles spinning on your clit like your life depends on it. Sex feels so fucking good drunk, right behind being high. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Yes!” It’s almost a sob.

“Huh!?” Another smack, even sharper, echoing. “You never gonna give nobody my pussy?”

“No! Fuck— No!”

“C’mon then! Show me this my pussy!” His voice is pure sin, all possessive and demanding.

“Yes— yes— Kuna’, baby— don’t stop! Don’t fucking stop!” It rips out of you, wild and shameless, right as your orgasm hits, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your whole body shakes, squirting around him, wetness gushing down your legs as his name keeps falling off your lips like a prayer. A brutal, nasty groan rumbles from his chest, as he buries himself to a hilt, dick twitching, filling you full.

For a second, all you can hear is the wet, filthy sound of your pussy talking back, sucking him in. He pulls out slow, then sinks back in even slower, humming like he wants to memorize the way you feel.

When he finally pulls out of you completely, it’s with a wet pop that has your hips trembling. He crashes back against the mattress, breathing like he ran a 4K. You’re no better with your chest heaving, face buried in the sheets, trying to remember how to breathe. Your thighs are still trembling so you’re half convinced they might give out if you even think about moving. The sheets under you are a mess— sticky, damp, and smelling like cum. 

Beside you, you hear him exhale sharp through his nose, humming deep and satisfied. For a second, there’s nothing but the sound of his breathing— before the mattress dips again. 

“You made a fucking mess.” He murmurs, voice rough, sliding a hand down the curve of your spine. Stopping at your ass, squeezing lazily, messaging the muscle out. His fingers then drag through the slick between your thighs, and you flinch, hips jerking.

“Kuna’” You whimper, breath still catching. Your voice sounds wrecked, throat raw from all the crying and moaning you’ve been doing. 

“What?” He leans down, lips brushing your ear as his hand presses down against your lower back, keeping you still. “Don’t start actin’ shy now. You just squirted all over this dick like a good girl.”

You groan into the pillow, heat flooding your cheeks as his fingers glide through the mess of your pussy, lazy and teasing. When you look back, you catch him bringing them up to his mouth with zero shame, sucking them clean with a hum that sends another shiver through your spine.

“Drunk sex ass.” He teases, lips curling against your skin as he kisses the back of your neck. “Got you talkin’ all that ‘don’t stop, baby’ shit like you wasn’t tryna fight me when I first got in it.”

You let out a breathless laugh, face still buried in the sheets, too tired to argue. He’s fucking right. And he knows it. For a moment, neither of you move. His hand stays on your ass, thumb stroking lazy circles, while you feel your heartbeat slow to something steady. It’s quiet now— except for the soft hum of the A/C in the background and the faint wet sounds when he drags his fingers through you one last time before finally letting go. 

“C’mere.” He says, voice softer now. Grabbing a handful of tissues he wipes you down slow, surprisingly gentle for someone who just fucked you into the mattress like that. You peek back at him, lashes low, and he smirks, tossing the tissues aside before pulling you into his chest. His skin is hot and sticky with sweat, and you sink into him without thinking, letting his arms lock around you, as he throws the blankets over you both.

“That’s my pussy.” He mutters again, low and possessive against your temple, before pressing a wet kiss there that makes your face ball up. You should say something smart, roll your eyes and tell him to shut the hell up. But all you can do is hum, eyes feeling heavy, because if this is what being his means— warm and wrecked and too tired to move— you’re not complaining.

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊ 

“I said that?” He shoots you a look over his shoulder, stirring the creamer he just added into his coffee. The two of you are in the kitchen, enjoying breakfast this morning— delivery, of course, spread out across the table, because neither of you were fit enough to stand over a stove after last night.

For the past twenty minutes, you’ve been recapping everything that went down, from estimating the amount of liquor you drank, to what the bottle girls wrote on their signs each time they marched out.

For the most part, you’re on the same page— until you got to the part where he cracked you down so good, he knocked out before he could clean his own nut off the bed. He doesn’t remember anything after getting through the front door, barely recalls driving home, or the filthy shit he was talking while he was deep in you. Sukuna’s always been possessive— you knew that a month into dating him, when he made you delete every guy in your phone and proved exactly why. But last night? Last night was something out, and it definitely needs a conversation.

“Yes! Yes, you said that! You don’t remember?” You press, driving a knife through your pancakes a little harder than intended. You’ve been going back and forth for minutes now, and he’s refusing to admit he could have possibly said the things he said. 

“No.” He mutters, turning back to his coffee with a lazy shrug. “I was drunk as fuck.”

“You had two shots! Two!” You throw up both hands, fork and knife tight in your grip like you’re holding the evidence in court. 

He glances at you then, grin slow and sharp. “Could’ve been two shots of anything.” He taps the spoon against his mug and sets it down with a clink. “Maybe I’m a lightweight.”

You blink at him, stunned, squinting like you’re trying to figure out which alternate reality you woke up in. Because this? This makes zero sense. 

“What the fuck did you drink then?” You hit back with, and he just looks at you and laughs.

[yung-notorious]

ALWAYS SOME NEW SHIT, AIN’T NEVER THE USUAL! I FUCK YOU SO GOOD TILL I HAVE YOU DELUSIONAL! - ♡

— your roommates are gone, the apartment is yours, and you're laid up in bed with somethin' dangerous. all you need is him, his hands, and a little time to make the most of it. — feat. satoru gojo

+18 MDI. WARNINGS. baddie!reader x college!gojo, excerpt from never lose my chapter 8, porn with plot, situationship, morning sex, that good 'ol sunday dick, protected sex, dirty talk, body worship, sub/dom undertones, trust & boundaries, slight cum play, squirting, riding, fingering, voice kink, gojo kink(?), edging & milking, overstimulation, gojo’s character may be questionable but his stroke game is A1. notes. word count 5.8K, apart of a larger body of work but can stand alone as a one-shot. you can read the full chapter here: A03 & master post. title: lick me - sexyy red ft. lil baby. divider: fairytopea (tumblr)

You knew Satoru was bullshitting when he said he’d be on the phone for a few more minutes. He’s been chatting away for an extra thirty, and you’ve already gone through your entire Instagram feeds stories and now the Tiktok burnout is starting to set in.

Exhausted from doom scrolling, you chuck your phone somewhere across the bed to snuggle deeper into his embrace, resting your head against his chest. You don’t have a single fucking clue what’s being said anymore with his ear now pressed against the phone, but whatever it is definitely isn't related to earlier’s conversation. You think you catch mention of the school’s football team and the names of people you don’t recognize, but at this point, you’re too out of the loop to care. He’s lucky you actually like being around him, because had this been anyone else you’d probably kick them out telling them to go the fuck home.

What’s even more surprising is that despite being bored out of your mind, chilling with him in bed while he talks on the phone is strangely confronting. You’ve had your share of intimate moments at your young age, but you’ve never simply laid up like this with a guy before. It’s domestic as hell— whatever the girls online call it— but you’re not pushing it away. 

Resting your head on his chest as he rubs your shoulder, you let the rhythm of his voice wrap around you like a warm blanket. There’s this cool boyish charm that comes through as he talks— a side of him you’ve caught glimpses of only a few times when he’s speaking to his friends. He’s more commanding and animated, yet somehow still a relaxed version of himself all together, nearly a polar opposite of how he is with you.

And you know what? That’s exactly how it should be, you’re not the one to be treated like a homie. And even though his friends do annoy the hell out of you when they’re together, seeing him be himself with them is undeniably attractive and lowkey turning you on. 

Shifting over onto your stomach, you tuck an arm behind his neck, hooking a leg around his waist, letting your free hand slowly trail down his body feeling him up. Stopping to rest your hand on the inside of his thigh, you look up, waiting for a reaction. 

When you don’t get one— he’s still chatting away— you decide to take it a step further, slowly creeping your hand up to cup his balls, palming his bulge. 

It only takes a couple good rubs for you to feel his dick harden beneath you. Feeling bold, you wrap a tight fist around his length stroking him through his briefs. All it takes is a couple tight ones for his thighs to widen up and you take that as permission to go further. 

Slipping a hand under his waistband to squeeze his dick, you watch him bite his lip, still ignoring you as he lazily stares up at the ceiling. He can try to act all cool and unbothered all he wants, but you know exactly how to melt his ice.

Taking charge, you rub your thumb carefully around his slit, your acrylic nail getting caught in the fabric of his briefs with each pressing circle. It doesn't take much effort before you’re feeling the wetness of his pre sticking to the pad of your thumb as you. Pausing to collect up what you can to wet his shaft, you grip your hand back around his length giving him more quick strokes.

Feeling more daring, you connect your lips to his neck, slowly peppering soft, wet kisses along his skin as you continue working your hand around his dick and balls. You’re finding some sort of fun in all this really, feeling him up in every which way you please while he lays beside you trying to act like he’s not bricked the hell up. 

You can hear every grunt that gets stuck in his throat and cracking of his toes each time you press against the underside of his tip. It’s kind of funny how you’re unsure who’s more of a slut now: you for daring to do this, or him for letting it happen while he’s on a call. Y’all are both some trouble! 

Just as you’re about to go for a gentle bite on his ear you feel the deep bass of his voice against your lips. 

“Choso— Choso…bro I’ma let you go…I’ll try to be over there later tonight. Alright, I'll talk to you later. Bye.” He ends the call to lean over— your hand still tightly wrapped around his dick— to drop his phone onto the nightside with a loud thud.

Unfortunately for him, no matter how hard he tries to maintain his composure, it’ll be his own body that will betray him every single time. Men, they’re so fucking weak. You probably could rob him with a fleshlight.

Falling back onto the mattress, he turns to give you a look before opening his mouth, and of all the things you expect him to say, it definitely isn’t, “Why’d you interrupt my phone call?”

“Because you talk too much.” You say smart, releasing him to wipe your hand clean on his briefs along the side of his hip. Sitting up on your elbow to rest your cheek in your hand, you hover above his face to stare down at him challengingly, awaiting his response. This could go one or two ways, but you know for sure either way ends with you getting fucked. 

"All I needed was a few minutes.” He murmurs, his hand glides up your chest stopping just below your neck before gently tracing your jawline with his thumb. 

“I gave you that, now I want your attention.” You cock your head. “Did you forget where you were at?”

"You have it— so now what’s up?" He asks, his tone still soft, eyes locked on yours as he tilts your chin up just as your hand slides over to squeeze his thigh.

“You know what I want…” You breathe, inching closer to his bulge. 

“Yeah?” He lets go of your chin, trailing his hand down your chest. “You don’t have to ask me— could have just pulled it out.” Eyes still locked on yours as you slip a hand under his waistband.  

Letting you go, he gives you space to slip under the covers, lifting his hips to help you tug off his briefs. The second they're gone, your hand is around him, leaning over to take him between your lips. You know exactly how he likes it— your mouth and hand wrapped tight around the tip, teasing him with just the right amount of pressure that’ll make his toes curl.

You know you're doing a good job when his hand resting at the back of your neck tightens, turning into a firm grip that keeps you exactly where he wants you. Not wanting to try your luck deep throating him just yet, you brace yourself with a hand on his thigh for balance, but soon find yourself running your hand along the muscle instead, grabbing on wherever please, feeling out their solid weight and smoothness. Even though his dick is the main event— hot, thick, and heavy in your hands each time you pull off to catch your breath— it’s his thighs that have your full attention. Maybe next time you'll leave a trail of bites and hickeys along them, marking him up good just because you can.

“Get in between my legs...” He throws the covers back making room for you. Without a second thought, you crawl between his thighs, and just as you’re about to shift down the bed to lay on your stomach, his voice interrupts.

“Uh-uh, sit up...” He whispers, and despite it being nothing more than a gentle correction, it still finds a way to make your stomach tingle. You can’t even lie, that bossy shit turns you up. Glancing up at him, you slowly prop yourself up on your elbows to part your knees just enough, arching yourself down low, nice and sexy in a way you know he’ll like. 

Bobbing your head up and down his dick, you lose track of every grunt and curse you pull past his lips. The wet, squishy sounds from each tight squeeze, paired with the clacking of your pretty nails around his dick, become a rhythm you get lost in until the growing dampness in your panties pulls you back in. Fuck, you’re going to have to speed this up because you really want to fuck now.

“Sloppy, baby. Make it—” His voice breaks off, caught in his throat as you pull off to throw a nasty wad of spit on his dick, watching as it drips down his length. “There you go…” He murmurs, a grin tugging at his lips. You don’t even need to look up to know he’s smiling. Anything for him, right?

“Gotta get the sides too. All of it. Just how I taught you...” His words make your stomach tighten. Glancing up through your lashes, you latch onto his shaft, tongue tracing long, slow licks along his length. The salty taste of him mixing with the slick of your spit as you pump the head of his dick with a tight fist.

“Sloppier…spit on it some more…get that shit wet for me…” He murmurs, bringing his hands down into your hair to gently pull back to keep out of your face. Taking a moment to lick his pre-cum and drool off your lips, you teasingly slap his dick against your tongue, testing its weight. Spitting down onto him again, you let it drip slow and messy before taking him back into your mouth, your lips wrapping tight around him. As you glance up, you catch him smiling down at you, and you can’t help but sheepishly smile back. You used to hate giving head, but for him— talking to you like this— you’ll keep going till he busts in your mouth twice. 

You swear everytime he looks at you like that, something inside you loosens up. You never thought sex could be like this— fun, messy, and so damn freeing. That it’s not just about getting him off; but letting yourself enjoy it too. 

Remembering the times he’s whispered for you to drop your innocence and open up awakens those butterflies in your stomach. It’s a mystery how in such a short time of knowing him, he’s managed to create a safe space for you to let go and push past the boundaries you once clung to— all without a hint of judgment. 

But no matter how amazing everything feels with him, there’s this nagging thing that won’t leave you alone—a constant reminder of how off this all this really is. No matter how hard you try to push it aside, the truth is starting to feel impossible to shake, and the longer you avoid the elephant in the room, the harder it becomes to hold it all together. It’s doubt that creeps in at the end of every night, makes you wonder if any of this is even real. But fuck it, you don’t have the time to make any sense of it right now. You can talk it out with Tink later, you have to get this nut in. 

"Ahmp!" You bite back a moan, caught off guard as his hand slaps your ass right when he shifts to sit up.

“Come up here…” He says, and without a second thought, you slide your soaked panties off to straddle his lap. Once fully seated, you wrap your hand around his dick, stroking him from behind your back, while your other hand rests against his shoulder for support. You can feel your wetness sticking against him, and it’s taking every ounce of willpower not to be a horny bunny and grind your sloppy wet pussy against his chest.

“You know where that condom at?” The question catches you off guard, making you pause— again, definitely not what you expected to hear. Someone’s full of surprises today, huh?

“Yeah, why?” You give him a confused look.

“It’s early, and I’m still kinda tired…I don’t wanna have to worry about pulling out. It be in the back of my mind when we fuck...” He says, warm hands smoothing along your stomach then up around your ribs.

Okay, cool, good to know at least one of you is trying to be responsible. Condom? Sure. Not a problem!

“I think it’s in here.” You lean over, trying to search in the top drawer of your nightstand without tipping over. “Hold me.” You warn, feeling yourself about to topple over. His hands quickly find your waist steadying you. 

“I got it.” You find it stuck beneath a pile of clutter you've been meaning to sort out.

Handing him the gold foil, you scoot back a bit, giving him space to do his thing. As much as you love the feeling of raw sex, there’s something seriously hot about watching him work a tight fist along his length, struggling to stretch the latex over his girth. And as if that wasn’t enough, the damage your sanity takes from his dick snapping back against his abdomen when he lets go is downright disrespectful. 

“Come on— ready?” He grabs you at your ribs, pulling you forward towards him, your breath hitches at his sudden eagerness. “You don’t need this…” He tugs at your shirt, and the second it’s off he’s grabbing hold of your boobs, squeezing them and sucking on your nipples like a baby. Never too tired to suck titties, huh!?

Taking your hand to guide his dick to your entrance, you carefully sink down onto the tip. Yet, no matter how many times you’ve done this, the feeling of just the head pushing through is one that’ll never get easier even with time. 

It’s harder this time around— his dick— no pun intended. After nearly a week of constant sex, you have no choice but to take him slow, inch by inch, feeling yourself clench around him as you sink down.

“Gimme a second…” You plead, pressing your hand against his chest to keep him from bucking his hips up. On a good day you could take all of him, but with the way he’s bricked up, you’re not trying to bite off more than you can chew. See, this is that early morning dick, It’ll be a lot more than hurtful words flying out of your mouth if he so much as attempts to push you down. 

“Take your time…” He teases, bringing both his hands to rub soothing circles along your jawline, fingers combing through your tresses around your nap. “Too much?”

“It’s enough— you’re not little.” You laugh, bouncing slowly on his length, giving your wetness a chance to moisten the condom as you try to fully take him in. It’s painstakingly slow working your sore pussy down his stiff dick, but guess this is the price you pay for letting him fuck you like a dog all week. 

“My bad…” He chuckles. “Here, come lay on my chest— hmm.” He pulls you into his arms. Slanging one around your back, he scoots the both of you further down the bed gripping a handful of your ass to help guide you down his length.

“It’s too dry…” You come back up, the friction of the condom becoming unbearable as you feel yourself drying up from frustration. This isn’t working.  

“I got you…” He brings two fingers to his mouth to wet them. Pulling out, he uses those same fingers to stroke your pussy, rubbing tight circles on and around your clit. Burying your face in his neck to stifle your moans, you feel yourself grow wetter as he whispers filthy praises in your ear, urging you on. 

“This better?” He lips brush against the shell of your ear. Your thighs quiver with each teasing stroke to your clit, the oversensitivity heightening your arousal. And like a slut you can’t do much but moan against his neck when you feel those same two fingers sink into your heat. Curling deep, giving himself a feel around your velvety walls.

“Mhm…” You nod, slowly rolling your hips down to ride his hand. The exploratory movements of his fingers driving deep, stroking your g-spot. “Right there…fuck…right there…” 

“I got you baby…I got you...” His palm presses against your clit as he drives his fingers even faster making sure to hit that sweet spot over and over, he’s so damn deep he could poke your cervix if he pleased. “…you’re squeezing baby, relax for me…there you go…how that feel, good?”

“Toru…I’ma fucking squirt…” You warn, already feeling yourself start to leak. Shit feels so fucking good he needs to publish a wikiHow on finger stroking pussy.

“Show me— go ‘head baby…you know I got you…” He exhales heavily, his other hand running through your hair to hold you close to him as he bullies your pussy like a pro, digging your coochie out so good, leaving her sorer than when you started. It’s a good soreness though, a sweet discomfort that’s nothing more than a reminder of how throughly he’s fucked you the past week. 

“Fuck— hmmmm!” You grip his hair tight, trying your damn hardest to hold back the moan that’s fighting to erupt from you, but it’s no use because all it takes is one final stroke to your g-spot and you're cumming harder than a bull.

“Oh my god!” You cry out, clenching down on his fingers so tight he has to pull them out. Taking his hands to strum your pussy to keep you squirting, your thighs shake with such a force you have no choice but to cling onto him for dear life. A wave of pleasure hits you so intense your entire body electrifies like static off an old box TV across your chest and shoulders. His fingers are pruney once he lets go, all gooed up and coated with sticky globs of your cum.

Wiping his fingers clean on your thigh, he effortlessly guides your soaked pussy all the way down his dick, and a sweet moan comes up your throat once you’re fully seated. You’re so damn wet you can’t even feel the condom anymore, if it was any darker in here you wouldn’t even be able to tell he had one on.

“Bet that rose can’t do it like me, huh?” He teases, two hands at your waist rocking you forward. “I got you making a mess. Wetting the bed all up...”

“Heh— please shut up…” You laugh, catching your breath. Because of course he’d make a joke eight inches deep in your pussy. No matter how good his dick is it’ll never take away from how corny he can be sometimes.

Regaining your strength, your hands find his shoulders again to steady yourself as you begin a slow pace bouncing on his dick. It starts off a lot sweeter this time, nothing like your usual. No creaking bed or pounding headboard, just the quiet sound of your soft moans and his low grunts filling the room. 

You’re fully lost in the moment when his hips start to move in perfect sync with yours, the delicious drag of his dick massaging your walls coaxes the softest, neediest whimpers past your lips. You’re so in love with his dick, you’re serious when you say you’ll fuck him up if you ever find out he’s sharing, because this shit right here makes no sense. It’s too damn good!

“More…right there…” You whine, needing to feel him deeper. Gripping your ass in response he presses his heels into the mattress, pulling your hips closer towards him to fuck up into you so well you have to put a hand to his chest to hold him back. 

You totally get the need for the condom now— thankful for it even— because with the way he’s fucking you this damn good you don’t think he could push you off quick enough before he’s busting his load. And as bad as you want it, you’d hate to dip into that hundred dollars he gave you to spend half of it on a Plan B. 

“Toru...Toru...Toru.." His name spills from your lips over and over as your brain goes fuzzy, slipping into a dizzy, dick drunken state. He's gripping you up just so right, and every stroke to your g-spot has you coming further undone, scattering every thought in your head until there's nothing left but his voice and touch occupying your mind. 

“You’re so fucking pretty baby…didn’t I say I’d fuck you everyday? Hmm?” His voice rings. 

“Thursday…Friday…Saturday…Sunday…” He murmurs, each day punctuated by a slow, deliberate thrust in sync with the roll of your hips. “You love this dick, don’t you?” He breathes, his hand coming down heavy giving a sharp slap against your ass. 

“I do…” You whine, almost like a declaration, as you pull his hands off your waist to guide them up your chest to cup your boobs, lacing your fingers through his to show him how to squeeze them just right. 

You feel so incredibly fucking sexy bouncing on his dick, riding him like it’s been a while and you miss him. You’re trying your hardest to keep it classy for him, but with one more slap to your ass, you’ll be begging him to take the safety off and hit your pussy raw from the side till it goes numb. You hope he’s loving this shit, because you’re not letting him get up in you for at least a week after this one. Your coochie needs a break!

“I wanna cum…” You whine, searching his face for permission, but he doesn’t hear you, too focused on working his own nut out.  

“I wanna cum…” You whine again, your hands come down to press against his chest to grind your pussy down hard on his dick. You got him buried so deep inside you the weight of your hips are holding down his. 

“You tryna be done already?” His hips still, falling flat as he watches you chase your orgasm all on your own.  

“No. Just don’t move…” You plead, trying to keep him from messing up your rhythm as you hit that sweet spot like a drum. It doesn’t take long for that familiar heat to rise up your body, making your face flush hot and your heart rate pick up. You’re almost there! 

“Don’t move— don't move— I’m close…fuck…ahh” You babble out, toes curling. Almost there, you’re almost there!

“Damn boo…” The pet name rolls off his tongue effortlessly, bringing you into focus, your eyes meeting his right as he wraps a firm hand around your neck holding you in place. You got him pussy drunk acting rough and nasty just how you like it.  “When you start taking dick like this? You showing off for me today?” 

“Mmmm— fuck me after I cum…” You say through a smile, his thumb brushing gently underneath your chin. The look in your eyes clear— you’re trying to get broken off like a Kit-Kat. You want it rough, and you know he’ll deliver. He’s got you. 

“Say that again?” He asks as if he can’t understand a word you’re saying. There’s no denying that your voice turns him on. But it’s cool, you have no problem spelling it out for him. 

“I said I want you to fuck the shit out of me after I c— ahmp!” You yelp, a wave of giddy pleasure washing over you from the sting of his heavy hand landing across your ass again.  

“One more time for me?” He pulls you forward, a devilish look in his eyes waiting for you to soften into submission in his hands. 

“I want you to fuck me so bad.” You whine, voice dripping with so much need. You don't give a fuck how you sound right now, his dick drilling your pussy deep, it’s thick head messaging against your puffy walls. “I wanna feel all of it— oowww— mmmm— Fuck! You feel so fuckin— ahh good!—” You moan out, each and every one of his deep strokes punching the words from out of your chest.   

“You don’t want it.” He taunts, a smirk tugging at his lips daring you to prove him wrong— to show him just how badly you want it— to beg. The sudden shift in dominance sends your heart racing, and you find yourself rocking your hips even faster.

It’s this dynamic that you love the most: how one minute he’s soft and tender, talking you through with the filthiest yet gentlest whispers, and the next, commanding and rude, giving you the space to surrender completely and embrace your submissive side. It’s the perfect balance of give and take, and with him talking in your ear nasty like this, you’re more than willing to give it all up and let him lead. 

“Yes I do— fuck…fuck…” You moan breathlessly, lost in the wave of pleasure taking you under. “Make me cum…” You look down at him with those needy doll eyes, the kind that silently beg for more, even as you roll your hips slow and deliberate like the little minx you are, teasing him just enough that you know will drive him wild. 

Every move is a silent challenge, a tease, a true test of his strength and you’re doing it because you know exactly what he wants, and he’s already right there ready to meet you. His hands find your waist again, gripping you firmly, and that awaiting spark of dominance lights up his eyes as he pulls you in close.

No one but him can bring this side out of you, the one that craves to be taken, to be pushed to the edge. You know he’s been holding back, waiting for you to push him there, and now, you’ve done it. His hand then tightens around your frame, the tension in his body radiating through every inch of him, and that tells you everything you need to know; you’ve got him right where you want him, you can let go. 

“You not gonna run?” He presses, but you know your answer is meaningless. He wouldn’t let you even if you tried. 

“No—” You whine, the sound barely escaping your throat as you bounce, the strain in your knees starting to intensify with each movement as you chase your orgasm. 

“No, what?”  Another good grab to your ass, this time with two hands and enough grip to bounce you on his dick himself, fucking up into with a force that causes you to fall forward, nails digging into his shoulders as you cling onto him. “Tell me baby…go ‘head.”

“Fuck…Gojo— Go— AHMP!” Another heavy slap to your ass before you can catch your breath to repeat it. “I’m not gonna run Gojo— I'm not gonna run—”

“You know I love hearing you say it…” He beathes heavy, one hand now threading through your hair to grip your tresses tight, the other fucking you down his dick. “You gonna cum on this dick? Yeah?”

“Yes! Fuck— Fuck— Gojo! Gojo!” You choke out, orgasm fully taking over each and every one of your senses. 

“Again baby…come on…this your dick right…” He breathes, voice low and hot in your ear, hips bucking up fast as another heavy slap comes down to your ass. “Don't run from it…don’t run from it.”

“Fucckkkk— Oh my godddddd! Keep going! Keep going! Don’t stop! Yes! Yes!” You cry out, your pussy clenching so tightly around him that you can feel the rim of the condom scratching against your entrance. The intensity of your grip threatens to pull it loose as it’s already slipped off some. 

“Mmmmm— there you gooo~“ He coos, sensing you reached your climax seeing the way your jaw goes slack and your grip around him tightens. 

“Fuck me! Fuck me! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Don’t stop! Don’t stop!” You’re begging like slut now throwing your arms around him to tuck behind his neck. Feeling you lose yourself, you take your fingers to work them up to brush along his undercut, anything to try and keep you grounded.

“Kiss on my neck…yeah…just like that for me— “ He moans, as you press your lips against his skin, licking hungry, wet, and sloppy. “Just like that…”

“Where you want me to nut?” His question meets your ear with urgency, the pace of his thrusts quickening in such a way that you can tell he’s close to cumming.

“Anywhere…I don’t care—” You gasp, words spilling, your body trembling with anticipation. Stupidest fucking question he could ask right now. He can bust it on your tits, ass, pussy, or even your face. You don’t care as long as his hot cum drips off your body, ready for him to scoop up and feed to you like you’re Suki.

“Shit!— Get up! Get up!” He groans, lifting you up just enough to pull off the condom to jerk his dick. 

“Gimme your hand…” He takes yours to grab his length, wrapping his large hand around yours, guiding you as you both help work his nut out. Both of your bodies are hot and sweaty, and his heavy breathing is perfectly in sync with yours. Your thighs coming down from a trembling mess.

“Like that baby….mmmm…you gonna kiss it when you're done?” He hums through a smile, head thrown back in pure bliss. It doesn’t take more than a few tight strokes for you to feel his dick pulsate, his hot cum spills out running down both your knuckles sticking your fingers together. 

“Oowww— it's so much!” You giggle, endorphins still having you feeling like you're on cloud nine as you watch amazed by the amount of cum he’s spilling, feeling a warm milky streak run sticky down the back of your hand. 

“Fuck—” He exhales, chest heaving as he starts to come down from his climax. His arms drop limply to his sides, but you stay right where you’re sitting on his chest, reaching back as you keep working the cum out of his still hard dick. 

You can feel him twitch with every pull as you coax the last drops of cum from him. There’s just something so sexy about the way his breath stutters and his toes crack as they curl with each slow tug…like you’re draining him of every ounce of cum he has left.

“That’s it…baby…that’s it…alright that’s it…stop…” He warns, voice strained and his face balling up, eyes shut tight as he tries to fight back a guttural moan. You feel his abs tense up underneath you, throwing off your balance but you take a hand to his chest— now flushed red and glistening with sweat— to hold him steady, fist tightening around his dick to jerk him quicker. 

“Uh-uh, there’s more, look…lemme get it all out for you.” You tease with a playful laugh, tightening your hold around him. “Just relax, it doesn’t hurt.” You purr, your voice dropping low and sweet. More cum spilling with every pull. 

“Oh my g— Yooooo! Stop! Stop! Stop! Bro! Stop!” He gasps, body jerking involuntarily from not being used to the overstimulation. His hips shake under your grip as if trying to escape, but he’s trapped under the weight you’re pressing down on him.

“Bro!? I’m not your bro!” You scoff with a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief at the fucking nerve to address you by anything other than something ladylike! Goofy ass, now you’re really not letting up. He must have you confused for someone else. 

“I swear to god,  if you make me nut again— Fuck!” He growls, head tipping back as he wraps a tight hand around your wrist trying to stop you.

“Satoru, you don’t scare me— let go!” You mock, your hand steadily working his dick, grip unwavering even as his strength weakens less and less from every stroke.

“What happened to all that shit you were talking, hmm?” You pause, watching him closely. “Bet that hand can’t do it like mine?” 

“I’ma fuck you up after this…I’m so serious…watch.” He breathes out, a shaky laugh breaking through, his grip on your wrist loosens completely as he gives in, letting you milk him for everything he’s got. He’s probably dead serious too, but the way his fine ass is squirming under you is too entertaining to give a damn. And to be honest, that just sounds like a promise for round two and that’s not striking fear in your heart— or pussy. Ain't no fun when the rabbits got the gun now is it? We can go till the fucking bed breaks boo, y’all got all the time in the world today!

“Schhhhhoooowwww— oh my god!” He groans, his plump lips parting with a low, desperate growl. “Alright c’mon, chill! Stop!” 

“Keep lying telling people I snore, and I’ma tell your friends you moan like a bitch." You taunt, leaning closer. Pressing more of your weight down on him, your strokes turn into slow teasing massages around the tip of his dick with your palm. 

“You still mad over that?” His eyes open meeting yours as his hands grip the sheets in an attempt to hold back from cumming. He can try to look intimidating with those blue eyes all he wants, but they aren’t moving you.

“I don’t get mad, I get even.” You bite back with a whole lot of sass, letting his dick go the moment you feel your hand start to cramp up. He jerks slightly, caught off guard by your sudden release. “Told you to stop trying me.”

“Clean yourself up~” You shoot him a look, wiping your cum-sticky hand off his chest as you ease yourself off his body and slide off the bed.

“Fuck you…” You hear him mumble under his breath with a laugh as you search the sheets for your phone, panties, and top before making your way to the bathroom to pee.

“What!?” You give him a look back, the fakest mean scowl you can muster up right now. 

“Nothing— Fuck…” The back of his head hits the pillow again as he exhales deeply. 

"Oh, okay! Like I won’t sit my ass on your chest and kill you. Talk to me nice." You fire back playfully, slipping on your top after giving up on the search for your panties— probably somewhere tangled up in the sheets.

Finding your footing, you cross the room to unplug the diffuser you left on throughout the night. With a gentle click, its light shuts off. You take a moment to gather yourself before stepping out and closing the door firmly behind you, leaving him to figure out what the hell just happened. You too are going to need a few minutes alone to yourself after this one. 

[yung-notorious]

Foxy Brown photographed by Michael Lavine in "Hip Hop's Baddest Chica: on Jay-Z, Female Rappers and The Importance of Family" for XXL Magazine

(July 2002).

[yung-notorious]

[yung-notorious]

[yung-notorious]

[yung-notorious]

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