#get out of his trash apartment | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

25% of US internet users with an annual income of $80-100K use Tumblr.

#get out of his trash apartment

wammbam · 4 months

Text

watching the samoa joe cm punk straight shootin interview makes me realize that punk is such a good storyteller. not in a "oh he's great at making storylines in the ring" way but in a "this man could recount his entire life and i would sit and listen just to hear his gay little voices and his manical laughter about his drunk friends" way

#this is after listening to him recount a story of him joe rocky homicide and a bunch of other people going to a bar getting piss drunk #and then punk trying to drive a stickshift and then trashing joes apartment #WHILE trying to pop his knee back in after it popped out #cm punk #samoa joe #roh straight shootin

8 notes · View notes

craig960114 · 9 days

Text

why my cousin greg is a loser

essay by me (craig)

Greg unfortunately falls into the "loser" category due to a combination of factors inherent to his character.

Firstly, Greg lacks the assertiveness and strategic thinking that his cousin Craig possesses. While Craig is busy plotting world domination, Greg is more likely found chasing his tail or begging for scraps. His lack of ambition and drive sets him apart as a follower rather than a leader.

Secondly, Greg's clumsiness and propensity for mischief often land him in trouble. Whether he's knocking over the trash can or getting tangled in the neighbor's garden hose, Greg's antics tend to result in chaos rather than triumph. His inability to stay out of trouble earns him a reputation as a lovable but hapless loser.

Furthermore, Greg's loyalty, while admirable, often borders on blind obedience. Instead of standing up for himself or challenging the status quo, Greg unquestioningly follows the lead of others, even when it's to his detriment. This lack of independence and critical thinking further solidifies his status as a loser in the eyes of his more ambitious peers.

In conclusion, while Greg may have redeeming qualities such as loyalty and charm, his lack of ambition, propensity for trouble, and blind obedience ultimately relegate him to the role of a lovable loser in the world of Craig and his ambitious endeavors.

#Greg unfortunately falls into the “loser” category due to a combination of factors inherent to his character.#Firstly #Greg lacks the assertiveness and strategic thinking that his cousin Craig possesses. While Craig is busy plotting world domination #Greg is more likely found chasing his tail or begging for scraps. His lack of ambition and drive sets him apart as a follower rather than a #Secondly #Greg's clumsiness and propensity for mischief often land him in trouble. Whether he's knocking over the trash can or getting tangled in the #Greg's antics tend to result in chaos rather than triumph. His inability to stay out of trouble earns him a reputation as a lovable but hap #Furthermore #Greg's loyalty #while admirable #often borders on blind obedience. Instead of standing up for himself or challenging the status quo #Greg unquestioningly follows the lead of others #even when it's to his detriment. This lack of independence and critical thinking further solidifies his status as a loser in the eyes of hi #In conclusion #while Greg may have redeeming qualities such as loyalty and charm #his lack of ambition #propensity for trouble #and blind obedience ultimately relegate him to the role of a lovable loser in the world of Craig and his ambitious endeavors.

3 notes · View notes

ketchuppee · 6 months

Text

During the 2008 recession, my aunt lost her job. Her, her partner, and my three cousins moved across the country to stay with us while they got back on their feet. My house turned from a family of four to a family of nine overnight, complete with three dogs and five cats between us.

It took a few years for them to get a place of their own, but after a few rentals and apartments, they now own a split level ranch in a town nearby. I’ve lost track of how many coworkers and friends have stayed with them when they were in a tight spot. A mother and son getting out of an abusive relationship, a divorcee trying to stay local for his kids while they work out a custody agreement, you name it. My aunt and uncle knew first hand what that kindness meant, and always find space for someone who needed it, the way my parents had for them.

That same aunt and uncle visited me in [redacted] city last year. They are prolific drinkers, so we spent most of the day bar hopping. As we wandered the city, any time we passed a homeless person, my uncle would pull out a fresh cigarette and ask them if they had a light. Regardless of if they had a lighter on hand or not, he offered them a few bucks in exchange, which he explained to me after was because he felt it would be easier for them to accept in exchange for a service, no matter how small.

I work for a company that produces a lot of fabric waste. Every few weeks, I bring two big black trash bags full of discarded material over to a woman who works down the hall. She distributes them to local churches, quilting clubs, and teachers who can use them for crafts. She’s currently in the process of working with our building to set up a recycling program for the smaller pieces of fabric that are harder to find use for.

One of my best friends gives monthly donations to four or five local organizations. She’s fortunate enough to have a tech job that gives her a good salary, and she knows that a recurring donation is more valuable to a non-profit because they can rely on that money month after month, and can plan ways to stretch that dollar for maximum impact. One of those organizations is a native plant trust, and once she’s out of her apartment complex and in a home with a yard, she has plans to convert it into a haven of local flora.

My partner works for a company that is working to help regulate crypto and hold the current bad actors in the space accountable for their actions. We unfortunately live in a time where technology develops far too fast for bureaucracy to keep up with, but just because people use a technology for ill gain doesn’t mean the technology itself is bad. The blockchain is something that she finds fascinating and powerful, and she is using her degree and her expertise to turn it into a tool for good.

I knew someone who always had a bag of treats in their purse, on the odd chance they came across a stray cat or dog, they had something to offer them.

I follow artists who post about every local election they know of, because they know their platform gives them more reach than the average person, and that they can leverage that platform to encourage people to vote in elections that get less attention, but in many ways have more impact on the direction our country is going to go.

All of this to say, there’s more than one way to do good in the world. Social media leads us to believe that the loudest, the most vocal, the most prolific poster is the most virtuous, but they are only a piece of the puzzle. (And if virtue for virtues sake is your end goal, you’ve already lost, but that’s a different post). Community is built of people leveraging their privileges to help those without them. We need people doing all of those things and more, because no individual can or should do all of it. You would be stretched too thin, your efforts valiant, but less effective in your ambition.

None of this is to encourage inaction. Identify your unique strengths, skills, and privileges, and put them to use. Determine what causes are important to you, and commit to doing what you can to help them. Collective action is how change is made, but don’t forget that we need diversity in actions taken.

#long post #some thoughts I’ve been having

20K notes · View notes

deadsetobsessions · 2 months

Text

Sea Cryptic! Danny AU- Pt.2

[Pt.1] [Pt.3] [Pt.4][Pt.5][Pt.6][Pt.7]

Danny dragged up another plastic wrapped body from the bay.

“It’s you. What are you doing?”

“Oh, holy smokes!” Danny screeched. “What-! Oh, it’s you! The litterer!”

Batman stood in front of Danny, cape draped around his shoulders and a far better sight to see than the last time Danny had seen the guy.

“… I’m Batman.” He introduced himself to Danny awkwardly.

“Uh huh. You missed a couple of things cleaning up the beach last time.” Danny dropped the body on the pebbled shore of the bay and crossed his arms. He sent Batman an unimpressed look. “You’re just like your city. There’s trash all over the water!”

Batman glanced down.

“That is a body.”

Danny scowled.

“No, that’s plastic. Plastic does not belong in the ocean.”

Batman sighed. For some reason, Danny thought he seemed less… antagonistic. Wait, did he think Danny killed the guy?!

“That is a body wrapped in plastic.”

Fuck it.

“If it was a body, then bury it. Or decompose it before you people decide to dump it into the water. Even the sharks have the decency to decompose when they’re dead. Do you know how long plastic takes to deteriorate??”

Batman glanced to the side, where the line of plastic wrapped masses had caught his eye to begin with.

“I do. Did all of these come from the bay?”

“Quite obviously, yes. I don’t have enough time to clean the waters! Ancients, it’s like they’re multiplying!” Danny knew why they were multiplying. It’s because Gothamites were getting murdered and dumped weekly. The problem is that Danny has classes and assignments to complete and he couldn’t be out here every week.

“I’ll handle it.”

“Oh, will you? And how do you plan on doing that when you couldn’t even properly clean the beach of your plane? I even stacked it up nicely for you to pick up!”

Alright, so maybe Danny had a couple of grudges. Like… a solid one that’s based on the hours of sleep he missed cleaning up after Batman and the wreck.

“We didn’t get everything?”

“No.” Danny huffed. “Whatever. Just figure out what to do with these bodies. I was not looking forward to digging graves for all of them.”

“You were going to dig graves for them?” Batman sounded off.

Danny scowled again. “I’m dead, genius.” And now Batman looked like someone ran over his dog. “Respecting the dead is important and graves are important for the dead. How else would we know we’re remembered?”

Danny threw up his hands. “Humans,” he muttered, like he wasn’t half human himself.

“Anyways, I’m leaving. Handle this properly or else I’m haunting you.”

“Wait-!” Batman said, but Danny had already disappeared.

So, while Batman had an angst crises at two thirty in the morning and thirty new unidentified corpses to contend with, Danny Fenton flew back to his apartment and passed out on his shitty couch.

——

“You need to stop.”

“Pay me to stop, then. What are your villains going to do? Kill me? I’d like to see them try.”

Danny looked Batman right in his lenses and plopped another body down at the man’s feet.

“I can tell you who they are for a fee.” Danny offered the vigilante. “Some of these still have shades of their souls attached still.”

“What.”

Danny tilted his head, moon once more lighting a halo of flickering white flames around his head. “$100 per identity.”

Batman stared.

#sea cryptid Danny phantom #sea spirit au #dcxdp #danny phantom #bruce wayne #batman #bamf danny phantom #Danny the tired college student #Danny is broke #Batman is not #Danny: business opportunity???#sea cryptic! danny au

4K notes · View notes

mommypieck · 8 months

Text

⌗︙・squirting on geto's face ⸜⸜・

"it's good, isn't it." he chuckles, sending vibrations to your cute. you're spread out on the bed with geto's head in between your thighs. he kisses your clit gently before sucking it in his mouth. you whine, no matter how many times you've done it, he had always made you cum so hard. geto wraps his arms around your thighs, burying himself deeper into your cunt. he smacks his lips, licking around his mouth. in his mind, there's nothing better than being in between your legs and he would die here if he could. his breathing is hard because of how eagerly he eats out out.

"i want to try something today." he says, a smile forming on his lips. he pats him fingers against your opening, smirking at the sound they make.

"i could drown here." he jokes and you snort at his comment, pushing his head between your legs again.

"don't be a brat, sweets and let me do what i want." his smile is contagious and genuine, making you feel warm inside. geto finally pushes one of his fingers inside of you. it's easy for it to go in with you being this wet, so soon another finger joins the first. he rubs gently around your walls and you think about what he might do. he usually prepares you for his cock by fingering you but you know he loves eating you out and fucking you more than making you fall apart on his fingers. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing it in circles. you whine and moan, your body relaxing at his gentle touches.

"here we go, sweetheart." he says and his fingers suddenly change their pace. he hooks his fingers on your sweet spot, rubbing it in rapid pace. your back arches of the bed and slutty moans exit your mouth.

"suguru, slow down." you gasp, tears spilling out of your eyes. he abuses your insides, every thrust of his fingers better than the other. your pussy sounds even wetter than before and you feel embarrassed. the room is filled by the sounds of your pussy and your slutty moans.

"are you gonna cum?" he coos, kissing your lower tummy. you nod your head, unable to say anything. he licks at your clit, his fingers still hammering inside. your legs trash around his head as you cum, juices spraying everywhere. you squirting catches geto of guard as he gets his face covered by your juices. the fountain of your juices stop but you're still shaking and spamming around his fingers. he presses his hand down on your tummy to stop your rapid movements.

"oh my god," he chuckles, wiping the wetness of his face, "are you okay, love?"

"better than ever." you reply, breathing heavily. the whole orgasm drained you off all of your energy.

"let's go wash up, baby. my hair is so wet from your juices."

"im sorry, sugu."

"don't be, you're gonna do it again soon. i want it. "

#jjk smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #jujutsu kaisen smut #geto suguru x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru smut #geto suguru x you

9K notes · View notes

augustinewrites · 2 months

Text

it’s been…a while since you and satoru have gone on an assignment together.

having two young children at home made it difficult to take off on short notice and be away for days at a time. they needed stability and routine, so the two of you had decided that one person would stay home while the other was working.

for a while, that’d worked fine. but now that megumi and tsumiki were older, self-sufficient teens who loved nothing more than being left alone, satoru had seen this as an opportunity.

you’d still been a little hesitant, but it was a simple surveillance mission. easy, right?

“water. you need to stay hydrated.” you instruct when he gets back into the car. he takes the water bottle you’re holding out, unscrewing the cap and taking a swig.

“gakuganji isn’t even home yet,” he reports with a sigh. you hum, distracted as you check your phone. gojo reaches across your knees to pull open the glovebox, rifling through colourful snack wrappers.

“tsumiki hasn’t texted me back,” you mutter. “should i ask nanami to check in on them?”

“nah, i’m sure they’re just super busy trashing the apartment and racking up charges on the emergency credit card. ah– found it!” he pulls out a black silk sleep mask, slipping it on so it rests on his forehead.

“really?” you ask, unimpressed as he holds a second one out to you. “you’re taking a nap?”

“yeah, it’ll be easier to sneak around when it’s dark, why stay awake till then?”

“is that a good idea?” you ask, though you know there’s really no point in trying to argue with his logic.

“your fault for keeping me awake all night. late night laundry folding is no joke.”

“if you’d put it in the dryer when i’d asked—”

“can’t hear you,” he sing-songs, pulling the mask over his eyes. “you can take a nap too, you know. that old fart couldn’t get past us even while asleep.”

“i’ll pass on the nap. need to wait for tsumiki to text.”

he grumbles something incoherent that you’re sure is meant to be argumentative as he reclines his seat a little and lays back, getting comfortable and quiet.

…for about 45 seconds.

you watch out of the corner of your eye as he pulls the mask up a half inch, just enough for his right eye to observe you.

“what do you want now?” you ask.

then, with casualty akin to asking what you want for lunch, he clears his throat and asks, “do you want to have sex?”

“do i want to have what?” you ask, turning to stare at him incredulously, but your face is hot and for a split second, you’d considered agreeing.

“sex,” he repeats, patting his lap with a shit-eating grin. “we’re going to be here for a while, anyways. these seats recline way back—”

“i am not having sex in this car with you, satoru!”

he groans over-dramatically (as he tends to do). “will you at least cuddle with me then? i’m desperate and touch-starved and hopelessly in love with you!”

you make a note to figure out what cheesy rom com he stole that line from, but lean across the console to trail kisses up his shoulder, his neck. satoru does nothing to protect himself from your overly affectionate onslaught, he’s quick to catch your jaw, pulling you in for a proper kiss.

“wait. no, no, no!” he protests when you pull back, eyes suddenly trained on the house you’re meant to be watching. “you can’t just leave me high and dry—”

“he’s home!” you whisper, pressing a hand over his mouth (though he continues with muffled complaints). “pull the car a little further back before we get out.”

you’ve already summoned your shikigami as satoru maneuvers the car into the dense forestry, about to send them off when your phone vibrates in your lap.

“oh! megumi texted me,” you inform him. “he said…‘already made dinner. tsumiki is out on a date—’”

the car grinds to a halt and abruptly turns, the momentum causing your to slam into the side of the car as it peels out onto the dirt road. you curse loudly as your fiancé, devoid of all his playfulness from earlier, speeds through the forest.

“what the— satoru!”

#principal yaga sighs when the mission report status reads incomplete due to ‘fatherly duties’#keeping up with the fushigojos #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

3K notes · View notes

joelscurls · 6 months

Text

I wanna show you off

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 4.1k

summary: The women who live in your building aren't subtle in their hatred for you — or their affection for your boyfriend, Joel. You decide to set them straight.

warnings: 18+ minors dni, porn with plot, no outbreak, established relationship, implied age gap, horrible neighbors, general cattiness, all the ladies want Joel, alcohol consumption, fluff, explicit smut, possessive!reader, exhibitionism, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), facefucking, unprotected piv, creampie, one (1) spank, use of pet names (baby, angel, darlin', etc.), I think that's all? lmk if I missed anything!

a/n: idk what happened. I saw one too many tiktok edits set to the song agora hills by doja cat and blacked out. anyway, enjoy!

If it weren’t for your rent-controlled apartment with a perfect view of the downtown skyline, you would’ve moved out of your building by now.

Your neighbors don’t like you. You’re certain of it. You can tell by the way the ladies stick their noses up at you in the elevator and whisper to each other the second they think you’re out of earshot.

It had started, you suspect, because of your age. You’re a lot younger than all of the other residents here, your apartment left to you by your grandmother after she passed away.

The building is prime real estate, situated in the heart of one of the city’s most desirable neighborhoods. Most of the people who live here have done so for ten, twenty, even thirty years. And it seems that time has festered a sort of social hierarchy: one which places you at the very bottom.

You shouldn’t care. And you hadn’t, for a while. But their eyes have started to feel like daggers, pointed directly at you at all times, and you feel as if you can’t even enter the building without judgment.

You’re not a bad neighbor. You’re not. You’d learned through living in a dormitory in college how thin shared walls can be, and, as a result, the proper volume at which to keep your music; how you should always be cautious to not let your door slam closed on the way in; that you should never vacuum after eight pm or before eight am.

You never leave trash in the hallway, and you park your car only in your allotted spot, despite the fact that it’s the farthest away from the building.

Even so, the lack of weathering in your face makes them look at you like you’re less, like you’re a greedy little thing who has taken something she isn’t worthy of.

It’s the same way they look at you when they see you with your boyfriend, Joel, for the first time.

They leer when you walk into the foyer, hand-in-hand with an older man. He’s handsome, rugged, something out of Nicholas Sparks novel. And you’re you.

Joel thinks you’re being paranoid at first, says they couldn’t possibly hate such a sweet, friendly girl. The girl he loves so damn much. But it doesn’t take long for him to notice it too: the glares, the scoffs, the misplaced judgment — never set in his direction, only ever yours.

One Sunday afternoon, as he sits on your couch watching the Cowboys game with a sweating bottle of beer in his hand, you step out to grab your mail. You’re close to tears when you return, flinging the door open, envelopes slipping from your trembling fingers.

He leaps up as soon as he catches sight of your face. Your expression is stuck somewhere between sadness and rage, bottom lip tucked between your teeth so firmly he worries you’ll draw blood.

“I hate them,” you sob as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you against his broad chest. You’re wetting his shirt, the one he just bought the other day. But he won’t let you lift your head. If anything, he holds you tighter.

“Wanna tell me what happened, darlin?” he asks, leading you toward the couch. You sit down together, your body still wrapped in his, and you groan.

“It’s stupid.” Your voice is muffled by cotton. He loosens his grip on you only enough to let you turn your face. “I was getting my mail, and they were down in the lobby,” you sniff. “The woman who lives right next door – the one with the outdated perm, and the one across the hall with the yippy little dog.”

“Mhm,” Joel soothes, running his thumb gently along the tense line of your jaw. “Did they say somethin’ to you?”

You huff. “No, not to me. They didn’t see me there.”

Their hushed voices still ring in your head like a fire alarm in need of new batteries: relentless, infuriating.

Don’t know what in the world a handsome gentleman like that is doing with a little girl like her. You’re tellin’ me. What a shame. Such a young thing – she can’t possibly know how to handle a man like that. He needs a woman his own age!

“They said I’m not good for you,” you weep. “That I’m too young. That I — I c-can’t be what you need.”

“Darlin,” Joel drawls. He fishes the tv remote off of the coffee table and flicks the screen off. Drops it somewhere next to him on the cushion. The apartment is noticeably quiet now, apart from your shaky breaths and the dull drone of an idling truck engine from the street below.

“You know I love you, right?”

You sniff again. Nod.

“I don’t give a shit if people think you’re too young for me,” he huffs. “You’re a grown woman. You give me everything I could possibly need and then some.”

“Yeah?” you squeak. You know deep down that Joel wouldn’t stay with you if he had any reservations about any aspect of your relationship. But after months of no reprieve from stinging glares and brash insults, you feel as if you’ve been broken down, reduced to an anxious, overwrought version of yourself.

Joel repositions himself, sprawling back on the couch and pulling you with him so that you’re laying against him. “Yeah,” he repeats, stroking your hair. He tucks a loose strand behind your ear, away from your glassy eyes. “Those ladies can get their asses in line.”

You laugh, then — a real, genuine laugh — the kind that Joel can somehow always pull out of you, even in the most inopportune of times.

You’re so grateful for him, for his innate ability to calm you down when it feels like the world is crumbling below your feet. Grateful that he’s yours.

You lift your head. Prop yourself up by the elbow on Joel’s thigh. Wipe away the lingering wet on your cheeks with a deep, settling breath.

“Does it stroke your ego, having a fan club of women who wanna fuck you?”

He smirks. Pulls you closer to him with a hand cradling your face.

“Maybe a little,” he whispers, his lips ghosting yours. “Does it stroke your ego, bein’ the only one who gets to fuck me?”

And in truth, it does. You’re the only one who knows where he likes to be kissed, how he likes his cock stroked, how to make him cum embarrassingly quick with just your mouth.

You’ve learned him intimately, every inch of him. Ruined him for any other woman.

So in a fucked up kind of way — it does.

“Yeah,” you admit. You suck his bottom lip into your mouth, silently reveling in the way he immediately moans, the way he bends to you.

“These all mine?” You bring a finger to his lips, sputter on a shaky exhale when he unexpectedly parts them and sucks the digit into his mouth.

“Mhm,” he hums around you, takes your free hand in his and guides it down his body, across the expanse of his torso, the plush of his belly, pausing when you reach his crotch.

Your pulse quickens, then, a dull throb forming at the base of your neck. You extricate your finger from his mouth with a gentle pop.

“This too,” he whispers, canting his hips up toward the flat of your palm.

He’s half-hard, his clothed bulge pleading for attention. But he pulls your hand away quickly, not letting himself get carried away at the feeling of your fingers grazing him through denim.

Instead, he re-situates it against his chest so that you can feel his heartbeat where it hammers under skin, against flesh and bone. “This is all yours too,” he says, voice so low it reverberates in your skull.

“All of it — all of me. Don’t gotta worry your pretty little head with anythin’ anyone else has to say about the matter. Got it?”

His words are spoken with so much conviction that you have no choice but to believe them, to let them stick in your brain like anchors in sand: deep and immovable.

Yours, yours, yours.

And nobody else’s.

“Yeah,” you smile into the column of his neck, inhaling his scent: mostly him, but with notes of you.

“Got it.”

It’s two weeks later when she makes a move on him: the woman with the perm. Joel is taken aback by her boldness, with you just a few feet away, digging your key into the lock of your mailbox.

“You must work with your hands,” she purrs, grabbing one of his wrists and examining his calloused fingers with such little integrity, his mouth actually slips open at the unabashedness of it all.

“Uh-”

“I’m Sheila,” she hums, raking her fingers through tight, blonde curls. “And you are?”

“Joel,” he grunts noncommittally. Wrenches his arm back. He doesn’t miss the way her eyebrows twitch in offense.

But she’s insatiable, this woman. She bounces back like a rubber band, not-so-subtly pushing her breasts together, the zip of her sweatshirt slipping down an inch and her mouth curving into a salacious grin.

You just about stop dead in your tracks when you round the corner to the lobby, junk mail in hand, and see her, her body turned towards Joel’s, chest pushed out and hip popped. She has a bedazzled tote bag full of groceries slung over her shoulder, a head of leafy greens poking out the top.

“Hi neighbor!” she smiles mockingly at you, all lipstick-stained teeth, when you sidle up to Joel. “I was just telling your friend here what nice, strong arms he has.” She’s not looking at you, eyes locked firmly on Joel’s biceps, nearly drooling at the sight of him.

Heat spools behind your ears, red-hot.

“Not her friend,” Joel corrects before you can. “‘M her boyfriend.”

“Oh,” she says. “Boyfriend.” Her lips wrap loosely around the word, like it’s some fanciful thing. “You’re too old to be someone’s boyfriend.”

Joel takes a step away from her, closer to you, and splays a steadying hand across your back. “Man-friend, then.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because this entire conversation is fucking awkward.

Sheila pays you no attention.

“Well,” she sighs, overtly staring at the exposed skin of Joel’s chest, where the top two buttons of his flannel are undone, “Joel, if you’re ever lookin’ for a good meal, I’m just next door.” She flits her eyes up to his and smirks. “Know a big man like you has gotta eat.”

Your vision blurs scarlet.

Joel is equally as infuriated. The disrespect of this woman, to so openly flirt with him in front of you. His fists ball tightly at his sides.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” he gruffs. “Anyway, nice to meet ya ma’am-“

“Sheila,” she reminds him.

“Sheila,” he repeats, only to appease her. He turns to you, squeezing your waist affectionately. “We should probably get goin’, right sweetheart?”

You’re still fuming, barely able to register Joel’s voice next to you through the thick haze of pure fury clouding your mind, but you manage to nod, spit out a hurried yeah.

And with that, Joel is turning on his heels, pulling you with him toward the elevators. You don’t dare look back at her, but you can feel her eyes boring a hole in the back of your head.

Her footfall fades into the mailroom and you breathe a minuscule sigh of relief. At least she’s out of your sight.

“Please just move in with me,” Joel begs when you’re finally behind closed metal doors, the inspection plaque situated above the buttons suddenly extremely interesting as you try to focus on not thinking about setting this woman’s apartment on fire.

You’ve talked about living together a few times. It’s just — you’ve never considered it so seriously until right now.

“I can’t let them win,” you mutter, agitated.

You hate how they’ve made you feel, like you’re some helpless animal tucked in the corner, hiding from them. Just waiting for the next ambush.

With the passing of each floor, your anger simmers, bubbles into a silent rage in your stomach, one which threatens to boil over at the next underestimation of Joel’s devotion to you. You need to make it known, once and for all, that he’s yours.

Words from your grandmother play on a loop in your head, ones she repeated to you often when you were a child: if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.

And then you have a thought — a devious thought — maybe you don’t have to say anything to get your point across. Not to them, anyway.

Your mouth is on Joel the second you’re back inside the four walls of your own apartment, slotting against his pulse point and sucking a desperate bruise there.

He’s not expecting it — why would he be? You’ve just been seething the entire elevator ride up to your floor, the entire walk down the long, winding hallway to your unit. He’d practically been able to see the steam billowing from your ears.

So the switch-up is more than a bit dizzying, to say the least.

“Whoa, darlin’,” he pants, his large hands draping over your shoulders. “What are you-”

“Joel.” Your voice is stern; it demands his attention. “Do you trust me?”

Your hand trails down his body languidly, in a straight line to the waistband of his jeans. And fuck, of course he trusts you — more than anyone. But this is wrong, fucked up, for you to make him feel good when you’ve been made to feel so small these past few minutes.

Still, his cock doesn’t get the memo, twitching in his jeans as you place another open-mouthed kiss on the underside of his jaw, your fingers beginning to fiddle with his belt buckle.

You give him no choice with the way you’re touching him, the way you’re looking at him when you pull back, all pleading eyes and parted mouth, but to resign all protest. He’ll give you the world, and if right now you want to use his body to blow off some steam, who is he to complain about it?

“Yeah baby, of course,” he breathes. “What do you need?”

You smirk at him audaciously, tongue smoothing over your teeth. “Need you to be loud,” you purr. Your voice is so innocent in juxtaposition to the words you spew. It sends a chill down the column of his spine. “Let them know who makes you feel good.”

He nearly cums in his pants untouched, grasps at the fabric of your shirt with clumsy hands and nods. “Fuck, okay.”

His belt falls to the floor with a clang.

He lets you take control, then. Lets you mark him with your tongue and your teeth, lets you back him to the door with deft fingers working his shirt buttons open before sinking to your knees in front of him, freeing his hardening cock from the confines of his jeans and boxers.

It’s already weeping for you when you pull it out, precum beading at the tip. He’s so big, growing heavier in your hand with each passing second, and you lose yourself for a moment, hypnotized by him.

“Always so eager to please me, aren’t you, pretty girl?” Joel’s voice pulls you back to earth, soft and adoring.

“Louder,” you remind him. Plant a kiss right over top of his leaking slit.

“Fuck,” he hisses through his teeth. One of his hands flies to the crown of your head, anchoring himself with fingers in your hair. “Dirty fucking girl.”

His voice fills the entranceway, confident and filthy.

“Mmm,” you hum approvingly.

“Yeah? You want me to tell ‘em? Tell ‘em you’re making my cock drool for you? That nobody — shit-” You enclose your lips around his tip, suckling on it as your fingers wrap around the base of his length and you begin to stroke him lazily. “-that nobody has ever made me feel this good?”

Footsteps echo down the hallway and the sound makes you reflexively pause, your hand stiling on Joel’s cock. It’s followed by the jingling of metal, the click of a key in a lock, the opening and closing of a door — all close enough that you can pinpoint the source, can tell where exactly it’s coming from.

Sheila is home.

Perfect.

It’s probably worrying how excited it makes you, the prospect of her hearing, of her sitting alone in her apartment, at her empty dining table, and listening to Joel fall apart at your hands. Maybe they’ve driven you to and over the edge of sanity with their words, her most of all. Regardless, you can’t help the way it makes your cunt flutter around nothing.

You lick a slow stripe up the underside of Joel’s cock, starting just above his balls and dragging the flat of your tongue up, up, up to his tip. His breath shudders, his grip on your hair tightening, and the subtle sting at the center of your scalp gives you another idea.

“Do you wanna fuck my face, Joel?”

“Do I wanna — fuck — you’re gonna kill me, angel.”

“Go ahead,” you encourage, unhinging your jaw as wide as it can go, letting your tongue droop over your bottom lip.

Saliva pools in your waiting mouth and Joel groans at the sight of you, so malleable for him, begging to be used.

“You sure?”

It’s not that he doesn’t think you can handle it. He knows you can. You’ve taken him down your throat more times than he can count. Always so fucking eager to please him, you are — just one of the many reasons he feels so goddamn lucky, so infuriated that anyone would think otherwise.

But still, he can’t help but worry that he’ll hurt you.

You nod, eyes locked on him, confirming beyond a shadow of a doubt that you want this. He nods back, beginning to feed his cock into your mouth, easing it in slowly and halting when his head hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

You don’t pull away, don’t show any indication of displeasure. In fact, you dig your fingers into the meat of his thighs, bearing down on him as you push forward. Mascara tears stain your cheeks as you choke on him, laser-focused on relaxing your throat so that you can accommodate more of his length.

Joel pulls back, retreating entirely before pushing in again. He slowly increases his pace, your eyes hooded, so doelike and innocent, as his cockhead bruises your larynx.

The sounds he’s pulling from your mouth are absurdly lewd: muffled gags and frantic inhales of breath. And then there’s him, moaning wildly, not sure if he’d be able to shut up even if he needed to be quiet. Your mouth is good, too fucking good and he’s going to — fuck, he’s going to cum if you don’t stop.

He pulls out abruptly, a string of drool and precum tethering the tip of his cock to your swollen bottom lip. You’re panting, coughing, still bracing yourself against his legs when you fucking smile up at him.

“Christ,” he says. “Fuckin’ angel, you are. Mouth feels like goddamn heaven.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But I need to cum in that perfect little cunt,” he breathes, pulling a strangled moan from the back of your rawed throat.

He helps you up, spins you around to face the door. You brace both hands on the wood, humming as he pulls your pants down to your knees. His breath is on the back of your neck, trailing up to the shell of your ear with one whisper just for you, because he can’t help it.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, you know that?”

You shiver, responding with a tilt of your head, inviting him in with a needy little mewl. He cradles your face in one of his large hands, the other rubbing over the curve of your ass as he kisses you passionately, tasting himself on your tongue.

The hand on your ass trails lower as he deepens the kiss, two fingers pressing against your clothed seam. You’ve all but soaked through the fabric, wet cotton molding to his knuckles as he caresses them along your pussy before pulling your panties down in one swift motion.

You whine into the kiss, desperate and dripping for him. “Please,” you breathe against his lips. “I’ll make you feel so good, I promise.”

“Know you will,” he coos, mouth parting from yours as he straightens out and lines himself up with your entrance. You arch your back, rocking onto the balls of your feet as he teases you with the tip.

His cock is so thick when it finally notches into you. It’s always so devastatingly thick, no matter how wet you are for him. The stretch stings, a jolt of warm pain coursing through your walls as he stills halfway in.

“You okay?” he asks, one hand resting at the small of your back, the other on your hip, fingers gripping to you only tight enough to hold you in place.

“Yes, fuck — yes,” you whine. “Need you to fuck me, Joel.”

“I’m goin’ to baby, don’t worry,” 'he promises, pushing in another splitting inch. “Pussy’s so goddamn tight, ‘ts suckin’ me right in.”

It feels like hours pass with Joel’s cock motionless inside your aching cunt, his warm breath fanning across your back as he focuses on not cumming. You’re whimpering, begging under the weight of his body, to please just fucking move.

When he finally obliges you, pulling all the way out and then bottoming out in one deep thrust, it nearly punches the air out of your chest. You scrabble for purchase on the door, fingernails scraping against chipped paint. “F-uucckk,” you moan, eyes rolling back in your head as he sets a dizzying pace.

The sound of his balls slapping against the back of your thighs is enough to attract attention on its own, the loud smacksmacksmack going straight to your cunt. Joel growls behind you, driving into you even harder, the tip of his cock brushing against your g-spot.

“Oh, shit,” you cry. Your pussy inadvertently squeezes him and he curses at your back, low and deep.

“Not going to last if you keep doin’ that,” he warns. “Cunt is too fuckin’ good. Best I’ve ever — uuuhh — had.”

He’s not just saying it for show. It’s true. You know it is, too. He’s told you before, both under the influence of your pussy and not. Waited too many goddamn years to feel like this, he’d said once.

“It’s — fuck, it’s fine Joel,” you mutter. “I’m close too, just keep going, right there.”

A door across the hall creaks open. A pair of footsteps patter across tile.

Do you hear that? Yeah; what is that noise?

Joel laughs darkly behind you, snaps his hips up, forcing a guttural moan out of you.

“Think they caught us, darlin’,” he says. “Caught you takin’ my cock like you’re fuckin’ made to.”

Oh my word!

Joel is unrelenting, pounding into you despite the voices right outside your apartment, and you fear for a moment that you’ve created a monster. One of his hands leaves its place on your waist, cracks down on the center of your asscheek with a slap, the flesh recoiling under his palm and you gasp.

The feeling travels between your legs, straight to your neglected clit. It pulsates under the hood with every pass of Joel’s cock over your g-spot, and you feel yourself hurtling toward the edge dangerously fast.

If these people don’t leave, they’re going to hear you cum. Do you want them to hear you cum? Yeah, you think, clit jumping again at the thought, I think I fucking do.

“Joel, fuck-”

“You gonna cum?” he goads. “Yeah, can feel you squeezin’ me — you’re gonna cum, aren’t ya?”

This is vulgar! We should file a noise complaint. C’mon.

His hand snakes around your front then, finds your throbbing bud, and with a few passes of his calloused fingertips, you’re gone, vision whiting out and all noise around you muted.

Joel keeps you upright between him and the door, his grip on you tightening as your muscles slacken. He follows closely behind, cumming inside you with a carnal noise from the back of his throat, rope after rope of his spend filling your cunt.

He pulls out with a grunt, immediately collapsing on the floor. Without his support, you topple over too, falling onto his lap with a satiated giggle.

A banging comes from the other side of the wall then, shaking your kitchen cabinets a few feet away, the clanging of glassware jolting you.

Keep it down next time! I don’t need to hear that!

And then you’re laughing like teenagers, Joel pulling you in for a sloppy kiss, all tongues and teeth.

“Think they’re really gonna make a noise complaint?” Joel asks when you finally come up for air.

“I dunno,” you smile. “Does your offer still stand — for me to move in with you?”

“Always,” he vows, forehead resting against yours.

end notes: ty for reading! pls consider commenting or reblogging if you enjoyed <3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller fic #tlou fic #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal as joel miller #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

4K notes · View notes

satoruhour · 8 months

Text

LAUNDRY DAY

a/n: I AM ALLIVEEEEEEE 🔥🔥🔥🔥 sorry i had a crazy week! can be read as a standalone piece but based off gojo’s roommate au of here and here / tagging @jabamin @hyomagiri @utahimeow @lov3rbody ☆

wc: 4k

warnings: sub!gojo that turns into dom!gojo, fem!reader, fantasising? gojo is a pervert too, mentions of semi-public sex, implied somnophilia, panty sniffing, pillow / dry humping, m! masturbation, oral (m receiving), deep-throating, praise, pet names, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, creampie / breeding kink, n*sfw under the cut

living with you was hard. brushing his teeth with you was hard. being around you — hard. both figuratively and—

there’s a loud sigh from you.

clearly tired from the day’s activities of ushering in freshman after freshman, you lugged your body into the bathroom. the same rehearsed words have been leaving your mouth as your cheeks hurt more and more by the hour, only to repeat it all over again the next day.

“you look like shit,” it’s muffled by the way the toothbrush is stuffed into his mouth, foam peeking out from the corners of his mouth and you’re trying not to tell your roommate (and boyfriend) to shut up — you didn’t have the energy to do, much less say anything and you certainly didn’t have time for your lover’s clever quips so late in the night.

it didn’t help that you recently had an argument too; well, trivial to him but much more major to you. it was a matter of getting gojo to keep his laundry properly and to clean up after himself once he’s gotten himself comfortable in the relationship. it’s not like he doesn’t want to — he was cleaning up in the first place to impress you — but now since he’s got you, it’s like he simply expects you to act as his little wife when it was a shared space. the exact argument you used against him.

“satoru— this is a shared apartment! you can’t just leave tteokbokki cups lying around with the gochujang sauce still inside! it’s going to attract cockroaches and ants!” you gesture wildly, the sheer amount of trash lying around making you even sicker than you thought possible. getting paid to usher in freshmen and then coming home to this? it felt like every cent of your hard work had gone to waste.

there’s only a grin on his face, “you’re so attractive when you’re mad, baby.”

that was another thing: the lack of seriousness that gojo possessed at times, simply talking to piss you off, simply living to be the bane of your existence. “and you’re fucking unbelievable, gojo satoru. clean up— or don’t,” you made sure to lace that last word with venom, “i don’t care.”

that seemed enough for gojo to snap out of his stupor, “no, no— princess, fuck, i’m s—” his brows furrow when he briefly spots the thickening glaze of your eyes, possibly filling with tears before you’re marching into your room to slam the door and he swears to himself. satoru had never felt embarrassment and shame and sadness like that day; having just taken a shower but his skin was sweaty and uncomfortable and his heart sat right at his feet.

gojo swears he never wants to hear you say his full name ever again.

since then, it’s been a little tense between the two of you. geto had noticed it on movie night, shoko realised you haven’t been looking at your phone as often. hell, even prof. yaga had to tell you that you were distracted way too much lately, and it’s only been two days.

satoru tried to possibly take back what he said with whatever powers he didn’t possess, but he only gets another sigh from you as you squeeze the toothpaste out and start brushing your teeth, not even sparing him one glance in the mirror.

and yet while he was the first one to start his nightly routine, he’s left to be the last again from the way he’s unable to stop staring at you, a recurring trait of his whenever you were in the same room with him. it’s a testament of how attracted he was to you — at how his shirt slips off your shoulder from how big it was because even when you were mad at him, you forgot about that little detail. gojo’s eyes trail from your exposed shoulder to your legs and back up again to your fatigued face. he skims over the shape of your eyes and down to your nose and he thinks he’s the luckiest man to be brushing his teeth beside you now, blessed with seeing such an intimate side of you even if it’s as simple as this.

until gojo’s eyes fall upon your mouth as your toothbrush is doing its job of perfect innocence, cleaning some teeth, scraping off the bacteria on your tongue, except when you’re switching it from side to side all your roommate can think about if it was his dick instead. and the thought leaves him as fast it comes.

all you do is shoot him a weird look through the mirror when gojo exclaims like he was a vampire whose skin burned under the bathroom lighting, and he regains composure with ease.

“i’m fine! fine. doing a-okay.” satoru speaks through the foam and it’s spraying everywhere and you’re too tired to care before you hear another gulp when you move your toothbrush again, “sorry! sorry— continue please.”

gojo is starstruck for an entirely different reason, now, watching the toothbrush making bulges at the side of your mouth as it moves in and out and he’s left to fantasise about the many, many times you’ve gotten him in you and the warmth of everything. he can feel himself get hard under his sweatpants when you start brushing your tongue and you gag and he wants to die standing in this 30 square foot bathroom because the last thing he wants to do is sexualise something perfectly mundane.

gojo isn’t like that (well, most of the time. can’t blame him for finding you smokin’ hot).

“what the fuck is your problem?” you’re speaking through your foamy mouth now, spitting it out and proceeding to clean up with no clue of what you do to him. satoru on the other hand — terribly excited that you’d even open your mouth to talk to him after two days of endless silent treatment.

“nothing, baby. it’s nothing, i promise.” you can’t lie at the way your heart jumps at the familiarity of it all, of being in such proximity to your lover, doing domestic things like these and the ‘baby’ and yet your pride is holding you back on everything.

you go straight to sleep, too, not wanting to entertain anything related to gojo satoru and you feel just a little bad when he looks at you with those baby blues and a sweet pout on his face. he looked especially pathetic in the bathroom, like a deer caught in headlights at just the presence of you and you want nothing more to apologise. it’s never that easy, though; you needed a promise, you needed the reassurance that he wouldn’t be leaving you to clean up after him again.

all these worries are willed away when you finally fall into slumber in your own room, body craving the warmth of satoru unknowingly. you had stolen a pillow the day before and it’s been the sole source of his scent, the only thing to keep your mind sane.

gojo’s heart drops again upon seeing you already deep in sleep, thinking he had a chance to catch you before you did, but the needines for you never goes down even now. he cannot take his mind off the way you’d run your hands through his hair or tangle your legs with his, satoru’s limbs recall the memory of you playing with his fingers and how you like to curl your arms around his neck. 48 hours is enough for him to go insane, and also maybe at how your leg was propped up on his missing pillow, hugging it so tight to your chest. you hadn’t bothered to wear pants either, so all he can see is the shape of your cunt under.

he stalks into the room and kneels in front of you, finger so tempted to run along your folds and make you wet, staring a whole minute and weighing his options until decides he doesn’t deserve it, turning away and closing your door softly.

“going now, satoru.” it’s soft when you mumble it, not even wanting him to hear before you’re stopped. you’re donning the uni orientation shirt and eyebags, a soggy sandwich from yesterday staining your bag with its smell. “what?”

“made you somethin’,” gojo’s cute like this with a frilly apron and hair band, still managing to tower over you despite the adorable get-up he’s got on, “it’s a bento.”

and you wish you could just melt the pride that runs through your bones and kiss him all over, and you break just a little. a small smile and you walk up to him, grabbing the lunchbox and pecking him softly on the cheek, turning away fast enough to not catch his fangirl moment — because you knew you wouldn’t be able to make it on time if you did.

“we still have to talk later when i come back, okay?” you call out as you put on your shoes and you steal one last glance at him, “and today’s laundry day. you know what t—”

“yes ma’am!” gojo salutes and you roll your eyes with a small smile, locking the door behind you with heat on your cheeks and the pounding of your heart. it was difficult not to break when it came to satoru, when he’s trying so hard to win back your words and love, and so tonight you’ve decided after the tiring week is when you’d finally stop running away over such a small matter.

although, gojo got caught up in something way beyond your expectations even if he had his initial intentions (which involved ordering your favourite takeout and kneeling at the front door in apology).

your roommate lays around for a bit before grabbing some lunch and heading to the back room, a little extension attached to the kitchen with a tune on his lips. it’s clear he’s a little driven by your little innocent peck, a sign that maybe you weren’t so mad any more. for the next hour, satoru is contently doing the laundry with a smile, until—

the panties you threw in before showering must have fallen to the bottom of the pile, the same one he saw you wear last night and he thinks maybe the low humming buzz he heard last night wasn’t his imagination because when he picks it up he can smell your arousal. there’s a stain from the previous night and another pool of juices from this morning and he now knows that it wasn’t the kettle.

“dirty girl,” he grins, “both yesterday and this morning?” he’s thought about this for the longest time, always holding himself back because you found him weird enough even before you were dating, always letting you do your own separate load for your undergarments. but since you’ve gotten together, you were more comfortable, throwing it into the same laundry basket — the compulsion has never been this strong before.

gojo puts it up to his nose and smells like the pervert he is, among other times: teasing you with a hand down your pants when the two were over at your dorm, fucking you in the kitchen as they focused on the movie, pounding into you with the windows open, and he almost ascends at the scent of your pussy juices. there’s a spark that goes down right to his core and he palms his bulge unconsciously, coming to his senses when the washing machine beeps.

he impatiently puts in the settings and leaves, heading straight for your room and is hit with all reminders of you. the perfume you used this morning and the body wash you share with him, walking almost under a trance to your bed where he moans at the softness of the sheets as he falls face first. it doesn’t take him much to scoot to your pillows, but the need for you is just too much.

gojo grinds his cock into the bed, whining softly as he whiffs up your natural body smell, hips moving on their own accord as he manoeuvres a pillow between his legs. he humps it like a dog, groaning and moaning and the strain on his dick is just too much, balling up the undies in his hand and his body tenses at the friction.

“baby . . f-fuck—” satoru’s voice is high-pitched and choked, all the thoughts of you culminating into one big ball of desperation for you and he cums in his pants, tainting the fabric a darker colour than before. but he’s not done — his hips still move against the pillow, thrusting into the fluff as he rides out his orgasm, moans muffled by the pillow. “miss you . .”

gojo misses you more than anything, feeling so much distance even within the house that he flips over — by now the sun shines its golden rays a little less. the afternoon is winding down into a cool evening — and pulls at the waistband of his pants. he’s still sensitive, wrapping a hand around his hard cock and pumping and the sound that leaves his mouth is borderline slutty. with another smell of your cunt, he strokes his dick, using his cum as lube.

“oh . . r-right there— mhnng . .” satoru’s hips buck into his hand, squeezing and thumbing at his cock before unbundling your panties and wrapping them around his shaft. the sight drives him insane. sure, it’s one of your more everyday underwear, neutral in both design and colour but he can feel the fabric get wetter and wetter from how much cum he’s pushed out earlier and that’s enough to keep his hand pumping. “s-sweetness, cummin—”

gojo’s head makes a dent in your other pillow from how hard he was pushing it, back arching at how the warmth in his hand will never compare to your mouth or pussy. he can already feel his second orgasm approaching, your room filled with the squelch of his cock and his sounds and he shoots his load with a drawn out moan all over your panties and his stomach. his cum is always so much, dripping down his pelvis and onto his hand and also . . yours?

your boyfriend lets out the girliest scream you’ve ever had the pleasure of hearing, scrambling up to the headboard when he sees you hovering over his body. he accidentally kicks your chest in the process and you have to clutch it with a small “ow”, although a small smile is still present on your face.

“having fun?”

“dude, what the fuck?”

your smile drops, “dude?”

gojo suddenly has his hands moving frantically, “nonono— no, sorry, i meant baby!”

you sigh, sitting back down on your heels as you take in the sight: his still hard cock and the sweat lining his body. his bangs are wet and your eyes flit down to your soiled underwear.

“uh . . i was just borrowing it,” gojo nervously chuckles, handing the cum-filled panty to you and your brows furrow.

“darling, you can’t just give someone back their clothes with your come on it.”

and your boyfriend pouts again, “i really am sorry. and for everything else, too. for not cleaning up and for being a general bum,” this is why you also (sometimes) favoured his unseriousness when you were talking about difficult things. the amount of times you had succumbed to his touches and kisses when you were mad at him was much better than your pride. gojo brings you onto his lap like his dick wasn’t just out, and you relish in the closeness you’ve missed.

“i need you to show me you mean it, ’toru,” he lights up at the nickname he loves just as you point a finger in his face, “aht! calm down. don’t think we’re all buddy-buddy again.”

“i will try,” gojo is smooth, taking your hand into his while the other brushes the hair away from your eyes. you lean into the touch, “and i will try until you see my efforts.”

you smile at his honesty, “and i’m sorry for ignoring you as well. it was childish of me.”

gojo hums, bringing your face in to plant a kiss to your lips, “i missed you like crazy, princess.”

you laugh, “yeah i can tell, i miss you too.” you gesture to all of him and he whines softly at the joke, squeezing your waist.

“you’re not weirded out?”

his breath hitches when you move down his body and situate yourself between them, finger tracing his tip and teasing him, “why would i be? i’ve literally fucked myself wearing your shirt.”

gojo gulps loudly, “you did w-what?”

“i’m just better at not getting caught.” all words are taken from his lips then, when your mouth engulfs him and the feeling of it is just pure insanity. gojo pants and his thighs tense, a hand gathering your hair into a ponytail to keep it from interfering. his eyes fixate on the way your suck him off, recalling the last time he’s watched you do that was in a damn bathroom.

“y-your mouth—” satoru swears under his breath when you swirl your tongue around his shaft, the tip of his cock making bulges on the side of your mouth and it only leaves him calling out your name time after time.

“y’know,” you gargle on him, slurping up his cum, “i know what you were thinking starin’ at me last night.”

gojo snaps his fingers and mumbles out a shaky damn, because he can always be read like an open book. he just didn’t know he was that obvious.

“looked cute staring,” you mutter around him, “like a little puppy.”

you slap his thick length on your tongue, moaning when you feel just how heavy it is, “you just wanted this so bad, didn’t you?”

gojo whines at your words, nodding, and you go back to the abuse on his dick, bobbing your head up and down as your hand plays with his balls. the other moves over his torso, at the porcelain skin there and you can feel his stomach heaving at your ministrations.

“are you close, baby?” you ask mindlessly, the lewd sounds of his fat cock in your mouth sending sensations right down to your sex as well. you never really listen to his answer, taking a deep breath and sucking in your cheeks and soon you’re deep throating your lover.

“mh— mmf . .” sounds deep from your throat as your nose buries itself in his pubes, and satoru struggles to hold your tantalising stare. he can feel his tip hit the back of your throat and his moans are quick and high-pitched.

“cumming— ’m cumming,” before you come off and you go back to your pace and gojo’s small moans descend into longer ones at the feeling. his eyes roll back right into his skull as he twitches in your mouth and soon he’s spilling right into your throat and tongue.

“baby—” satoru’s eyes are squeezed tightly shut, “s-shit . .” and the sheer amount of cum always takes you off guard, sputtering over it when you drag your lips off of him. your boyfriend’s eyes are hooded and darkened, looking at how the strings of his semen droop from your mouth and connect right to his weeping tip.

“eugh, eat more veggies, ’toru. you’re bitter as fuck.” you say with a giggle, swallowing nonetheless as you wipe a hand across your mouth, “thanks for the meal.”

his spirit has certainly ascended, chest heaving and legs jelly from that mind-blowing orgasm. even he takes solace on the headboard, looking down at you with tired eyes.

“but i’m not done,” you truly weren’t, driving satoru to the brink after you’ve milked him to his limit, and yet he wouldn’t have it any other way as he thrusts into you, having had a new burst of energy after seeing your confidence wane once you’ve gotten his dick in you.

it was cute — your words breaking up and staggering as you sink down for the first time after two days, reduced merely to whines as you ride him. gojo lets you have your fun for a bit before he properly flips you over, pressing down on your lower back.

“fuck yourself onto me, baby,” he can tell you’ve missed him too by how you squeeze around him, a sly grin on his face when your hips push back onto him. he sees the tight hold you have on the silk sheets and the soft whimpers leaving your mouth. “good girl . . juuust like that.”

you’re jerking forward when he slaps your ass, letting it ripple from the force of both of his hand and your hips. but he takes over soon enough, grabbing both your arms and pulling you gently off that you’re hanging limply. and even while he does that, he’s still focused on the way your lips spread to accommodate him together with a ring of white at the base of his cock.

“that feel good? huh?” gojo mumbles, loving the way you arch your back and your head lols forward, just letting him do whatever he wants to you. you’re too far gone to even quell the ache in your thighs, too distracted by the wetness of your pussy.

“feel s— s’good, satoru—!” you moan out and like always satoru is indecisive in everything, now tugging you up to rest chest to back. “g’na cum!”

your legs spread more and more as your lover keeps you tightly pressed against him, an arm around your neck and the other, waist. wordlessly, he guides your face to the side, meeting your mouth in a sloppy, drooling kiss and his hips stutter at the way you mewl into his mouth.

“that right, princess?” he asks into your lips, relishing in your face contorting in pleasure. eyes reaching heaven and your mouth parted cutely even more when he props a leg up and his cockhead presses against your cervix ever so lightly.

“y—yeah . .” it’s a mix between a whine and a moan before the only rub of your clit from satoru’s hand sends you reeling and you’re trembling in his hold. you can feel your juices coat his length just as he cums as well, too obsessed with the way your cunt feels aeons better than his pathetic hand. he litters your skin with groans of his own, continue to fuck his cum back into you as you milk him dry with ropes and ropes of semen painting your womb white.

“good little girl,” he hums, and you sigh at the feeling of him cumming again, sensing him removing himself with you with an obscene pop! and you want to continue. you’re already moving your hips yet again, begging with small please’s but the happy-go-lucky song of the dryer interrupts the both of you. you scowl.

gojo laughs into your neck, and you’re left grumbling as he sets you down gently, letting you catch your breath before he presses a kiss to your sweaty cheek.

“i’ll handle it, baby,” satoru made a promise to you and he’ll keep it. he hurriedly pulls his sweatpants over his bottom half, “you just rest up.”

it’s not even two minutes later that you already miss him, trotting over to the laundry room in nothing but his shirt and you just watch as he removes the clothes with a certain tranquillity and delicateness that you’d like to see this sight more often and all you can muster in the moment is your arms around his middle.

and the sweetness of the moment is immediately ruined by gojo, “let’s fuck here. whaddya say?”

your roommate and lover can only grin when you turn him around to smack him (“it’s!” slap “not!” slap “sanitary!” slap “here!” slap), finally happy everything’s back to normal. satoru simply presses a kiss to your temple.

#jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jjk gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk thirsts #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #gojo satoru x you

4K notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

regular-samdragon

DERGENS!!!

sallyrhubarb

🦇

tourdumondematisetnoe

Tour du monde Guy Charles et Jessica

kusa931kusakusa

変態ニオイフェチ

spherevfx-blog

SphereVFX