BIRDIE. let me find you like a lost lover.

AO3 ⨾ RULES ⨾ TAG LIST

🀥 recents ─ glossed over (satoru gojō) 🀥 revises ─ all fics

JJK ⨾ KNY ⨾ MISC

tumblr banner and divider were drawn and created by yours truly. this post is subject to change as the fandom grows. ᝰ.ᐟ

gojō realizes he actually likes your vanilla-flavored lip gloss after you decide to stop wearing it for his sake.

Satoru never understands why you apply your lip gloss too thickly. It's annoying, especially when you give him a peck on the lips or his cheek or have a full-blown make-out session with him. 

Your lips leave a sticky residue, and although he wipes it off with the back of his hand, it feels much worse than anywhere else. 

He isn't fond of it, and probably won't ever be, even if you insist it's vanilla-flavored. 

The first time you notice he might not be keen on your new lip product is when he makes faces when you pull it out from your bag and apply it. You've known he isn't the type to hide his feelings, so you do your best to apply the product less ever since that day. 

The next few times you pull it out, his feelings about it become more apparent. 

"Does lip gloss actually help?" He asks, disgruntled.

"I think so?" You smack your lips to apply the gloss evenly. "Do you not like it?" 

"Nah," he pushes his sunglasses higher, "not really, babe."

"Ah, okay. Maybe we can stop by some store to get lip balms for me instead?"

When, at last, you listen to his complaints and constant grumbles, and finally toss that wretched thing away, Satoru is ecstatic. Finally, he won't have to feel that sticky sheen on his body anymore; no more wiping it off clean, too, since he honestly feels bad every time he does. 

But after a while, Satoru discovers something he didn't think he'd ever feel: he actually misses that stupid thing on your lips. 

Every time you lean in, he misses the shimmer that used to spread across your lips because now, they look delicately naked. He misses the way you would've puckered before you give in to his whims. 

That little trait of yours he thought was a nuisance, when truly he's learned to love it somehow. 

Satoru learns he misses being subtly marked by you, because even if he wipes it with his hand, there's still a faint trace of your love for him. There's still something he can carry, in a rather poetic way, whenever he goes out on missions all by himself. 

It used to drive him mad, yet somehow, that feeling remains for a completely different reason.

He learns, selfishly, as he browses through every online store during the middle of the night, that he's looking specifically for that vanilla-flavored tube you have. None of the other flavors matter; they won't taste the same. 

"It's gotta be that brand," he mumbles quietly, quickly looking over his shoulders when he feels you turn to the other side of the bed, afraid of being caught. 

So imagine your surprise when the next morning, he tells you to dress up and be ready in fifteen minutes because he couldn't take it anymore. 

Whatever anymore is to your muddled brain. 

And when you haven't moved yet, not understanding his sense of urgency, he tersely lifts your chin with two of his fingers, gives you a lithe kiss, and says, "I'm buying you a lifetime supply of that lip gloss. So get your cute butt out of bed and hurry up, baby. We're going shopping today." 

i am that blog 🥹 i just changed username (and my theme, slightly) bc i've been tagged in a lot of inappropriate stuff that i'm uncomfortable with, and i didn't like that. so for the time being, i changed it to clean out the feed on my home page. when all's been filtered out, i will be returning to my old username!

hellooo to my favorite mutual ever! ilysm! 🥹🩷

queef supermacy! sugoi!!!!!!!

sorry bro it was just very funny. so cool!

18+ mdni · nanami realizes he loves leaving hickeys all around your body.

Nanami's hips roll and slap against your skin, the further he thrusts inside you. His entire bedroom smells of sweat and sex, despite several candles of the same scent lit and the window cracked open.

"Are you tired?" His gravelly voice has since gone lower; each syllable he's uttered turns sensual in your ears.

"No." You answer, swiftly locking him in for a kiss.

He wraps your legs around his waist securely and bottoms out again. A heady moan rips from your mouth, and he swallows the sound whole.

Nanami's kisses move to your nose, to the apples of your cheeks, down your throat, and then settle into the baseline between your neck and collarbone. There, he stops and sucks on the crook of it.

The sensation feels too good, rendering you completely into a state of pure bliss and arousal. You swear you hear yourself beg for more, telling him not to stop from both the way he's marking you and the way he's fucking you hopelessly raw.

He might've said something you didn't quite hear or passed a garbled response in return. No matter what it might've been, you feel the pace quickening and his teeth latching to your skin tighter.

Nanami has never marked you like this before. Often, they were purely accidental, and they're almost always in discreet places where either of you fail to notice them. But, tonight, when you ask him to cover you with his marks, with something entirely Nanami, he pauses.

He isn't one to lose control easily. He is someone who does things with precision and careful considerations. Even then, a simple mishap can undoubtedly be rectified with alternative solutions.

Thus, an impulsive action such as this is unlike any he has ever committed before. There is a subtle bewilderment marring across his features, though anyone who doesn't know him to the extent that you do would have deduced that Nanami looks like he's only thinking.

But there, in his eyes, is an undulated discovery of something quite like finding a secret that only he can have.

"Kento," you call out, cupping his cheeks. "What is it?"

He leans into the touch and kisses your palm. His thumb occasionally brushes the fresh bruise he caused. "It's nothing."

"It doesn't hurt, my love." You say. "If that's what you're worried about."

Nanami's smile appears at the corner. You feel it quirk up against your hand. "I know, darling."

"Can we continue?" You lightly tease, tapping your foot against the dimple of his lower back.

Nanami tilts your head over to the left. The other side of your unmarked neck becomes visible. He leans down towards you, his breath only a whispering distance from your skin.

"Let me," he coaxes before he sucks on the unblemished skin.

His hands travel down your thighs, massaging them repeatedly and ridding you of pins and needles. His thrusts continue, never ceasing, as if all that stored energy from being a sorcerer has helped him maintain a consistent amount of stamina. 

As Nanami moves to mark each underside of your breasts next, he guides your arms to his head where he insists that you run your fingers through his hair.

"Oh, shit, baby," you moan near his ears.

"Hmm," his voice vibrates as he tries to respond in return.

"So good, my love."

Nanami momentarily pulls out. Then he grabs a pillow and guides your head towards it, before putting you in a venus butterfly position. 

His lips move closer to the top of your sopping mound, where he sucks just right above your clit. You grip his hair hard, accidentally yanking a couple of strands. You couldn't even form an apology afterwards, because Nanami never stops his lustful drive. He bites against your skin, pulls your pubic hair teasingly, and moans languidly at the euphoric feeling of it all.

"Oh, my God! Kento! Wait! T-Too much!"

"Pull harder." He grits his teeth, looking at you through your curled bush. "I don't care. Just pull if you must."

Maybe because it's your cunt and it's been sensitive for the past few hours after coming several times. Maybe it's also because it's near your clit where, in place of his cock, his fingers resume the pounding to keep you overstimulated just for him. And maybe it's simply because it's Nanami Kento — whatever reason it can be, you never expect that when Nanami gives you a hickey right there, it's probably the most intense thing he has ever done to you so far. 

And you wonder, why have you two not done this before?

You're left squirming for what little control you can find: none. Your hands scramble to the sheets, gripping them tightly before Nanami forces them back into his hair, demanding that if there's anything you're going to have to hold as he continues, it's going to be him.

"Baby," you call out in a daze. "Too sensitive."

"Just one more." He kisses your clit. "We'll be finished soon."

He lied because it isn't just one more as he promised. Nanami scatters his marks everywhere around your body like constellations. They come in different sizes, each with their own sense of claim. He makes sure, however, that even when he discovers just how wonderful you are with the hickeys he's created, he wouldn't go overboard.

But the one thing he loves most from his work, the moment he's satisfied and he looks at this masterpiece? It's that blotch of purple on your pussy.

"You look beautiful." He says in admiration, his index finger playfully twisting your pubic hair.

You lean into his touch. "I want to give you one, too."

Nanami smooths your hair, giving you a moment to catch yourself. "When you're well-rested. I will let you."

"All right, my love."

© ohfreshlinen — all rights reserved. do not modify, edit, steal, translate, feed into ai, or plagiarize my content.

18+ mdni · you have rendered sukuna speechless when you queefed on him for the first time, and now he's never going to shut up about it.

"What the fuck was that?"

"N-Nothing!" You slammed your hands against your beet-red face. "God, that was nothing!"

"No," Sukuna slaps your hands away, "you just farted down there. How did you do that?" 

"Oh, my God!" You scream vehemently. "It was an accident! Forget about it!"

"Do it again," Sukuna lowers himself near your cunt. "Fart." 

"Sukuna! Stop! Don't make me laugh, God! Stop it, please!" You swat his head, but since your legs are propped up, he only ricochets to the other side until he settles, once again, at the center. His eyes, amidst all that, never left your pussy.

"Then stop stalling, woman! Do it again! Why are you being so difficult?" 

"Because you're being such an idiot right now! And it's not farting! It happened because air got in, and then you suddenly pulled out! That's why! I was basically stretched open."

Sukuna leans his cheek against your knee, contemplating. Then, that damn feral grin shows up. And you know, he's about to do something diabolical. "So you mean to say that if I fuck you and then pull out suddenly, you'd do that?" 

"Y-Yes? I mean, I think so? Look, I'm not sure what would or wouldn't, okay? This is a first for me, too." 

"Well then," he drags his cock to your entrance and pushes in, "let's find out together. Shall we, dear?" 

Nanami doesn't really celebrate his birthday. He never truly gives you a proper reason why, though you don't push it either. It's not like there's something he is hiding from you; if anything, he always shares about his life whenever he remembers. So, perhaps there truly isn't any significant reason after all why he chooses not to. 

However, that doesn't stop you from doing exactly the opposite of what he's used to. 

You've planned it all. Colorful streams decorating every corner of the room, balloons inflated and placed up on the ceiling or down on the floor. You made sure there's an equal balance of them everywhere, at the same time there is a pathway for him to walk onto. 

The cake is all lit up with one candle placed in the middle. It's simple, just the way he prefers it and nothing too extravagant, like how Gojō suggested a year ago. 

"I mean, he's got to go out with a bang on his birthday," Gojō said once with a shrug. "Unless your bang is different from the bang I'm thinking about."

"S-Shut up!" You remembered yourself screaming, covering your face because you knew how red you turned out. 

"This is why you're never going to be invited again," Nanami grumbled, turning you away from that horrid man. 

"Nanamin! Wait!" You heard Gojō's cry fall on deaf ears as Nanami motioned for you to get in the car. 

"Something simple is all I want," Nanami said honestly, driving farther away from the source of his irritation. "Just you and me. That's more than enough." 

So a year later, you've done exactly that — just for Nanami. Simple decorations, not so many that they would be an eyesore. One cake, meant for three people max. A candle meant to be blown out by one man. 

Yeah, he would definitely love this. 

"Happy birthday, Kento." You whisper with a smile. 

Except, Nanami isn't here anymore. 

gojō returns from his fight, but something doesn't look right when you finally see him again.

Satoru stands before you, his gaze ever searching through yours, embedding you in a way you wish he wouldn't. Within his deep-set blue eyes, something feels amiss. They don't look manipulative — no mischief you could have detected right away. There is, obviously, no trace of the certain way his eyes bring about him. 

This one watches you softly, almost carefully. Not meekly though; rather, he holds the kind of innocent trait that is nearly impossible for Satoru to possess.

"Don't fuck with me right now . . ." You break into a humorless laugh, even though this isn't a laughing matter. 

"I —" his voice cracks. It's unlike him. 

"What have you done?" You start. "Hm?"

Satoru remains rigidly quiet, fists clenched against his sides. 

"Say something," you push his chest harshly, "you always get the last say, so do something." 

He closes his eyes. 

You shake your head. That won't do. It's unlike him to stay still. 

"Satoru," you call with that sweet voice he loves most, "why do you have stitches on your head? Hm? Couldn't you have gone to Shōko for that? Why mar your perfect forehead?" 

Clearing his throat, he says, "I-I had to do it . . ."

"Do what?" Your head tilts, questioningly. "Is there something you didn't tell me?" 

His lips tremble faintly. Anyone might have missed it. But the thing about you is that you know Satoru most. That little quirk of his lip will never go unnoticed by you — even if it's unlike him to do so.

You ram your fist against his chest again. He only takes a step back. 

"Satoru. I am waiting." 

Deep down in your heart, you know what is true. This isn't Satoru. This isn't the man who promised you absolution. This one, standing in a ball of anxiety, continues to shake even though his eyes refuse to look anywhere else but you. 

However, it's easier to deny what you fear most. And so you do that. 

Denial. 

Denial. Denial. Denial. That's what it is. 

But then this Satoru calls your name, and that's when you know that you cannot run away from the truth forever.

"Gojō Sensei —"

The scream tears through you in the most unthinkable sound to have ever graced your lips, effectively cutting Yūta off. It's the combination of all there never would be anymore: the longing, the love, the loss, the anguish, the teasing, and the knowing of never having to see him again. 

Yūta looks at you through Satoru's eyes — through those eyes you loved most, that you've watched open and close many, many times — as his fingers shake uncontrollably, unsure how to begin rectifying something he never really committed.

"I have to —" his voice cracks brokenly, "— please understand, I had to. I'd never wanted this. I'm sorry. He wouldn't — he wouldn't let anyone get caught in his . . ."

You scream louder, like a possessed being wailing across the souls of those alive. You pull your hair; strands fall on the ground, and you do just about anything to try and withdraw from this horrible, unimaginable pain. 

"I only have a minute left . . . I have to return to my body. But, I couldn't leave him out there . . ." Yūta weeps openly. "I can't leave Gojō Sensei alone. I wanted to bring him back to you. Somehow. Someway. I'm sorry. I should've —" 

Perhaps it's Yūta, being the one who's drawn closest to you amongst all of Satoru's students, or maybe it's the muscle memory of your lover — but whoever took control, they enveloped you securely into their arms and told you a book filled with apologies and lies to soothe whatever guttural feeling that's killing you inside. 

You can feel the warmth of his body encasing you in its last burst of energy, and you cling onto that, onto him who's nothing but a carcass already. 

Finally, you allow yourself to collapse. 

"How could you do this to me!" You hear yourself scream. Yūta doesn't let you go. He holds you tighter. You can still smell the faint scent of Satoru mixed with that horrid reality of blood and death. "How could you! This wasn't part of the plan! You told me you'd win! You said you would! Where is it?! How dare you! How fucking dare you! How could you do this to me, Satoru!"

For that whole minute Yūta gives you, he holds you like how his sensei would've. He whispers things to your ear, deluding you into believing it was Satoru. Until his body convulses, and with one last apology, both from the man you loved and the student you care for most, Yūta finally returns to his own body, and you are left with the real Satoru — hollow and empty and still. 

Your hands fumble up in the air, your mouth hangs wide open for a scream that never comes, your eyes well with so many tears, wide and unblinking, and you look at nowhere else but to your own lover who stares at you. The blues have dimmed to grays, and there is nothing you can do about that. 

"Don't do this to me, please. I'm begging you. God, please, Satoru. Please, please, please." You beg, shaking his body desperately. "Please. Please, please, please, Satoru, please, please, please, please." 

You continue to shake him. Maybe if you shake him a bit harder, he'd jump-start and return. He'd make a teasing remark that he got you good this time. You wouldn't get angry. You wouldn't even smack the hell out of him. In fact, you'd laugh with him. You'd kiss him, and kiss him, and never let go. 

"Please, Satoru. Please. Please, open your eyes. I'm begging you. I'll do anything, please, wake up. Please, please, please, for me. Please, Satoru. Please, wake up. Please, please, please, please, please." 

Yūta kneels in front of you. "I-I'm sorry. I — Gojō Sensei has to rest his eyes. Let me . . ." 

You don't remember whether or not you've agreed; all you remember is that Satoru's eyes close for the final time when Yūta's bloodied fingers decide to force them to rest. You are too numb to do it, and he is too selfless to let you. 

Then that's when you begin to bargain because what else can you do right now? You beg, scream, and demand that there might be some curse technique out there that can bring him back. When the only breathing person in the infirmary tells you that there isn't any curse he knows of, you try another way.

You manage to crawl on your knees towards Yūta, begging him to curse Satoru the way he did to Rika for her. Sure, you sound delirious, and you probably are, but that doesn't stop you from shaking Yūta's hand and begging him. 

That you would take care of Satoru, that you would set him free eventually even though both of you know that that's a damn lie, that it would be okay — just, just, just please, bring him back. 

But Yūta can only force himself to hold your hand, crying with you through fits of hiccups and ragged breathing because he can't, above all else, comply with your wishes. "Gojō Sensei told me not to." 

And you scream again. "That isn't fair! He left me! How could he have done this? He can't tell me what is or isn't right! When he knows I can't do this without him! I can't do this! Yūta, I can't. Please! Please! Bring him back! To me! Please!" 

Someone tries to enter the room. Your hands grapple with a chair, and you wildly throw it against the door, effectively keeping them out. They've had their chance being with Satoru — and it's not fair.

"GET OUT! GET OUT ALL OF YOU! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM!"

Yūta pushes the other objects away from your grasp, and immediately orders the people outside not to enter under any circumstances. Then, he crouches to your level and holds you tightly. Yūta says nothing, despite your nails digging against his back, despite you pulling the front of his hair and shirt, despite everything you're putting him through. 

Things wouldn't stop moving, breathing, and living. And yet, Yūta continues to hold you.

"Yūta," you beg once more, in a whisper no less broken than the others you've implored, "Please, please, bring him back to me. What can I do to make you help me bring him back? Please, Yūta."

"I can't. I won't."

"W-Why?"

Yūta sobs. "Because G-Gojō Sensei told me not to."

18+ mdni · perhaps seeing you eat those sweets might change sukuna's mind after all.

Sukuna despises anything sweet; he doesn't understand how anyone could even tolerate such an abominable flavor. It's disgusting, and even in an era in which he is getting himself familiarized with — that blasted thing still exists. 

Yet, something about the way you unwrap that thing and pop it in your mouth with a loud clack against your teeth does something so sinful to him. So fucking bad. 

You notice his stare pointedly at you, and you raise a brow. "What? Wanna taste?" 

He yanks you roughly by your ankles, dragging you close until he can force your legs to encircle his waist. Then, he leans forward, lips minutely teasing yours before he plunges in. His tongue asks for no entrance; he pries you open as he always does, and scoops that wretched piece of sweet from you. 

Your moan rumbles against his mouth, and he deepens himself further. 

Your hands travel to his clothes, ripping them apart as he does the same. Bodies clash against one another, each fighting for dominance. But like his domain expansion against everybody else's, Sukuna remains victorious. 

"Open." He demands. 

You comply, and he returns the candy to your mouth as he thrusts inside you. 

"Fuck, that's it, baby." He whispers to your ear. 

When he captures your lips again, you push the candy into his mouth. He takes it with ease, but not before he lets his tongue scour you as if it's a world he has yet to discover once more. 

"So fucking good," you say against the kiss. 

He places both of your legs on top of his shoulders and folds you. The new position causes you to moan lewdly, calling his name like some reverent being. You can feel him buried much deeper, and when you tilt your head and look at how he's fucking you, you notice him bulging through your stomach.

His thrusts turn unforgiving. You expect that no less from the King of Curses. His hands have fondled both your breasts and clit ceaselessly, twisting, pulling, and flicking them. Your releases come over and over, never stopping because it's not enough. He's not sated just yet. Perhaps until you start crawling from just how fucking spent you are from him will he finally determine he's satisfied. But even then . . . you doubt that. 

The way he moves his cock, ramming in and out of you, matches the rhythm of the way he pushes and takes the candy back and forth from your mouth and his. 

"If this is your way of making me like sweets," he chuckles darkly before he bites your lip enough to draw blood, "consider it accomplished."

NSFW SHORT FICS (MDNI) · masterlist

hickeys on your skin

SFW SHORT FICS · masterlist

happy birthday, nanami

 The second Satoru's daughter learns she can walk is the day that goes down in history for him. There is nothing that his little munchkin can't do once her legs start kicking: waddling like a cute-dumb penguin over the verandas, up the stairs, to the classrooms, and even to the training grounds where he holds weekly meetings for his second- and first-year students. 

Yūji often says she's the one who softens up a week's worth of scolding. Panda, Maki, and however much Toge could surmise, say she's the golden ticket to get away with almost anything. AS for Nobara and Megumi, they agree that she can easily bribe a meal out of Satoru. Why yes — all those are absolutely true, if he wishes to admit that. 

And to think that it's only because she learned how to walk. 

Now imagine, to his utter dismay (falsely stated), when she finally starts babbling a litany of words. Yet somehow, within that absurd dictionary of hers, the word "Dada" is still missing. 

Granted, she can barely say three words, consisting of "Mommy, food," and "poop," but Satoru is still very much determined to be number four in her first words. 

"Give it time," you said to your husband once, probably a month ago, when he pouted against your shoulders as you cleared up the dishes. "She's trying."

"I wanted her to say my name first," Satoru mumbled, blowing a stray strand of your hair to spite you. 

You snort because, of course, he always wanted to be first for everything. "Sucks, doesn't it?" 

Needless to say, on one summer morning, when he is supervising all his students' training (at the rare chance that they're all together), you come bounding down the stairs with packed lunches for everyone, and clinging to your waist with a flower grasped in their hands is your daughter.

Satoru quickly unbinds his bandages because if there's one thing he wishes to do every time he sees his daughter, it's to see her as she is — even if for a moment before his eyes strain. 

"Come here, my sweet potato!" He crouches down and opens his arms for her. His other students stop and greet the new guests, but Satoru's attention is all but pointing to the little bundle of joy running at breakneck speed towards — 

"No!"

His own daughter, his pride and joy, the one he so begged you to have with him, the one he would sing all those crappy songs that make no sense, the little devil who would beg him to eat her vegetables because Mommy didn't make it right, and the one who would cling to his leg as he runs around the room like a lunatic before you stop it — runs straight to the arms of Yūta. 

Yūta, who crouches down and picks her up with such ease, where her little giggles turn into skittish ones that send more arrows straight to Satoru's heart. 

"You've grown up so well!" Yūta praises, brushing her hair aside the way Satoru does. "Look at you!"

Satoru pulls his hair and grits his teeth together because only Satoru gets to spin his daughter around like that, not Yūta. Or anyone else. That's only between him and his baby girl, and only the father, as he so emphasizes it many times, gets to do that. 

His daughter pulls him out of his imagination of flicking Yūta's forehead repeatedly when she squeals and tries to grab the hilt of Yūta's sword. 

With a quick, "Whoa, there!" Yūta methodically spins her around as he tosses his weapon to Maki's open hands. 

There is no greater threat to him than his daughter having a crush on one of his students. As he stands, stupefied, watching his daughter give her flower to Yūta, who tucks it behind her ear and calls her absolutely beautiful, Satoru feels the world collapse on itself and swallow him whole.

She's not supposed to like anyone but him. And she's not supposed to like anyone until she's old and he's dead. 

And so, is this what death is? Cold and harsh and unforgiving? 

"How cute!" You say beside him, bumping his knee to get him up. 

Satoru would love to get up if Yūta would love to let his daughter go, and if Yūta would love to return to Africa indefinitely. 

"Satoru," your voice snaps him out. 

"Hm?" 

"You better not do what I think you're thinking right now." You mutter threateningly. 

"And what is it I'm gonna do, sweetie?" 

"If I find out Yūta goes missing tomorrow, I will hunt you down like I did when you buried my Barney stuffed toy." 

"Pffft," Satoru says, "I did no such thing."

"Satoru, there was a footage camera, and you were in that stupid video, and Nanami saw you. Don't bullshit with me right now. I will literally break your ass again with Nanami's butcher knife."

Satoru deflates. "It's not faiiir! I want time with my daughter, too!"

"She hardly sees them anyway, and you know Yūta's her favorite." 

"Kid's barely in town, and she chose him of all people?" 

"Yūta's adorable. I'm sure she finds him adorable, too."

Satoru gasps, heart-stricken. "Take that back right now!"

"You're being dramatic. Yūta wouldn't even hurt her or let anyone hurt her. You should be glad."

"She's got me, her daddy. Daddy will protect her." Satoru whines. "She didn't even greet me . . . went straight to Yūta instead . . ."

You laugh sympathetically. "That just goes to show you that he's great with kids. You know that kids are naturally drawn to those who are kind-hearted." 

Satoru concedes, "I suppose." 

"Let her be. Yūta's often out on missions, and whenever he's free, it's past her bedtime. Give her this moment, Satoru." 

The two of you watch as your daughter hovers over Yūta while the rest coo and greet her affectionately. In hindsight, if Satoru isn't jealous about it, he would think that it's nice to know his daughter is very well protected by his students. 

Even better that she chose Yūta — now there is no way curses would be anywhere near her vicinity so long as he's around.

But as soon as the sun begins to set and he's about to conclude today's training, Satoru's daughter does one more thing to drive a nail into her father's poor, crumpled heart. 

"Love! Yūta! Love! Love!" 

"Oh, shit." 

Satoru hears you mumble through the ringing in his ears and the cracks of red bleeding through his Six Eyes. 

Yūta is definitely going overseas tonight. 

NSFW SHORT FICS (MDNI) · masterlist

sukuna asks you to sit on him sukuna just might like sweets sukuna hears you queef for the first time

18+ mdni · that's really all sukuna's asking from you.

"This is ridiculous!" 

"Woman! You're being ridiculous!" 

"Keep talking to me like that, and you just won't have it then!" You scream indignantly, looking past your bare stomach, from underneath your bush, and just enough to see his glare piercing straight at you. 

"Let me eat you out. Look at yourself! You're already so wet for me. So, just sit for —" Sukuna sighs sharply, unknowingly sending a warm bubble of air directly against your clit. 

The sudden wave of heat quickly encompasses you, and you instinctively clamp your knees against his ears, buckling down hard to his mouth, effectively cutting off a poetry of curses from Sukuna. 

"Oh, shit!" You squawk, immediately raising yourself. "Why the fuck would you even do that!" 

"Is it my fault you're the sensitive one? Do it again. I like it. Come here." He positions you back in place, your cunt directly above his mouth, and your clit torturously erect when he flicks it. 

"No, wait!"

"You can't kill me, that'll be stupid even for a curse like me." He pushes your hands away when you try to grab a fistful of his hair and yank him down to the pillows. 

"J-Just, hold on!"

You've been in this position for the past fifteen minutes, debating with yourself if he should just eat you out because seeing his heated gaze straight to your clit and your breathless cunt being pried wide open with his fingers, looking intently for any signs of your release flowing out, is enough for you to come at this sensation alone. 

But the thing is that you're simply nervous because it hasn't been long since he first ate you out, and while it was new and so fucking good, you're still embarrassed about the whole prospect of it. 

"I just need . . ." you prep yourself up, "I get ticklish when I think too much about it."

"There's hardly anything you think about these days, and you have to think right now?" 

"Shut the fuck up, or I'm walking out of here."

"Baby," he calls a little gentler, though it doesn't sound any different than how he would curse another, "just sit. Please."

"Oh?" You manage to entice a chuckling tease, "You never say please that way."

"For fuck's sake, you're being too unrea — mmphh!"

"that's rude. it's pure love."

this masterlist contains all the works i have ever created for this fandom. tumblr banner and divider were drawn and created by yours truly. please take the time to read RULES before diving into my works. you can also find some of my works on AO3. ᝰ.ᐟ

RYŌMEN SUKUNA ── nsfw short fics

GOJŌ SATORU ── nsfw short fics · sfw short fics

SUGURU GETO ── nsfw short fics

NANAMI KENTO ── nsfw short fics · sfw short fics