so frustrating to be a skeptic with a sense of whimsy because like. I want there to be cryptids. I want there to be magic. I want there to be evidence of something we don't fully understand and can't explain. but then 99% of the "proof" out there for that stuff is like. the most obvious scam you've ever seen in your life.
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free use bsf!sukuna gets annoyed when you touch yourself. fem!reader, dom!sukuna. nsfw 18+ mdni drabble. mlist
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You didn’t know what the dream was even about, recalling only the disembodied tangle of limbs and a slick warmth blooming low and hot in your belly.
All you did know when you were finally tugged back into consciousness was that you were panting, sharp humid breaths huffed into the crook of your drool slathered arm, and that you were soaked.
“Shit…” you cursed, whisper barely audible in the silent room.
Still drunk with sleep, you shifted, shoving an arm unceremoniously between the heat of your body and the couch cushions below, teasing downward until your fingers hit their target, and your eyes rolled behind fluttering lashes.
You grinded slowly, sinking back into that delicious fuzzy heat - listening to your own stuttered breaths and the crinkle of leather beneath you. Each creak sounded deafening in the still silence of night, and your pulse jumped with the shame of what you were doing and the vague memory of where you were.
Not that it stopped you, or did anything to cool the white-hot lust swirling in your belly. No, it only made you bite your forearm pitifully, a vein attempt to muffle the desperate little noises slipping free.
“Brat.”
Now that gave you pause.
You lay frozen in the dark, blinking wildly at the shadowed bulk on the couch opposite you, trembling hand still tucked into your slick panties. Maybe you’d imagined it, the gruff, familiar voice of your best friend curling out from the darkness.
But Sukuna wasn’t stupid, it wouldn’t have taken a detective to figure out what you were doing. Not with all the frantic breathing and the half muffled moans barely caught by the damp fabric of your pillow.
“Sorry,” you swallowed a thick, dry breath before you continued, “just needed to… uh…”
The lump on the sofa across from you began to shift, and you realised as your eyes slowly adjusted that he was rising to his feet, slipping free from the sheets with a low groan and a few muted cracks.
You followed suit, pulling yourself to your elbows before a sharp and disappointed tut made you stop.
“Stay where you are,” came the short command, “don’t move.”
After a moment of pause, you acquiesced and settled back onto your belly, arms outstretched to clutch your pillow beneath your chin.
Sukuna approached without another word, a broad shadow eclipsing your vision until you felt the delicate thrum of fingers dancing along your lower back.
“Hips up.”
Your pulse raced, that familiar sticky heat licking up your neck at the sternness of his tone. When you complied, he shoved a pillow beneath your hipbones, forcing your spine into a severe arch.
“Good.”
Thick fingers hooked over your waistband, tugging your sleep shorts down with little effort. You shivered against the cool kiss of air for only a moment before you were blanketed by his body heat as he settled into place behind you. There was the barely audible shuffle of clothing in the still silence before you felt him - the grind of thick inches pressed against you, hard and raw.
“Deep breath,” he murmured, waiting to hear the shaky pull of air from your lips before he finally nudged inside.
He sunk in slowly, let you map each pulsing vein stretching your tight heat until you felt the delicate tickle of hair at his base, and your eyes rolled back.
“Oh… S’kuna…” you breathed, a whiny little exhale slurred where your cheek was pressed against the pillow.
He hit deep like this, so deep that with each breath you could feel him poking incessantly at what could have been your stomach for all you knew. It was stunning, enough to make your thighs tremble and a spineless little moan escape you.
He gave no reply, just slipped out a few dizzying inches before pressing back inside with a wet sucking slap. He set a steady pace, not rushed or particularly delicate - firm and intentional, just like everything he did.
“Don’t know why you insist on touching yourself like that,” he grunted, head craned so that you could feel the puff of his breath against your sweat-soaked nape with each accusatory syllable, “when you’ve got a perfectly good cock right here.”
As if to prove his point, his thrusts slowed - firm deep pumps pulled all the way out only to sink back inside with a force that pulled a broken little sound from your throat.
His voice was low and serious, still thick with sleep as he worked you open with the practised roll of his hips. The weight of his words sent a little tremor of need through you, and you heard him curse when you clenched around his length.
“Didn’t -hn-… want to wake you…” you panted, tongue slipping on the words as your brain gave in to the fuzzy haze of pleasure beginning to settle over you.
Each nudge earned a sticky slap, heavy balls smacking against your creamy cunt as he took you apart, fucked you into the couch in a mean prone bone.
“Don’t be stupid. It’s yours,” He grunted, hips pressed snug into a mean grind that had little blinking stars dancing in the blackness behind your eyes. “So use it, whenever you want.”
His bluntness, alongside the kiss of his cockhead against your cervix made you writhe desperately, tenfold when with the next rock of his hips you felt the slick sheen of the leather sofa graze your tender clit.
Your brain was foggy, swirling with obscene images of waltzing into his room whenever you pleased, tugging down his sweats and settling down onto his fat cock like you belonged there, using him like a toy who’s only purpose was to get you off.
“You… hn-… you mean it?” You sniffled, cheek smushed to the side just to throw a desperate glance over your shoulder.
“Fuck, of course I do,” he growled, breaths coming a little frantic now, “I’ve said it before haven’t I? My hands, my mouth, my fucking thigh if you want.”
Knuckles dug into the couch cushions either side of your head, and his lips grazed your throat, the shell of your ear, the delicate hair curling at the nape of your neck.
“So I don’t want to see you touching this needy little pussy again. No toys, no fingers, no humping the goddamn pillow, got it?”
You buried your face between your arms and nodded limply, sinking into the sheets, feeling less and less lucid with each targeted buck.
“That’s a good girl,” came the last purred words before you finally tripped over the edge.
biggest reason i make so many flop posts on here is because everything i do reeks of the desperation to make a popular tumblr post. this is deliberate, because it is what protects me from ACTUALLY making a popular tumblr post. so long as i crave it, tumblr fame will never find me. it is only when i turn away, and accept my fate of obscurity, that people will lay their eyes upon me. and it WILL be because i tripped and fell on my stupid face while i was turning
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Hockey players are famously superstitious, Shane and Ilya know this. So, this really should not come a surprise:
When they're about to leave the locker room for warm ups, Bood steps into the door with his arm stretched out.
"Woah, woah, woah, where do you two think you're going?"
They share a confused look.
"Uh, to warm up?" Shane asks. Bood instantly starts to shake his head as Troy joins him at the door.
"We need a kiss."
Shane leans back a little in disgust surprise, beside him Ilya lifts his eyebrows in disbelief.
"What, both of you?" with a chuckle, to which Shane adds "From whom?" before stepping closer to Ilya. Who was famous for goal celebration kisses to sweaty cheeks of his teammates but that was pretty much all Shane was okay sharing.
"Ew, no, no, no." Troy waves them off and Bood shakes his head laughing.
"Each other. Last time you did before warm ups and we won 6 to 2 against the Admirals."
And, oh. Because. Shane isn't against PDA now that they're both out when they are around their team after games or out for dinner with someone or walking Anya around their neighboor hood hand in hand.
But. He had a pretty clear rule that practices, games and everything at the rink was off limits. That was work. That was different.
The first few away games he didn't even want to sit beside Ilya on the bus or plane. Let alone be couple-y around the others. He told Ilya he did not want even the slightest chance of someone feeling uncomfortable because of him. Them.
Last week had been different, though. Ilya had been feeling down for a little while. Not much, not bad. Just- off. And when they were putting on their skates for warm ups he had cracked a stupid joke. And Shane had looked over and something in his chest had loosened because- there was that mischievous sparkle in his husbands eyes again. Leaning over and kissing Ilya hadn't really been a concious choice. It hadn't been anything wild either. A closed mouthed, lingering press of their lips.
A steady few seconds to convey 'Hey, I missed you.'
Ilya had smiled fondly at him after.
Apparently Bood or Troy or someone saw this. And when they won, they came to the logical conclusion that that was because of their pre warm up kiss.
Now Ilya rolls his eyes because- as dumb as it is, in hockey world this makes stupid sense. But Shane won't like it. So, he has to find a way to- suddenly there are two hands cupping his face before he is being dragged to meet Shane's lips for a quick, smacking kiss.
"Let's fucking kill these guys out there." Is all Shane says after, bonking his helmet with Barrett and Bood before vanishing through the door.
